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In the village of Silbi

The sun began shining gently
All of a sudden in late March.
Snow is melting fast
In Silbi, a Chuvash yal.
Slopes and hills became dark,
‘Cause there is no snow.
A wealth of green grass
Brings sunshine at last.
Winter, cold and severe
Weeping, grieving starts.
Bitterly cries with cold tears
And mourns for old days.
In ravines and hollows
Water’s flowing with a roar;
Winter’s weeping. What to do?
The sun is shining warmer.
Winter tears with a noise
Away have gone, sparkling.
And along the street
Children frolic, playing.

* * *

The salutary spring
Glitters in hot rays.
It gives pleasure to all,
Awakening from hibernation.
The dark forest comes back to life,
And puts on green clothes,
The steppe is blossoming,
And is proud of beauty.
Everywhere gentle flowers
Blossom smelling sweet.
Birds’ chirping from a height
Is heard, not abating.
A lark’s trill shivers
In the immense skies.
And lambs jump nimbly
On grass at the boundary.
A small adept shepherd
Plays a small horn.
Being hungry, with melancholy
Looks at the village of Silbi.

* * *

And in Silbi riches are numerous,
Crowns of trees are like tents.
Under willow branches here
Houses are like temples.
The whole settlement in its term
Is surrounded by wattle fences.
Many ricks at threshing floors,
Gardens are full of vegetables.
There are rows of houses
Covered with durable boards.
Along the streets there are gardens
Yielding honey every spring.
As if stone walls, there are
Fences stand around houses.
Folds of every gate are
Decorated with carvings.
From afar Silbi may be taken
Even as a certain small town.
A famous Chuvash family, it seems,
Made a great fortune here.

* * *

Along the ravine, near the village -
The river’s flow is turbulent.
There play, having fun,
The sun’s patches gaily.
Radiant and happy, -
The sky’s the river – a violence of colours,
The willow still looks at ripples,
And admires its own beauty.
On the bridge an old man
Fishes - he is anxious,
With a wrinkled worm
He wants to deceive fishes.
A bit far from him, some
Children splash in the river,
But for grandfather himself
Their tricks are unpleasant.
Someone goes along the bridge,
It seems, he goes across the river,
And then in the thick woods
Disappears a passer-by.

* * *

Life in Silbi’s like paradise
For all people in the village,
One cannot even feel,
As merry days are passing by.
Chirping of birds and human speech
Are heard everywhere...
Spring song in zenith
Comes in your ears.
Along the streets, as ulputs
Peasants walk proudly.
In the background here and there
Children play gaily.
Beautiful girls walk as swans,
Along the streets also,
Their attractive ornaments
Glitter in the sunshine.
Men dance at the gate, -
There is clatter, a singing burst.
People live in prosperity
Here, in Silbi, a rich yal.

* * *

There is nobody stronger than man,
None in the whole world:
Neither in waters, nor in steppes
There’s nobody stronger than man.
But a strong man too is
Subject to circumstances:
Money and alcohol too
Make people mad.
And any Chuvash would become
Drunk in the week of Great Kalym!
In the cellars not by chance
Beer barrels became empty.
They drank a lot and ate a lot,
And danced there all enough.
Isn’t it the only way
To make a holiday merry?
There are more and more
Tipsy people after noon.
Loud voices in the evening
Echo through the woods.

* * *

Drinking alcohol too much
Chuvash becomes too tired -
Even spring mud for him
Is like a place to have a rest.
Chuvash’s lying as an ulput,
And doesn’t think where he is,
Along the street he cries
His song as loud as he can:
“Work hard, and eat a lot,
Perspire much, and drink much!
If there is vodka, any man
Will drink it, won’t say no.
When it’s time - we shall work,
When it’s time - we shall drink.
If there’s nothing to drink at home,
We’ll visit our neighbour.
If he hasn’t any drink,
We’ll drink uiran.
If there’s no uiran -
We’ll wait for God to bring.”

* * *

Kalym is over, the snow has melted,
It’s high time to plough the land;
Chuvash can’t become sober,
Hangover’s passing hard.
Enough! Drunken Chuvashes,
Get up to begin your work!
The hills have become green,
Water in the river falls.
Hey, brothers, get up,
Look around yourselves:
Repair your wooden ploughs,
And put the cart in order.
Wash with cold water
Your hands and face.
Eat your meal to better
Your strength to plough.
Harness your horse
And go to sow,
Hey, God, bless us,
Let the harvest be a success!


 
Categories: Narspi
 
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Last edited by: Admin, 2015-11-29 18:29:58. Views 1023.
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