THE AUTUMN

By Yar Slavutych

The slender poplars still preserve the fever

Which flushed them in the mornings of July;

However now, the pond, with heaving bosom,

Makes ducks cavort upon her angry waves.

The greybeard watchman of the melon garden

Still plugs for crucians, gay with purple fins,

Accumbent on the dam He knows how luscious

The roasted carp flesh tastes at supper time!

Along the stubble fields, its farewell finished,

An ancient summer hastens on. The trees

With autumn-gilded plums direct its exit.

There, side by side, the sturdy peasants and

Their robust wives and stubby little children,

And love-struck girls with ribbons in their heir,

Regard the summer in its haze retreating,

And hallo, "Thank you, dearest season of

The year! Your filled out bins with fruits a plenty;

You were an honest ally to our land."

 

The greybeard watchman of the melon garden

Has waved: "Good-bye, good luck, and bon voyage!"

 

(From Oasis by Yar Slavutych; New York, Vantage Press)

Copyright © The Ukrainian Weekly, September 24, 1960, No. 184, Vol. LXVII

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