Nikolai Nekrasov, trans. by Ilya Gutner from Russian
You are not forgotten

"Yesterday I was still of some use to
My neighbors -- But I can't -- not anymore.
I am tired. This bullet is my only
Other -- now my last -- remaining happiness.
It has been my comfort and my hope, now
It is my deliverance -- or at least
My release"

That was your will. We knew no more.
Later, we learned how for years you deceived us,
Gave the poor all you earned, made yourself poor.
The minister's scared, What if you had reasons?
It's a terrible Sin, he would but he can't --
We took the body to a ditch in the distance
Where the devil whipped wind screams, there we went.
Where your corpse in our hands in a casket
We carried, buried you in the clay and the sand.
We commended to joy everlasting
Your beauteous soul.
We found in the fen
Such a rock as you were: craggy, hidden
And brown, broad and would move for no man.
And no hypocrite cried, It's forbidden,
And no coward dared tell us, I can't.
And no body complained for the curse of Eden
When we hauled the great rock sheer 'cross the land,
When we hewed it and on it boldly engraved
Who you were, where you came from, and where you went.
We set it over your coffin, your life -- and death to proclaim:
Now your tomb is adored by the starving you saved,
A solace and lesson to all.
But why must graves be made
To make us see what goodness is alive?

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