The Song Of The Tree - Translation (Rrus.) - Poem by Lyudmila Purgina
From antology of kabardianian poetry
A river does carry the chips of the tree,
Loading them on the bank...
And what do you hear? The song of the tree...
The song, which is worth to be gained.
- I sing it with pleasure and a sonorous tune,
Let's listen while walking along.
I'm only a stick to be seen for you though,
But I'm so dear in cost.
I blossom in spring as a pear-tree fine,
You eat my fruits when you are hungry.
I'm watering branches in flow so fast,
But when I'm dry, burn in fire.
I'm a firewood, tie in a bundle,
And when I'm a blank - worth for hat-making.
I'm useful for all and in need every day,
As a black coal help iron melting.
I'm dear to all, I'm the finding for all:
As a craddle - for baby, a boat - to helmsman.
And here - a bench, there - only a trough,
Here - the shell for the mother's bolter.
I can be a bridge high above the great river,
And can be an arch for a bow,
And I'm a butt for a rifle, when there
A hunter sees a gamebird in swamp.
And I'm a splinter, I burn in a fire!
And I raise as a minareth high.
And for a brave soldier I'm desired
The stock for the gun, for his rifle.
As a bludgeon - used in contest, competition,
As a hook - used to hang a carcass of a ram,
As a scythe - used to mow the harvest in great fields,
As a measuring pole - I'll measure them.
When a guest leaves a dust of his road,
I become for him a three-legged table.
I'm a rim and an axle, and a spoke in wheel,
A tureen - for a hostess, a stuff - for a wanderer.
I'm skirting firmly the wheels,
And in mortar I pound the clean millet.
And I'm a card [comb] for producing a wool,
Then - I'm a mixer, and then - even a scoop...
The song has much more lines... :)
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