The Word in the beginning had struck the vital spark - The Earth was born in tortures, quakes and torsion; Enormous pieces broke off the mainland in the dark Becoming later islands in the ocean. And floating around with no freight or skipper Through centuries and ages, which, like a serpent, crept, The island changed its visage, a vagabond and tripper, But still the mainland Spirit it wonderfully kept. The Word of the beginning was soon replaced with deeds, And sailors then inhabited the planet, They rushed aboard those islands, and rigged them for their needs And called them “ships” because this name was splendid. But Land attracts the islands with that perpetual straining Which drags the islands home - they will be back, of course, Although on the islands sea rules are always reigning, They keep the earthly honor and continental laws. My theory is novel, in science quite unheard, It’s rather brave and free of any caution - If on the Earth in the beginning there was the Word, This word, without doubt, was “the ocean”!
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2001
Edited by Robert Titterton