알렉산드르 푸쉬킨. 꽃

 

알렉산드르 푸쉬킨. 꽃
말라비틀어진 향기없는 꽃 한 송이를
까마득히 잊고 있었던 책갈피에서 찾았다
그리고 이 알 수 없는 느낌
어느새 내 마음 깊숙이 안기어 온다

다정한 만남을 기념하기 위해서였을까
운명적 이별을 기억하기 위해서였을까
홀로 외로운 산책을 추억하기 위해서였는지
평화로운 들도 아닌 그늘진 숲에서

그는 아직도 그곳에 살고 있을까?
그렇다면 이 시간 그들 보금자리는 어디일까
아니면 알 수 없이 시든 꽃들처럼
그 꽃도 시들어버린 건 아닌지

 

 

The Floweret   by Alexander Pushkin
A floweret, withered, odorless
In a book forgot I find;
And already strange reflection
Cometh into my mind.

Bloomed, where? when? In what spring?
And how long ago? And plucked by whom?
Was it by a strange hand? Was it by a dear hand?
And wherefore left thus here?

 

Was it in memory of a tender meeting?
Was it in memory of a fated parting?
Was it in memory of a lonely walk?
In the peaceful fields or in the shady woods?

Lives he still? Lives she still?
And where their nook this very day?
Or are they too withered
Like unto this unknown floweret?