Улучшая перевод Идзуми Сикибу.
Горной азалии
Ветку сорвав, замираю:
Как похожи цветы
На алое платье, в котором
Рассвет ко мне приходил.
И право, чуднО:
Как вся наша жизнь - тропа
В весенние дни.
Словно цветы и лоза
В ткань мира мы вплетены.
...
Midnight in the air.
Light's dancing on the ceiling.
Who is this dancer,
Who's promising, revealing,
Что свет есть в каждом сердце,
And that come morning,
When the petals are wet with dew,
My heart will sing for you?
Улучшая перевод Сётэцу.
То дымкой скрыта,
То снова нас озарит...
Ветрено в небе...
Над весенней метелью
Бродит сиянье Луны.
...
Maybe you struggle with it,
Just like I struggle with it...
If so, then how about
We both admit our defeat?
...
I decide to take it as a good omen,
And NOT as a consolation prize
From you, my dear Universe:
The fact that you
Are so damn beautiful today.
I take it as a sign
That you're on my side,
And come what may.
Now that I know that 2025 is the worst year of my life - so far - it does seem like I should've been more grateful for the attempt at consolation.
I keep
Nothing in reserve.
You've won me so completely,
All I am is yours.
Is it your integrity? Are you true to yourself? Are you truthful? Are you true to yourself or your mask? Will it save you from regret? Will it keep the whatifs away?
...
My favorite bird is back:
Welcome, honey.
I thought that it was dead
But no, still flying.
Not very hungry, hey,
You little stray?
Just peeked at my offerings
And flew away.
A wild creature,
Undomesticated,
Simply too cute to stay.
So, how about
We both figure out
What to do with such strays?
Perhaps, the little bandit
Purring on my bed
Is an inspiring showcase?
...
Do you really love me this much
To put up with all this?
I don't think anyone ever did,
That's why it's so hard to believe.
Or maybe they did
And I completely ignored it?
No, I don't think so,
This is truly unique.
I'd be a fool to spoil it.
So?.. The right approach is what?
To freeze and not even breathe?
This is Terra Nova for me...
Let's play.
"I toyed with supernovas,
Turned galaxies into spinning tops,
Gambled with God
And made him a jack-in-the-box."
Yet, the galaxies are still spinning
And every box is revealing
The one
Who has won,
Toymaker, you silly.
He made a jigsaw out of my story.
...
They say,
The way
You meet the New Year
Is how you are to spend it.
Apparently, I'll walk alone the empty streets.
I wonder what it means...
Enjoying personal audience
With you, my dear Universe,
Amidst these mysterious flocks
Of white birds
Spooked by fireworks
In dark blue skies?..
Perhaps the saying is not so wise.
Perhaps it is.
...
All this well-meaning wishers
Starting a year anew,
When they wish me happiness
They wish me you.
Improving upon Blake.
Those who restrain Desire,
Do so because
Theirs is weak enough for taming;
And Reason,
The restrainer,
Usurps
Desire's place
And governs the unwilling.
And thus restrained in chains,
They by degrees become unliving,
Till none of life remains
But only shadows of their former being.
"Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. Dip him in the river who loves water. The nakedness of woman is the work of God. Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires."
To the mighty Dark Lord folded in black clouds hovering next to a flat-sided steep that frowns over the present world.
Yes, every bird
That cuts the airy way
*Is* its own world.
Every mind in this is the same.
Only why assume immense delight?
It just as easy may be a world of pain
Or blazing light.
If by the bird you mean a mind
Soaring free and high
In the Unknown,
Then the world of its delight
Is never closed.
At least not by the senses
But perhaps
By the boundaries
Of our intelligence,
Of our capacity for understanding.
And if what braves the airy ways
Is a metaphor for happiness
Then once again,
The world of immense delight
Is neither open nor closed:
Seemingly so remote
It's but the blink of an eye away,
Right here for the taking
Just never a sure thing;
Thus, to reach
One needs courage.
Q: “How do you know but every bird
that cuts the airy way
Is an immense world of delight,
closed by your senses five?”
f(f) = f
Is ouroboros
A phoenix's projection
To time dimension?
The bird of the sun:
The One, who proceeds
From the clash of opposites -
Thus all become One.
If you keep striving for the same goal, like becoming Gold, in each recurrence, then a feedback loop becomes a positive feedback loop, and we all know what this means; "the riddle of the living" is so easily solved, like it's no riddle at all, "and if you have not All, All is Nothing" as the inscription goes.
Wisdom of those dwelling in a void boundless as a nether sky.
No bird soars too high
When on her own wings.
