EUPHORIA AFTER LISZT - POEMS
I walk along a festive street
Amidst the city noise and flare
And for the crowds that I meet
I celebrate I do not care
And nothing bothers me as I
Walk by and listen to the glee
The clown shows catch my eye
But they don’t mean too much to me
And through the babble, dapple and fun
And urban smells and loud hurray
I feel the breathing of the sun
That sheds itself onto my way
2. * * *
The threshold of the war:
Over the sails; and horses’ helpless call
And its reverberation
And you can hear banners’ murmur
And itty-bitty bridges’ rattle
And take in the gunpowder odour
And cannon philharmonic brattle
Relying on His will in secret
Immortal nature’s love is real
It outruns the slow time
It plays with stars and spins the magic wheel
A soft but piercing morning ray
Is pervading garden. And the solemn shade
Of stillness is so deep. And shyly
The sun is rising.
Appear as a sightless dream, and God will be your judge
In a kaleidoscope of rhymes and gossips,
Bridges, and hypocrites, and other beasts,
People and birds and vivifying vessels,
Refulgent summits and wild horses
Rushing to the glorified brethren -
Winds, singing in a headboard of days,
And whispering by their handshake.
Appear as a sightless dream, and God will be your judge,
Through chains of words and disagreements,
Losing letters in the self-description
And punctuation marks. More dangerously
Is to do not live at all and to use the afternoon –
Protection against horseshoes and glorifications –
With its categorical fire
Depriving unnecessary prefaces.
Appear as a sightless dream, and God – your Judge
Among shrill and vowel endings
Among rainy and mysterious soundings
Among the bell-ringing terrestrial life.
... I wouldn’t sing by my soul, and wouldn’t write verses,
Wouldn’t suffer from the punishments of numbers.
Only would hide myself behind the fall of words,
That have sometime ennoble me.
5. Feux follets
The life is short and effortless
It is the science of the silence
It is delightsome irksomeness
Of glancing from some distant highness
Whether I wake or laugh or sing
Of so beloved and so impressing
I treasure each and every thing
And call them all my truly blessing
But truth is that another dream
That draws us all aside in vain
Reminds that beauty that’s supreme
Only resides within its reign.
For noise of things and magnificent words,
And the fluency of earth's rotation
The master is ready to give, with a smile,
A transformation miracle
Don't wait for miracles from the savage
And the capricious pusher,
All rituals having created,
Joking thumbing through books;
Or from the innocent blind man
That, drag a foot,
Waits for an admired mot,
In his self having noticed the touchy person;
And from the one who flaunts
Flashes in an eye of the lens,
Bashfully glowing to order
And being cooled haughtily.
.. Not everyone is glad to be deceived,
To whom world signs are new -
He accepts this parade,
Eyes having blinked unwillingly.
Also knows when to stop all miracles
And in them exulting belief,
To address to heavens
Listening to a silent tune.
The day was like a movie that had already begun
That’s as familiar as a wedding ring finger
It curls according to the screenplay
And changes its skin every minute
It’s not scary to recognize it every day
Watching the striped plough land
It’s quite politically correct to put up with it
It’s most effective to tinker with it.
Tightly girt with heaven
Crowned with time zones
You pay with tingling minutes
Constraining human riot
You’re unaware of the tragedy of stillness
You’re tortured by midday heat
And you slowly move your tired shoulders
8. The wild hunting
Travelling at night with street bums and other fellows
I am strolling from nowhere
Between the black boundaries and granite villages, between seems
And all pervasive rats.
I am finishing my crappy dinner, or lunch, or supper
Folding the dishes
I am struggling out of my chest thinking up I’ve been locked there
By some voodoo.
Walking endlessly – is it dream or awake, reechoing
Between these ones only;
Reflection of life and the law of things, and the habit
Of wandering among them.
For Music is the word and the light, like the crazy concern
Burdening my shoulders
And I am torn by wild longing for life
With all its trivia.
Here’s another winter.
Calling back the memories of a sequence of past winters.
Quiet and sovereign.
It comes back again
And arouses waves of tenderness to it.
I see the snow.
My heart is torn by a sea of thoughts and tears,
And my speech is scrappy.
I have no friends and no girlfriends
I have no blind impression
I have no brilliant attempts
To accept the updating nature
There is no shrill dream
Joints crackling severely
To rush faster than vanities
Whispering a saving word.
I am the salt of the earth and God’s gift
the justification of science
heat of faultless thoughts
In the world of not-evil-minded boredom.
11. ”Evening harmonies"
Familiar aroma of appreciable years,
That is with memory in casual friends,
Brings light of extraordinary names -
Treasured human signs.
It is a nature’s mirror, no doubt -
Or grace and ancient heroes
Shrined its children's rooms,
Or it has been warmed by the Foresight.
...Don't listen to anybody's slander,
Just let it move its side,
And laps a joyful wave of
Times’ astronomical greeting.
My Phoenix, my close blizzard,
Sparkling in one thousand appearances,
Calling in a crystal pipe,
Shining in a mirror of distinctions -
You cry, and sings my marrow -
The core of sky moved apart;
You think, and thaws, as if a wax,
Snow-covered world's half;
You rejoice to the first ray
Of rather short day interval -
And I already twirl a paper,
Describing obligations of a mind.
© Asiya Korepanova.