скачать книгу бесплатно
возможности того, что ты сейчас
войдешь и будешь здесь), —
вот если вскоре
увидимся мы в Вене, —
нет, не в Вене, а в Праге, нет, не там,
а в Братиславе, —
нет, – конечно, в Вене,
увидимся, то я наверняка
тебе скажу. Но только не пиши,
прошу тебя, ах, не пиши мне больше,
что ты приедешь в Вену: ты же знаешь —
я не приеду, но твои слова
как маленького пламени язык
неотвратимо к оголенной коже
прильнувший – да, но где ты, где ты?
В Вене?
Но где это?
А, знаю: это там,
где на перроне Южного вокзала,
за Laerchenfelderstrasse – мы прощались…
Твое лицо, явление природы,
померкло не от туч, а изнутри.
Прикосновенье губ – не поцелуй,
но лишь беспомощность
всей беспредельной жажды…
Еще: Thomas Dibdin/Emi Tajsin, сделано оно из прекрасных насмешливых стихов другого поэта.
Love and Glory
Old Emi was as brave a girl,
As ever graced a martial story.
Rene was fair as a rare black pearl;
He sighed for Love, and she for Glory.
With her his fate he meant to plight,
And told her many a gallant story;
Till war, their coming joys to blight,
Called her away from Love to Glory.
Old Emi met the foe with pride;
He followed, fought! – ah, hapless story!
In black attire, by Emi’s side,
He died for Love, and she for Glory.
A это посвящено Руслану, чудному, талантливому и загадочному.
St.Valentine's Day
I hold a glass of sweet champagne.
Sun beams on snows of my domain.
I sing of love, I live again;
Here’s to my darling Valentine!
Black beard enthroned on his pale cheek;
His dome – like forehead’s always bleak;
Dark clothes close the shape unique
Of my misterious Valentine.
His whisper flls the soul of mine;
His manner shows the grace divine;
His mind is deep like solemn brine;
Here’s to my pious Valentine!
He knows the art of high debate.
In sacred texts he does his bathe.
God in His mercy gave him grace,
And he’s the lover of the Fate.
Let’s drink a health to him who tried
The charms of Charm, the chains of Chain,
Who has endeavoured all the might
Of spell, and Gospel, and refrain.
This winter day has golden rim!
I raise my glass to skies above,
And I drink my champagne to him,
And he will drink his one to Love.
For he’s a poet on the brim
Of old sophisticated Time.
I think of him and sing of him;
Here’s to my noble Valentine!
Вобщем, раньше все стихи были либо о природе, либо о любви. Основная дихотомия – очарование – разочарование.
Love Songs
«Love me tender, love me sweet», —
Chirps the golden parrakeet;
«Love me little, love me long», —
Warns the wise precautious song.
I don't care a hair for these,
I have never prayed for peace.
I will sing another song:
Love me short but love me strong.
Two Prayers
* * *
Oh boy, why treat me like a saint?
Release me of your pious love;
My manners are by no means quaint;
I do not beam from high above,
I cannot dance upon my toes,
I cannot play the harp or fute,
I do not pardon all my foes,
My tune is shameless and acute;
No angel dwells in my brave soul:
He’d be afraid of eagles nest,
Afraid to touch my anger’s bowl,
Or dare touch me while I rest.
Ambitious, arrogant, and stern,
I never laugh when I am glad,
I never cry when I am sad,
I laugh and cry to gain concern.
Oh boy, I’ve never loved a man
For more than two years and a half;
Like treacherous Mab, I always plan
The ending act, the bitter laugh,
The parting scene, the painful moarn,
The heartquake, earthquake, skyquake roar,
The tears unshed, the words unborn,
The curse unbreathed, the slamming door…
Oh Gods, ye sacred and ye great!
Oh Cyprid sweet in pearly shell!
Do teach this boy to separate
Wise mortal woman from yourself!
Break down the apparition wraught,
Don’t make me go through inward change!
Just leave me to my happy lot:
To choose, or drop, or to revenge.
Child, do not treat me like I be
The Highest Being shaping lives!
Oh boy, and don’t you realize
That you’re thus shaping slave of me?
My faithful youth, I feel like caught
In silken net by gentle hand;
For human can betray his God,
And God just can’t betray his man.
* * *
How overwhelming, strange, and plain!
My loyal Knight has fallen in Love.
Who could believe I’d feel the pain
When he embraced that gentle dove?
When he pursued that cunning nude,
Who could believe I would be hurt?..
I do not play the harp or fute,
So let my violin now be heard.
And every soul that knows me well,
Knows well the passion of my will!
Same tune Orpheus played in hell
Descending down Elysium hill.
Ambitious, arrogant, and blind,
How dare you come before my eyes?
Just spare me of your sharp replies;
I dwell the world you’ve left behind.
Take your Martini and cigar,
Keep your guitar and hold your sword.
Now you’re experienced, brave, and taught,
I’ve made of you the one you are.
I’ve been a farmer to the weed;
I’ve played a priest throughout three shifts;
And who has made your shape complete?
And who has kindled all your gifts?
Who has revealed your power of thought?
Who’s welcomed every grandious plan?
Who’s taught you to behave, and court,
And love a girl, and be a man?
I combed your hair and gave you bread,
Taught you to sing when you’re in grief,
To weave the rhymes, and to forget,
And to respect, and to forgive!
You offered me your hand and heart;
I knew you boasting, lying, mad,
I saw you struggling, crying, sad,
I heard you swear we’d never part.
You broke your word, but I will not
Deprive you of my helping hand.
For human can betray his God,
