To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

I’ve come back to my city. These are my own old tears,
my own little veins, the swollen glands of childhood.

So you’re back. Open wide. Swallow
the fish-oil from the river lamps of Leningrad.

Open your eyes. Do you know this December day,
the egg-yolk with the deadly tar beaten into it?

Petersburg! I don’t want to die yet!
You know my telephone numbers.

Petersburg! I’ve still got the addresses:
I can look up dead voices.

I live on back stairs, and the bell,
torn out nerves and all, jangles in my temples.

And I wait till morning for guests that I love,
and rattle the door in its chains.

Translation: W.S. Merwin

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

The Man in the Panther's Skin

If Fate, the destroyer of all,
destroy me,
an orphan I shall die travelling,
unmourned by parent,
nor will those who brought me up, nor the friend whom I trust, enshroud me;
then indeed will your merciful, tender heart have pity on me.

I have countless possessions weighed by none:
Give the treasure to the poor,
free the slaves;
enrich every orphan without means; they will be grateful to me,
remember me,
bless me;
I shall be thought of.

Translation: Marjory Scott Wardrop (1912)

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

Hidden Things

From all I did and all I said
let no one try to find out who I was.
An obstacle was there that changed the pattern
of my actions and the manner of my life.
An obstacle was often there
to stop me when I’d begin to speak.
From my most unnoticed actions,
my most veiled writing—
from these alone will I be understood.
But maybe it isn’t worth so much concern,
so much effort to discover who I really am.
Later, in a more perfect society,
someone else made just like me
is certain to appear and act freely.

Translation: Edmund Keeley, Philip Sherrard

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

Scales

In my old age I'll wear grey,
when my friends' faces are there no more,
and my acquaintances' names are on stone.

And when these stones have become unbearably many,
I shall join their company
and quietly close my doors.

Translation: James Brockway

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

The Rough Sea

The rough sea -
Extending toward Sado Isle,
The Milky Way

Translation: R.H. Blyth

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

Travel Safely

‘Where are you going, in such hurry?’

The desert-thorn asked the wind.

‘My heart is torment here -
don’t you want to get away?
From this dusty desert?’

‘It’s all I long for, but
what can I do, with my feet tied like this…’

‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’

‘Wherever it may be, except here, where I am.’

‘Travel safely then! But my friend, I beg you,
When you have passed safely from this brutal wasteland,
And reached blossoms, and the rain,
Greet them from me.’

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

Blessed is the wise man who clearly knows
the ways of all the universe
and happy likewise is the fool
who never doubts his wisdom.
But let a man not fall between
to suffer doubts of right and wrong
that rise from the workings of a mind that's sown
with just a bit of knowledge.

Translation: Daniel H.H. Ingalls

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website.

Tongue will yearn for gift of speech, speech for turn of phrase,
Poetic meets will stand bereaved of my style and grace.

New goblets wheel around, doubtless, in your town,
My old wine will sure be missed, saqi, in your age.

I, of course, did restless toss ever since I left my home,
My homeland too must have missed this exile unfortunate.

To them we owe the lamps of love burning bright in every heart,
The world will yearn for the man of art who once did fill the stage.

Change the gardener if you can, otherwise in vain,
You'll look for the rose and cypress, and their cooling shade.

If the cruel wind of times continues to sway,
Earth wil lie drained of water, sun deceived of rays.

Translation: K.C.Kanda

To find out more about this poem, please visit this page on the Wall Poems Leiden website (NL/Eng).