Перад Будучыняй Янка Купала Стаім мы перад будучыняй нашай I ўсё варожым, сочым ейны ход... Ці ўскрэсьнем мы, душою ўпаўшы, зьвяўшы, Каб выйсьці ў сьвет, як нейкі здольны род... Сягоньня мы жывём і ўдзень мы блудзім Пад маскай, асьляпляючаю нас, I што сказаць самым сабс і людзям, Ня ведаем, ня можам, хоць і час. Заціснуты, задушаны, як мышы Пад жорсткім венікам, з усіх бакоў, Шукаем, як сьляпыя, ня згубіўшы Таго свайго, што наша ад вякоў. Пакрыўленыя колісь нашы душы Дагэтуль выпрастаць ня ў моцы йшчэ Снуёмся, ў думках зводных затануўшы, А хтось, а штось і мучыць і пячэ. Цябе чакаем, будучыні нейкай, Што прыйдзеш, недзе ўсіх нас павядзеш, I гінем марна пад чужой апекай, Адбіўшыся ад родных вехаў, меж. А хтось далёкі, ці хтось можа блізкі Засеў за наш бясёдны, сытны стол I кідае, як з ласкі, нам агрызкі, А мы к зямлі з падзякай гнёмся ўпол. Нявольніцтва й жабрацтва так нас зьела I так нам высмактала з сэрца сок, Што нат у вочы глянуць, плюнуць сьмела Ня сьмеем, стоптаныя на пясок. Там чутна: Беларусь! Там — Незалежнасьць! А там — «Паўстань пракляцьцем»... Ну, а мы? Мы ў страху... дум крутня... разьбежнасьць... Бяз толку крыльлем лопаем, як цьмы. О, так, як цьмы, як спуджаны вароны! . . I слухаем і нюхаем тут, там: Які павеяў вецер на загоны — Заходні, ўсходні, й ці ад нас, ці к нам? Аграбленыя з гонару й кашулі, 3 свайго прыпыну выгнаныя вон, Мы дзякуем, што торбы апранулі На нас ды з нашых нітак-валакон. Зь кійком жабрачым так мы, паўналеткі, Брыдзём, паўзём у сьвет — скрозь неўпапад. I прысягаем, клічам Бога ў сьветкі, Што мы — ня мы, што нехта вінават... I так жывём, сябе саміх ня знаўшы, Учора, сяньня лазім між канаў... Няўжож-бы хто й над будучыняй нашай Навек залом Ітракляты заламаў? Няўжо нас не аб'ясьніць розум ясны, I не пакінем біцца з кута ў кут? Няўжо кліч вечны будзе ў нас нагтрасны — Кліч бураломны: вызваленьне з пут!?

We Stand Before Our Future by Janka (Yanka) Kupała We stand before our future And surmise, observe its course... With souls downcast, withered, can we be reborn To go into the world a capable race... Today we live and in daylight stray Under a mask which blinds us, And what can we say to ourselves and others We do not know, we cannot, though it is time. Squeezed and crushed from all sides Like mice under the hard broom, We search, like blind men, for what we have not lost, For what has been ours for countless ages. Our souls, which once had been twisted, We still have not the strength to straighten We wander sunk in deceptive thoughts, And someone, something, torments and burns us. We are awaiting thee, future of some kind, That thou wilt come, wilt somewhere lead us all, And we perish futilely under foreign surveillance, Torn from our own landmarks, our own fields. And someone distant, or it may be someone close, Has sat down at our table, full and festive, And, as though conferring a favor, throws us scraps, And we in gratitude bend down to the ground. Slavery and beggarhood have so eaten us away And have so sucked the juices from our hearts, That even to look him in the eye, to spit boldly We dare not, we who have been trampled in the sand. There we hear: Belorussia! There — Independence! And there — "Arise ye, prisoners" ... Well, and we? We are afraid... confusions of thought... contradictions... Senselessly we flap our wings, like bats. Oh yes, like bats, like frightened crows! And we listen, we smell, here and there: What wind blows over our plots — A west wind, an east wind, from us or towards us? Robbed of our honor and our shirt, Driven out from our shelter, We thank them for clothing us in beggar's garb, Made from our own threads and fibers. Thus we, though of age, with a beggar's crutch Straggle, crawl into the world — all inopportune. And we swear, we call on God to witness, That we are not we, that someone is at fault... And so we live, not knowing ourselves, Yesterday, today, crawling between the ditches... Can it be that on our future also, someone With cursed magic has forever laid a curse? Can it be that lucid reason will not illuminate our way, And we shall not cease our shifting from one corner to another? Can it be that our eternal adjurations will prove to be in vain — The stormy adjurations: Freedom from our chains!

[ Менск, 24. 1. 1922 ]

Notes:

• Source of the English translation of the poem and the following commentary: Opposition to Sovietization in Belorussian Literature, Anthony Adamovich (1958), pages 59-61.

  • [Comments by Adamovich prior to the text of the poem:] Soon after Kupała wrote [the poem] "You Have Been Invited," he made an even bolder attack on Soviet "reality" in "We Stand Before Our Future" [Pierad budučyniaj; January 24, 1922]. This poem was published in the first and only issue of Adradžeńnie [Renaissance], which was to have been the organ of the New Renaissance. Two days after it came out, however, the periodical was withdrawn from circulation so that "We Stand Before Our Future" could be cut from its pages; . . . this was the first instance in Belorussia of this type of "confiscation" by censorship. Bolshevik critics have always considered "We Stand Before Our Future" Kupała's greatest "sin," but they have never brought themselves to quote so much as one line from it. The poem was circulated in manuscript form, but since [then,] it has remained almost unknown.

  • [Comments by Adamovich after the text of the poem:] These lines require no comment; they are obviously designed to arouse national revolutionary consciousness and action by national self-flagellation. . . . Kupała himself, when forced to "confess" his "sins" in 1930, mentioned these two works [his play Natives (1922) and the poem "We Stand Before Our Future"] and his poem Arise (1919) as among those most strongly tinged with "National Democratic sentiments."

• In A History of Byelorussian Literature (Die Literatur der Weissrussen): From its Origins to the Present Day (Arnold B. McMillin, 1977), the title of the poem is referred to as "Before the Future".

• The text of the Belarusian (Cyrillic) language version comes from the book, Спадчына: Выбар Паэзіі Янкі Купалы   (BINIM, 1955). (Title in English: Heritage: Selected Poems of Janka Kupała.)