One thought fills immensity.
What is now proved
Was once imagined and not believed.
You never know what is "enough"
Unless "too much" you have unsealed.
"Eternity is in love with children of time."
...
It took me quite a leap of faith
To believe in you,
That you're for real,
And just as amazing as I think of you.
I'm still falling of that cliff.
And if you are like this
Then you can handle
The maxed out weirdness,
Built-in unevenness,
Necessity of mutual forgiveness.
It's funny how
I can't find answers to the "why?",
Whatever is the case.
Not on my own anyway.
How is it I'm still on this cliffhanger? It's been this theatrical pause for how many months? The suspense is killing me, quite literally, mr. Overblown-Reputation-for-Clarity.
...
Hey you, up in the sky,
С днём рождения!
Порой мне кажется, что я
Понимаю тебя,
How my pain is but a dim reflection,
Too-few-dimensional projection:
The immensity of your love is
*Always* unreciprocated.
So, how about today,
For your birthday,
I admit that I love you, too -
immensely? Well, not all of you,
Just that one bit, the spark,
The speck, the shard,
The shimmering light
In my beloved's heart.
Is this enough?
The one who hosts it
Is so immensely loved.
...
Тянет к фонарю
Клён, замерзший к январю,
Свой последний лист.
If we ever meet know that
You just need to take my hand.
BIO
An estranged acolyte,
Holding a candle in sunlight,
Inexperienced and terrified,
With a big head
Full of many cheerful facts
About a square of hypotenuse,
And how to tighten a noose,
And others of similar importance,
With a tendency to introspect,
Especially upon losing one's self-respect,
And to over-do everything
Especially the introspecting.
Feel free to calumniate
Every single trait,
But never culminate with idolater.
...
Despite my self-hatred,
I used to be so calm and centered.
But since the center shifted,
I've been oscillating, untethered,
A ship adrift without an anchor.
But the amplitude - it should be decreasing.
I hope... It must be.
I'll be fine.
It just takes time
For everything to re-adjust.
I must re-balance;
In this unbalanced state,
I tend to make mistakes.
And there's also this urge to act,
But no direction,
Like an energy build-up.
Apparently, I defy the second law of thermodynamics: it's not diminishing one bit, still changing in the wrong direction.
...
By now I know
It will go on
No matter what.
Only I want,
I so do want
To be with you.
And even more -
To be yours.
Forever and ever yours only.
This bit is somehow so exciting,
My future anything.
And for everyone to envy you...
And to call you a lucky bastard or something...
You poor man... Got yourself into this much trouble...
Ходячий замок.
Опять проливной дождь...
В январе? Серьёзно?
Впрочем, после зимних радуг
Это даже не сложно.
Мне всё кажется, кто-то в облаках
Тревожится, слякоть разводит,
Серый полумрак...
Право не надо.
Вот утка плывёт и не тонет,
Лейте сколько хотите ушатов,
Шепчите струями "Утони".
(Как ей удалось просто выпросить?..)
Не отвлекайся,
вокруг нас
Ровно миллион и одна
Капля
Небесного света,
Жидкого огня,
И в каждой заключена
Миллион и одна тайна.
Вот посмотри,
Располневший на праздниках Гарри
Удит рыбу, притворяется магглом,
Но по взмаху удилища всё ясно,
К тому же очки выдают его с головой
Знакомой оправой.
И ведь тоже ещё один
Ловец душ человеческих,
Хоть и воображаемый.
Хорошего тебе улова, друг,
Не пугай только уток
Не санкционированным волшебством,
Их и так все кому попало мучат
Проливным дождём.
(И всё же я не могу больше просто не думать о нём.)
...
Я не думаю, что снова научусь молчать -
это звучит как трусость;
и я не умею любить
абстракции, вроде света внутри -
только в других людях;
а его там всё равно нет,
пока не дотянешься и не включишь.
Conversing with my inner Whateveritis.
Too often it feels
Like you can't forgive me for something...
For existing?
Or yourself... For the same thing?
That pastor got it right, don't you think?
How at least sometimes love is above justice
Making space for forgiveness.
Why can't you follow a clear guidance,
You bundle of potential joy,
Ever-strangeness,
And over-abundance?..
Sophie's counter-spell.
Heartless paladin,
With a star you've swapped your heart.
I shall rescue it.
The wonder of your castle
Is soon to lose its master.
"Ходячий замок" - глубоко антивоенное и даже пацифистское произведение, даже удивительно, что не запрещено.
And now the lions, wolves, dragons, and eagles - all shall cease.
- Mars is bright these nights.
