TULIN TÄHTVERESTI CAME FROM TÄHTVERE
Jaan Kaplinskitrans. the poet and Fiona Sampson (from Estonian)
Tulin Tähtverest. Oli pühapäeva õhtu.
Lõpp-peatuseni sõitsin mina üksi.
Maantee oli vaikne - ei ühtegi autot.
Tuul vakatanud. Ainult tähed
ja noorkuu sirp kumasid jõe kohal.
Kahju oli minna. Oleks tahtnud astuda
teelt kõrvale kõnnumaale ja jääda vaatama
seda kuud, neid tähtkujusid, millest mitmed
olen talvega jälle unustanud (näiteks sellesama,
mis asub otse Suure Vankri
tagumise telje pikendusel), aga kõige enam
seda taevast ennast, taevasina, mis on peaaegu
niisama sügav ja kummaline nagu ükskord ammu,
kakskümmend aastat tagasi, kui olime kambakesi
lõkke ääres Tähtvere metsas ja ma tulin
külateed Tartu poole ühe tüdrukuga kaelastikku.
sinine värv on palju lihtsam meenutada
kui nimed, kui pealkirjad, kui näod,
isegi nende näod, keda oled kord armastanud.
I came from Tähtvere. It was Sunday evening.
I was the only fare to the final stop.
I stepped out. The road was silent - not a single car.
The wind had fallen silent. Only the stars
and the sickle of the new moon were shining above the river.
I felt sorry I had to go. I would have liked to step
aside from the path onto the wasteland and to stay still,
looking at this moon, these constellations, several of whom
I had forgotten again during the winter. But most of all
at the sky itself, the blue of the sky that was nearly
as deep and strange as once long ago,
twenty years ago when we were sitting and drinking wine
around a campfire in the nearby forest, and I came
back to Tartu on a village road with a girl,
arms around each other's necks.
The blue is much easier to remember
than names, titles or faces,
even the faces of those you have once loved.

Copyright © Jaan Kaplinski 2002, transl. © Jaan Kaplinski & Fiona Sampson


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