KAZAN HILL
Anon. (oral tradition)	trans. Keith Bosley - from Komi
Va-dore-ke me lećća, me vylyn zld'ej vyjym, me vylyn zld'ej vyjym. "Jedžyd juśej, mića, nylej, myil'a te me vyle lgaśin? A l'i mdte pondin l'ubitny? Munam meked Kazań gra vyle gul'ajtny!" Nylys i šujis: "Me pe sen aćym bydmi das-vit ared'ź, gul'ańka vyle peti, zonjas śilem vyle." Zonmys i šu: "Kazań gra vylad byden sakar-jurjas sulale, gyryś šorias vizuvteny: byden seni grd vina, posńi šorjasys ke vizuvte, byden seni sd'ź vina. Va-doras ke pe leććam, byden sen šlkvej turun. Pol'e vylas ke munam, byden dona-ćenaa izjas!" Seki nylys i brd'd'źis: "Zonmej, zonmej, molod'ećej, myl'a te men jjjedlan? Kazań gra vylad ved abu sakar-jurjas, a byden seni saldackej jurjas sulaleny! Gyryś šorjasys ved vizuvteny - -abu grd vina a byden saldackej virjas! Posńi šorjasys ved vizuvteny - abu sd'ź vina a byden saldackej śin-va! Va-doras ved abu šlkvej turun a byden saldackej jur-śi! Pol'e vylas ved abu dona-ćenaa izjas a byden saldackej jur-ly! Seni menam musa drugej kujile! Kyćće e me sećće muna! Sećće-ke ved me mded'ća, menam śinmej tupkyśas brdemśys!"	As I walked by the riverside my soul would not be still. My swan so white, my maid so fair how have I done you ill? Do you love someone else? Let us stroll upon Kazan Hill! The maiden answered: Ever since I passed my fifteenth year I have spent many evenings with lads and songs and cheer. Ah, said the lad, but Kazan Hill with sugar-loaves is teeming: there are great rivers of red wine small brooks with white wine streaming. Along the banks is silky grass for us to rest upon and where we walk across the field is many a precious stone! The maid burst into tears: Smart lad why make a fool of me? On Kazan Hill no sugar-loaves but soldiers' heads I'll see. Great rivers, yes, not of red wine but loud with soldiers' blood: small brooks, indeed, not of white wine but soldiers' tears in flood. Along the banks no silky grass but fallen soldiers' hair and on the field no precious stones but skulls, skulls everywhere! And that is where my lover lies: why should I thither go? For if I should, for sure my eyes with tears would overflow.

From The Great Bear, an anthology of Finno-Ugrian oral poetry.
The Komi, aka Zyryans, live in NE European Russia, their capital Syktyvkar .

Trans. Copyright © Keith Bosley - with acknowledgements to the Finnish Literature Society

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