Little Marsh-Sprites Poem by Vic Postnikov

I have whipped you out of sight
Through the midday soot;
To await the evening light
Of quiet solitude.

Now – we’re sitting on a moss
In the heart of fen;
Crescent with a crooked mouth
Is our only friend.

I’m like you – a nature geek,
With a spooky face;
Quiet and shy like forest creek
In a hidden place.

Loosely hangs a parting bell
On my foolish cap.
Rivers weaving through a spell
Of a nature’s lap.

And we’re sitting, little fools,
Greenish caps protrude;
Peeping from the low-land pools
Into solitude.

Dream deliriums of water,
Rusty run-off wave…
We’re forgotten echoings
Of a someone’s rave…

- Alexander Blok, January,1905.
Trans. by V.Postnikov,2006