Those Who Walk in the Woods

V6-MINI

A goodly youth can find no way to his lacquered halls of black;
A goodly youth can never pass where the undead guard his track.
Where that foul creature sits, damp smoke takes the place of air;
A concrete vault takes the place of sky — no room for life is there.

Those who walk in the woods hear the raven’s call,
    The path has opened once more by the olden stream;
    Those who walk in the woods smell black blood on the trail,
    And read how the world has shifted at its seam.

If you would find Koschei, turn your back on everyone;
If you would fight him, let no laughter leave your tongue.
Leave your human voice at home, where silent sleepers lie;
Leave all your tears behind — with tears, none cross to the other side.

To cross the line, you cannot be too alive;
To cross the line, you must become their kind.
Forget the creak of oars, the taste of wine, the scent of pine;
Become faceless and average, fall into line.

You can never return to the self you used to know;
You can never go home again — but that’s only half the woe.
Turn from the colours, the slights and the joys you knew back then;
You’re caught in the trap — now you’re one of them.

Those who walk in the woods see the ice fog lying below,
    It muffles the sound of their tread, so they can move around.
    Those who walk in the woods know when to go,
    And when to hide beneath the glamour from too-watchful hounds.

Now listen, goodly youth, and mark each word aright;
Tomorrow, bath and supper; then step into the night.
Go straightway west, cross over the stone bridge high,
Across the dark ravine where ferns against the rocks lie.

Give all your tears to dew, your laughter to the stone;
Give joy and sorrow to the wind — but keep one drop your own.
Entrust your pride and pity to the stream that winds below;
Bury your despair in earth — I’ve taught you all you need to know.

And open to the night sky; speak to it without a sound.
Let the Moon remember your young living face before it’s gone.
Dissolve in empty space, in stone, in water, and in air...
And then perhaps you’ll be — there, here, and nowhere.

Those who walk in the woods remember who they are,
    Their aspen arrows, taut and keen, fall straight in line.
    To reach Koschei is no easy task; not all will get that far...
    Those who walk in the woods return... sometimes.

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Koschei’s death is not in an egg — forget what old tales say; Koschei’s death is in himself — and that’s but half the woe. There are hunters enough who would gladly see him dead; But he’s no fool — he won’t come where the living tread. A goodly youth can find no way to his lacquered halls of black; A goodly youth can never pass where the undead guard his track. Where that foul creature sits, damp smoke takes the place of air; A concrete vault takes the place of sky — no room for life is there. Those who walk in the woods hear the raven’s call, The path has opened once more by the olden stream; Those who walk in the woods smell black blood on the trail, And read how the world has shifted at its seam. If you would find Koschei, turn your back on everyone; If you would fight him, let no laughter leave your tongue. Leave your human voice at home, where silent sleepers lie; Leave all your tears behind — with tears, none cross to the other side. To cross the line, you cannot be too alive; To cross the line, you must become their kind. Forget the creak of oars, the taste of wine, the scent of pine; Become faceless and average, fall into line. You can never return to the self you used to know; You can never go home again — but that’s only half the woe. Turn from the colours, the slights and the joys you knew back then; You’re caught in the trap — now you’re one of them. Those who walk in the woods see the ice fog lying below, It muffles the sound of their tread, so they can move around. Those who walk in the woods know when to go, And when to hide beneath the glamour from too-watchful hounds. Now listen, goodly youth, and mark each word aright; Tomorrow, bath and supper; then step into the night. Go straightway west, cross over the stone bridge high, Across the dark ravine where ferns against the rocks lie. Give all your tears to dew, your laughter to the stone; Give joy and sorrow to the wind — but keep one drop your own. Entrust your pride and pity to the stream that winds below; Bury your despair in earth — I’ve taught you all you need to know. And open to the night sky; speak to it without a sound. Let the Moon remember your young living face before it’s gone. Dissolve in empty space, in stone, in water, and in air... And then perhaps you’ll be — there, here, and nowhere. Those who walk in the woods remember who they are, Their aspen arrows, taut and keen, fall straight in line. To reach Koschei is no easy task; not all will get that far... Those who walk in the woods return... sometimes.

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