Natalya Gorbanevskaya
My Fortinbras, poor brother
My Fortinbras, poor brother,
behold this, my Denmark,
sprung from my side,
the very image of me.
And this, my game, behold,
now it is yours –
the path of virtue, obstacles without end,
the mystery of being.
Take all, all that was mine.
Or else, stop, wait,
and then change your mind.
You’re not yet king.
Leave now, the drums silent,
let this part be.
[1962]
Translated by Daniel Weissbort
Page(s) 65
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