полная версия
Андрей Свистунов
Заметки на полях
All that I loved (2021)
All that I loved,
I loved alone,
With no one there to share the feeling.
I was engulfed
With visions prone
To linger on beyond my being.
All who I loved,
I loved alone;
It might have been why they kept leaving.
Though, each has carved
Into my bone,
Pierced through my flesh their name and breathing.
The day this heart
Can pump no more,
The night this skin has turned to ashes,
Revive my scarred,
Repellent lore,
Whoever blows dust off the pages.
Сизиф (2021)
Камень Сизифа, сброшенный вниз,
Вновь раскурочил дорожный асфальт.
Семь этажей и знакомый карниз —
Время закрыть олимпийский гештальт.
Древний Коринф не признает уже
Властную гордость и волю царя
В том, кто стоит на седьмом этаже,
Радуясь казне своей втихаря.
Надо за камнем спускаться опять,
И, оттолкнувшись, несется Сизиф,
Небом низвергнут в бетонную падь,
Ветру навстречу объятья раскрыв.
Крылья плаща и фигура крестом —
Образы слились в полете звезды.
Встанет блаженный с улыбкой потом:
Он уже падал с такой высоты.
Castaway (2022)
What’s a castaway?
What’s a pariah?
At the crossroads, which way is the crowd?
Are you lost in this desert so dire,
Are you deafened with silence so loud?
None of all your ingenious, sworn enemies
Ever left here a visible trace.
Halt, Gunslinger! Those phantoms of nemeses
Have been scarring your heart, not your face.
Dust is rising;
It’s swirling and hissing
In the tongue you tried hard to translate.
Agonizing,
Bereft of a meaning
Is this frivolous speech of your fate.
Vengeful bullets are melting and soaking
Through your gloves, and your skin, and your thoughts.
That’s no barrel you lowered what’s smoking,
That’s no wound you inflicted what hurts.
Tides Are Rising (2022)
Tides are rising.
The current is changing.
Men feel torments approaching the coast.
Mesmerizing
Is life for the aging;
Are its grandeurs theirs to boast?
Any mortal,
Do they know what life is
If they cannot look further than death?
Air may throttle,
Dark paths run for lightyears;
Rising tides have been wasting their breath.
With composure,
The ocean will level;
Apprehensions of torments allayed.
This is closure:
No storm’s to unravel
After thunders and gales come to fade.
The End (2023)
What is the end? What is the limit?
Is there geometry for fate?
You draw the line, erect the gate
To keep out of the sight the wicked.
You shut your eyes. You stop. You wait.
Up in the tower of your castle,
How do you feel when – all alone —
You cannot reach beyond the stone?
Are you a soul trapped in a vessel?
A spirit wrapped in ash and bone?
Is there “outside” to your perceptions?
Can one exhaust himself to death?
You read the book, you did the math,
And no one came to make corrections
Or carve up notches in your path.
Is it the fence? Is it the border?
Is it high time your course was changed?
Now that horizons seem estranged,
The cracks of chaos bring new order
To lines long scattered on the page.
Who was the sage that had your compass
Replaced with his one April night?
Stirred further on by pride and plight,
What is the point? What is the purpose? —
Is there a rationale for flight?