(Untitled)

[avrukinesku]

Поделитесь по-братски любимым англоязычным стихотвореньицем, т.е. не очень большим. Знаю кучку наизусь, но решил, что лучше знать, к примеру, сто. И это совсем другое качество жизни. Приступил к выбору. Возможно, ваш любимец пробьется и поступит в институт моего сознания. И будем мы одной крови, ты и я. Но только целиком, не ссылками

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[raf_sh]

I am weary of the plum and of the cherry,
And that buff moon in evening's aquarelle;
I have no heart within to make me merry,
I read of Heaven and, sometimes, fancy Hell.

All things are old: the new-born swallows fare
Through the Spring twilight on dead September's wing.
The dust of Babylon is in the air,
And settles on my lips the while I sing.

By Wallace Stevens
The Little June Book, XVII
W.S. to E.V.M.
June 5, 1909

Wallace Stevens
Piano Practice At The Academy of the Holy Angels

The time will come for these children, seated before their
long black instruments, to strike the themes of love-
All of them, darkened by time, moved by they know not
what, amending the airs they play to fulfil themselves;
Seated before these shining forms, like the duskiest glass,
reflecting the piebald of roses or what you will.
Blanche, the blonde, whose eyes are not wholly straight, in
a room of lustres, shed by turquoise falling,
Whose heart will murmur with the music that will be a
voice for her, speaking the dreaded change of speech;
And Rosa, the muslin dreamer of satin and cowry-kin,
disdaining the empty keys; and the young infanta,
Jocunda, who will arrange the roses and rearrange, letting
the leaves lie on the water-like lacquer;
And that confident one, Marie, the wearer of cheap stones,
who will have grown still and restless;
And Crispine, the blade, reddened by some touch,
demanding the most from the phrases
Of the well-thumbed, infinite pages of her masters, who will
seem old to her, requiting less and less her feeling:
In the days when the mood of love will be swarming for
solace and sink deeply into the thin stuff of being,
And these long, black instruments will be so little to them that
will be needing so much, seeking so much in their
music.

1919