I race, but I race in other fashion On the dew, on puddles, on the grass Ambling is that how they call my motion, That means I race as no any horse. But my riderís always on my chine, Lashing by his spurs my abdomen. I agree to run with herd of mine, But without the saddle and the rein. If a dagger is not free from scabbard, Less than needle it is dangerous. Here I am hoppled so and saddled. Bridle-bit is tearing my jaws. They have laid injuries on my chine. I quake near water from the strain. I agree to run with herd of mine, But without the saddle and the rein. Iím today about to be striving Iím a favorite now on this track! I am sure: all stake onto my winning, But not I, jock wheezes on my back. Grinning are spectators in first lines. Jockís spurs dig in me with acute pane. I agree to run with herd of mine. But without the saddle and the rein. Having nursed the malice on each other, On the start line steeds are dancing, mad With the anger, with the rage, with ardor! Splatter of the foam they all shed! Art of riding my jock knows fine. In the tribunes his price does not wane. Oh, how would I run with herd of mine, But without the saddle and the rein. Nay, the hills will never be of gold stuff! I the last shall cross the finish goal! I to him will have remembered spurs tough! Hobbling Iíll be running behind all! Sounds bell! The jockey on my chine Laughs foretasting dough he shall gain. Oh, how would I run with herd of mine, But without the saddle and the rein. Whatís with me? How dare I to run faster? To my foe submit I like a foal! Of myself Iím now not the master! I canít help to be first at the goal! Of all deeds what have been left to me? Itís to chuck my jockey from my chine, And to run without my enemy As if I was in the herd of mine! I have come! Behind heís plodding stumbling On the dew, on puddles, on the sod. For the first time I was not the ambler! I have strived for winning as the lot.
© Eugeny Koshelev. Translation, 2015