Наши авторы в переводах:

Евгений Горный

Eugene Gorny

SELECTED  POEMS

Избранные стихотворения из книги "Образ мира"

DREAM I I dreamed you were dead heart-crushed I awoke the streets were as empty as fire heart-beating - a tunnel, a voice darkness was falling through unmerciful snow on the black couch a pallor stretched out your arm - a falling leaf. tell me why the shadows of trees are everlasting in night? AUTUMN Autumn has come and all things are beginning to die were falling leaves yellow red blue black so unwilling to fall and therefore silently circling silently circling over the corpses BLOOD-CROSSED she has sick eyes he has a sick imagination blood-crossed they count the drops dumb silence of muteness envelops melting bodies neither bare nor naked simply purely bodily she has sick eyes he has a sick imagination neither bare nor naked crucified on the cross DREAM II I moved on the staircase beyond the space through the fire hollows ice fields across the bursts of submachine guns outside and within me crushing the perfection of cylinder and tetrahedron in this sleepless breathing sea where life is only a form of nought floods of letters and others emotions pierce me through CROSSING THE DESERT Crossing the desert where forwards and backwards are indistinguishable to sight, with sand in his eyes and cloudless sky, without any occurrence, only the sun up and down, or, occasionally, a tushkan crawls out, whistles and disappears behind sand-hills; in this desert where the song of sand is heard only by the ears of sand, and by the skin of a lizard on the sand; where every thought is embodied in the form of prickle or whistle, where to see a cyclist means to see a mirage; crossing the desert, lifting and lowering his feet, gazing in front of him, lifting and lowering his feet, the camel crosses the desert. SUMMER Summer has come. The woman has undressed and, naked, walks out onto the balcony. As usual, the street below was bustling, the maple was green, its folifge rustling, terrible heat. Shadows were running, fluff flying. I walked out after her. She gently bent her back and knees, and now I copulate with her. DEPRIVED OF EVERITHING Deprived of everything your last skin taken beaten up and thrust with an awl thrown onto the rubish, and left you have nothing - and had you anything ever? - here you are, smeared with faeces, naked, in the desert you stand Translated by Mass and the author GOD How dry is my mouth, my sweet Lord! Give me a sip, a drop of spittle. In terror the word will die in Sahara, In the pain the tongue will be moved in the sand-hill. Or wilst Thou destroy these sounds of mine, The song that I always address to Thee? The wolves that howls in the wilderness Are less wretched than I, for they have their song. In fields, forests, seas and the cloudless sky All things sign out their life with a voice. Mute heavy stones rolling down from high mountains Give birth to their song, or a likeness of song. But I with my speech, my immortal soul, Tortured by tongue-tie, die each minute. I beseech Thee, deliver me from needless chatter, From restless designs and useless desires. For I long to behold more brightly and clearly Than the dry hollow thing that litter the sand. But my ears are shortsighted and sad is my heart. In the desert light dazzles. The fateful sky Falls like a stone and quenches me. Is Thy truth in the traces that melt from my vision? Is Thy voice in the singing of the sands of desert? Then we vainly implored Thee to slake us with death, Crying of pain, supposing it to be the essence of life, If the sand is only the face of the sea, If the sand is only a way into silence. Translated by Clare Guest and the author

© Евгений Горный, 2001-2026.
© Сетевая Словесность, 2001-2026.