«Квакерское кладбище в Нантакете» Лоуэлла. Прикрепляю картинками, поскольку уж очень много текста. Впечатляющий размах и бесчисленное множество параллелей, аллюзий, цитат.
Разрываюсь между Блейком, Вордсвортом, Донном, Элиотом, Эшбери и Лорой Касишке.
Ну пусть будет Вордсворт, 1798 год:
We Are Seven
———A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her... Читать далее
ого, аж ком в горле
Нравится стихотворение Эдгара По «Ворон». Классика американской литературы.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
«‘Tis some visiter,» I muttered, «tapping at my... Читать далее
Down the river drifts an axe
From the town of Byron
Let it float by itself
Fucking piece of iron
Ну и русская версия:
По реке плывёт топор
Из села Куеуево
Ну и пусть себе плывёт
Железяка куева Читать далее
Я очень люблю "Requiescat" Оскара Уайльда.
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart... Читать далее
Часть 22 из Песни о себе Уолта Уитмена.
You sea! I resign myself to you also—I guess what you mean,
I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers,
I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me,
We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land,
Cushion me soft, rock me in billowy drowse,
Dash me with amorous wet, I can repay... Читать далее
обожаю читать я Бернса,
углубляясь в загадочность текста.
представляю сие вам искусство,
на обозренье, суд и баловство
Coming Through The Rye
O Jenny is all wet, poor body,
Jenny is seldom dry:
She draggled all her petticoats,
Coming through the rye!
Coming through the rye, poor body,
Coming through the rye,
She draggled all her petticoats,
Coming through the... Читать далее
Allen Ginsberg - Song/Аллен Гинзберг - Песня
The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction
the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.
Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
constructs
a miracle,
in imagination
anguishes
till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
burning with purity--
for the burden of... Читать далее
Люблю Darkness от Байрона.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and wentand came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all... Читать далее
the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate... Читать далее