The Word

          by Nikolai Gumilev
              (1886-1921)

Long ago, when the world unfolded,
As Almighty God would drop His face,
With the word the burning sun was halted
And the cities would be laid to waste.

And the eagle would be stopped from flying,
And the stars clung to the moon in fright,
If abruptly, like a scarlet fire,
The word drifted in the heavens' heights.

But on earth the numbers were created,
Like the cattle yoked and confined,
For the numbers always clearly stated
Every shade of meaning they defined.

And the gray-haired patriarch, contented
To have settled good and evil for himself,
When with the sound's mystery presented,
In the sand drew numbers with his staff.

But we have lost within the dark oblivion
The lucid truth amidst our earthly lot,
For in the Gospel, that by John was given,
It was stated that the Word was God.

And the word has now been inserted
In the confines of the worldly shell,
And like dead bees within a hive deserted,
Lifeless words give off a foul smell.
 

                                --translated by Alexander Shaumyan