I was given a body—what should I do with it,
So unique and so mine?

For the quiet happiness to breathe and to live,
Whom, say, should I thank?

I am the gardener, I am also the flower,
In the dungeon of the world I am not alone.

On the windowpane of eternity,
My breathing, my warmth have weighed down.

A pattern is being imprinted on it,
Recent yet unrecognizable.

Let the mist of the moment drip—
the dear pattern cannot be crossed out.

Дано мне тело—что мне делать с ним,
Таким единым и таким моим?

За радость тихую дышать и жить
Кого, скажите, мне благодарить?

Я и садовник, я же и цветок,
В темнице мира я не одинок.

На стекла вечности уже легло
Мое дыхание, мое тепло.

Запечатлеется на нем узор,
Неузнаваемый с недавних пор.

Пускай мгновения стекает муть—
Узора милого не зачеркнуть.

~1909~

About the poem: In the symbolist stronghold of St. Petersburg, Osip Mandelshtam’s debut collection Kamen (Rock, published in 1913) rallied readers for whom words evoked a physical world of razor-sharp contours, rather than standing for an imagined realm of perplexing abstractions.

Jan Vihan Jan Vihan is a contributing writer for In The Fray.