Rien

I fell in love with emptiness

Of sentence ends,

In which I put,

With shivery uncertain hands,

This meaning.

So painfully ashamed

Of my irregular vector,

Forcing myself out of my own muteness,

Challenging myself to open –

What was it all for?

 

Nothing.

 

Pre-emptive nothingness,

Moist, cold, and thick greyness.

I fell in love with emptiness.

There was nothing in it.

Famous blue raincoat – part 2

Thanks – for the trouble you took from her eyes.

All along it was there for good,

And no one, indeed, ever tried.

 

Thanks – for you made her a flake of your life,

Shiny, weightless, amusing and free

Best before: Friday, quarter to five.

 

Thanks – for you showed her: no matter how good,

You just had all the flakes in your world,

You just hardly could care for one more.

 

Thanks – so sincerely, as never before,

For the trouble you took from her eyes,

Stunned at it for a while – and placed back.

Some famous blue raincoat – part 1

 

He made me so aware 

Of the nods, and edges,

And witty shingles of my

Queerly shaped uneven spirit

And body that reacted bluntly and 

Shun itself into exhaustion.

He made me yearn for easiness of being with him

While I would never be but a flake

Of his illuminated life.

And though I hurt to be a flake,

He made me live at once.

Indeed, he took the trouble from my eyes…

 

history

… and when I’m asked upon the life I saw

and thought, and felt, and cast in line and rhyme

amidst this world – immediate to God:

I did not less, perhaps, I did not more,

but sat and span my yarn, assembling time…

Так нежно…

Так нежно.

Так тихо и нежно,

Как воздух, что в горле, смутившись

Банальностью голосовых связок,

Беззвучно, пугливо, интимно

Вплавляется в бесконечность

Движений, улыбок и взглядов.

Как кончики пальцев,

чуть вздрогнув,

смолкают, не смея коснуться,

И дух раздосадован этой –

Незримой. Неумолимой.

До бешенства вездесущей –

Тончайшей прозрачной границей.

Ах, как мы исполнены такта!

С Тобой – говорить и смеяться,

Лелея те взгляды украдкой,

Невинные прикосновенья –

Так близко и так бесконтактно.

Как будто мы малые дети…

Так нежно, легко и безмерно,

Лишь вовремя, как при румбе,

Шаг

сделать

назад, – и смирно

Бежать по привычным спинам…

Так нежно, украдкой, с улыбкой,

Так трогательно и… параллельно

Эвклидово наше пространство.

As I

As I

dance

across

the water edge

of freshly gained illusions, hopes, and wishes,

 

as I

flash

a smile

across

the chlor-free pages

of some thoughts, enwrapped in words and figures,

 

as I

touch

in passing

secret

backside

of your trained, well-balanced mind,

 

I am

almost

unafraid

to fly.

and still.

Don´t let me fall between the lines.

 

I thank Thee

It has been good and fine, my Lord,

Through all this time, this life,

Thou hast been patient and kind to me.

I thank Thee.

 

All of this cheerful hopelessness,

all of this blind and deaf, and muted glory,

of well-established and successful matrimony.

All the complexity of spirits, blessed,

and cursed, and tied to one another,

colliding in their futile try to melt

together. Ever so close they dwelled

over the threshold of each other´s soul,

two willful, ever failing lovers…

 

Past

I saw past the obvious.

Past all the traffic lights,

Screaming red,

throwing their desperate glances

across my way and into my face.

 

I saw past those tiny symptoms of overload,

of the ever-growing loneliness,

eternal existential alone-ness,

being lost between the lines of being kind,

nice, understanding, caring,

between the peacekeeping and appeasement.

 

I saw and felt all of it coming,

I knew it all, and yet I saw past it,

How I wished to be blind!

And now it all passed…

Talking of Tennyson: Transience

So runs my dream: but what am I?

An infant crying in the night:

An infant crying for the light:

And with no language but a cry.

(In Memorian A.H.H., 54)

And so I walk across the sites

Of past and present intertwined,

Caleidoscope of shapes and lines,

These labyrinths of shade and light.

.

These labyrinths of day and night,

These human passions carved in stone,

They laught at you before they´re gone

And burst and burn as they collide.

.

They burst and perish – ask not, why.

Scattered across the shingles ashore,

One may not ask nor hope for more.

Nor will, nor soul, nor mind survive.

.

The Sense is conceal´d. Behind the veil –

And what am I to disobey:

All of them, all, who dreamt and prayed,

They all have passed! And so will we…

Let my voice sound…

Let my voice sound,

as it never did before,

sing, sing,

sing like a dreamy madman,

cheerful, calm and blessedly hopeless,

smiling to the invisible universe,

multiple realities of one´s heart,

smiling back,

Sounding back,

Resonating …

 

Let my voice flow,

break the damm of my choking silence,

of my terror to call things

by their names,

real and utmost,

Endlessly fascinating….

Let it break out of the hoarseness

and whisper

and this throat,

so soar of yearning to speak out,

yearning to yell,

to dwell,

to sing,

to pray,

to call out your name?