He looks into my eyes,
and calls me to himself,
he's tender and he's mild.
I cann't throw off embrace.
I stand under his dome,
don't want to go away.
I'm caught by his love, caught!
And born by God - again!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is my favorite Shostokovich Symphony but it takes a real commitment of attention - it's like Mahler's 9th very tragic but rewarding. I'm playing it now - at least the opening adagio movement. This is really night music and it's 6am - not the best time for tragic music. But your poem relates a story of mystic rapture. It's an epiphany, an opening of the self to the divine invasion, as one modern mystic put it. God's presence is everywhere, there is no place of hiding. The music is reaching its climax, a tiny nudge and it will fly to Petersburg!