Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die — oh, let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
Oh, Kinsmen! We must meet the common foe;
Though far outnumbered, let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one deathblow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
Claude McKay
"If We Must Die"
1920s, Harlem
"Chuzhie stihi" is "Somebody Else's Poetry" in Russian. The choice is hectic; the poems are posted absolutely voluntarily, according to my taste and daily impressions. Many of them I know by heart, regularly murmuring them in the course of my daydreaming, but often I fish out of the Net peculiar verses that tune into my current mood.
Показаны сообщения с ярлыком McKay. Показать все сообщения
Показаны сообщения с ярлыком McKay. Показать все сообщения
воскресенье, октября 14, 2012
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