The Wolf Poem by Yakub Kolas

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Michał goes on his rounds as ever,
The coldness of the winter weather
Makes him move, once more young and limber,
He has gone so, times without number!
Here every path and track half-hidden
Long since within his knowledge flourished,
He is at home here in the forest:
Where is a spot he has not trodden?
Where is some unknown nook or corner?
Michał goes, reads the tracks before him!
See here, a delicate thin chain
Daintily on the snow has lain,
Two dots, and then two lines appearing,
A mouse's signature, quite clearly.
A second picture; a track triple
That through the wood some hares have stippled;
And master fox, know-all, sharp-witted,
Across the snow evenly printed
A string, paw upon paw, exactly,
As if but one pad left a track there….


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Then Michał gave a startled shudder,
Looked across the Nioman, huddled
Crouched behind a fir-tree, greedy-
Eyed, and unslung his shot-gun, speedy,
Excited, trembling, for he sees
A fierce wolf from the village flees;
Straight for Michał the wolf is heading!
With joy the man's heart started thudding:
‘Wait, brother, wait, old wolf! I'm making
A welcome for you, no mistaking!'
The wolf runs, tearing the snow quickly,
Only his tail is all a-flicker,
Someone has frightened him already.
‘Well, don't miss now, Michał, aim steady!'
Quickly he slides the safety lock
And to his shoulder lifts the stock;
‘Well, there you are, then, that's the way, now!'
Michał within himself is saying.
The wolf flies. Look, he's on the river…
Behind the hill he's disappeared,
Five minutes more, and he'll be here.
‘Stop now, aim steady, not a quiver!'
Michał stood stock-still, never blinking:
It will be soon now, he is thinking.
Soon, soon the brute will be seen, surely!…
Somehow the tension's too long-drawn, though -
He is not here, he's overdue.
What is the matter? What to do?
Michał gets up, looks all about him,
As if he'd lost something, sad, doubting,
And his hands tremble. If at least
He could but frighten the great beast!
But where is he, that son of Satan?
Michał is seized by agitation,
Does not know where to cast his sight;
He cuts across, looks to the right:
Will he find him in that direction?
If not, he'll make a close inspection
Of the snow, but all in vain:
There are no tracks there, it is plain.
He runs back - No! He's gone entirely!
On Michał falls a strange perspiring.
Towards the Nioman now he hurried,
And when he looked, in dread he shuddered,
Everything in him trembled, quaking,
He nearly lost his cap with shaking,
Michał saw why: the ice had opened,
And in the gap the wolf fought, groping!
He saw Michał - his teeth were gnashing,
And furiously his eyes were flashing.
Then Michal grabbed his gun, and gamely
At the wolf took careful aim, then
Lowered then gun, thoughtfully, slowly,
And at the wolf he looked more closely.
He is right here, why, you could touch him,
At the pit's edge his paws are clutching;
The crack is deep, the ice slopes steeply,
Slashed by the water, the poor creature
At the ice with his claws is scrabbling,
Thrusts his nose at it, teeth tear, grabbing,
He is all tense, struggling and flailing,
His efforts, though, are not availing,
And the wolf's strength grows ever weaker.
But death is dread and life lures sweetly!
He gathers up his strength's last leavings,
Still harder on his paws he's heaving,
But there is nothing left to grip now,
The paws grow weaker still, they slip now.
They scratch the ice but hardly dent it,
At the very brink still straining -
No shadow of a hope remaining
In this his last sad dread adventure -
Poor wolf, no one case save you! Fruitless
Your struggles are - all, all is useless!
Your strength cannot prolong much longer
The fight; the current grows still stronger.
The wolf is weaker, almost frozen,
The current grips him, he is losing,
But, struggling with the stream still stoutly,
Slowly he turned his head about him,
His eye toward Michal now raising,
No longer with fierce anger glaring,
He seemed to seek for help, despairing,
And - only pity met his gazing!
From his eyes stared such sadness mute,
No one would have the heart to shoot!

Once more the poor wolf tried to struggle,
Then on his back turned of a sudden,
Gave one brief mournful howl, rolled, wallowed,
Log-like beneath the ice was swallowed!
And all was gone - life, the undaunted
Struggle, all the lust for hunting.
Michal stood up then, sadly pondered,
Then lifting up his head, half-wondered,
As if he had a question keen
(Though there was no one to be seen):
‘Well, brother, what d'you say to this?'

Translated by Vera Rich