Oh, so unusually bright...
What do the trees hide?
- A soothsaying, my sire:
The collapse of your empire...
With thunder and fire,
leading his starry hosts
through the waste wilderness,
the King promulgates
his ten commandments,
glancing his beamy eyelids
over the deep in dark dismay.
Where the Son of Fire stamps
the stony law to dust,
loosing the eternal horses from the dens of night,
crying: “Empire is no more!”
...
Do you hear the wind?
Snowflakes waltzing in
To the light?
The Moon can't be seen
But I hear it's full tonight.
...
A being of twilight,
I know the white sand
Of that island,
Where lions dwell.
You, beings of clay,
Your gilt is a sin:
Be sure to bray
Leftovers away,
And cure in the kiln.
Loosing the eternal horses from the dens of night.
My particular Archangel,
Let's re-do the book to our pleasure,
To its infernal or free-form edition,
(Wouldn't be too far from the original...)
Which the world shall have
Only if they behave.
Or better yet, at our discretion,
Whether they will or no,
After all, one Law
For the lion and ox
Is oppression.
...
Albion’s coast is sick silent;
While the meadows of bravery faint
And shadows of prophecy shiver
Along by the lakes.
In her shimmering hands
She is holding the flame.
Downal wyth Bluddy Behg Hid!
Down with the bloody Red Queen!
Rise up, gallymoggers, and sing.
Light up every fire
With burning desire
To strive for the better, and dream
Of the world where all can free,
Exactly the way it should be,
Where injustice and wars are no more,
And then make it be our world.
1-1-2-3-5-8-13
Truth!
Proof!
Numbers
In patterns
That the wise can see,
Through mystic formulas flowing,
Like golden spirals in nature's great book unfolding.
Hidden under triple spells, charmed invisible, written backwards, buried under seventeen protection charms and invisible ink.
My potion turns scarletty haze,
My face burns with crimson dismay.
Can't focus at all,
When he strolls through the hall...
My senses they all run away.
...
Keep your wondering eyes,
Keep your sensitive heart.
Not so many posses
The piercing-through art.
Though treasures are hidden
Behind walls of night,
Your gift of perception
Is perfectly right.
Take comfort in knowing
You are not alone -
Some hearts are just wired
To see what's unknown.
Never against dreams.
- When darkness comes, you face it,
as hero should and does,
with certain heart and sway not.
- I'll try my best to do
what's right, and listen to
the books where senses dwell,
and always keep my guard on
against what preys upon... my dreams.
Seriously, what's your deal?
Your voice never fails to compel,
Your smile's like a star-blessing spell.
You find wonder rare
In things not to share,
The one who makes darkness dispel.
Or, alternatively, it's all due to:
1. that love potion you took from the Pentagon's secret laboratories; or
2. that heretical recipes of persecuted alchemists from the underground libraries of the Vatican, which you "borrowed" while the Pope was occupied; or
3. that ancient family secret passed down from generation to generation; or
4. that blessing you received from his holiness the Dalai Lama in gratitude for your kindness; or
5. that magical artifact you discovered in Native American burial grounds and never returned to its rightful owners; or
6. aliens.
Actually, it's all your "puppy eyes" and the "damsel in distress" vibe - the rest of it all, too, but these are the "secret ingriedient": hit my "sweet spot" on so many levels... How dare you?
...
The sky is ruby red.
It appears to be sunset.
The phantom in my bed
Is not upset:
The dawning star
Is not too far.
The pale religious lechery
Is down for a treachery:
You're but a world apart.
...
Meanwhile,
In Eloise's mind:
"C'mon... Seriously?!
How much more obvious a woman must be?
Call me old-fashioned,
But I thought this kind of confession
Needs to be somewhat more special
Than an entry
In a not-so-secret diary...
In hindsight,
Praises of your excellency
Could've been more precise..."
💯
You're such an eye candy,
Shouldn't be allowed.
When you're mine I'm locking you in my bedroom
And *never* letting you out.
Никак
Сердце не попадает в такт,
Опережает само себя:
То ли избыток шоколада,
То ли нехватка тебя.
Nope. Not subsiding at all. And I don't want it to. So... Still, I wonder how far it can go.
12june.io
Вы знаете, это даже умиляет.
Да, это именно мило,
Что вас так трогают жесты и слова,
Мои любезные, замечательные, добрейшие
Обитатели Свободного Мира.
Вы трогательны, как дети.
В моём мире всё куда более конкретно:
Не убивал никого, и ладно.
И можешь хоть к солнцу тянуться,
Хоть в космос, хоть Джокера косплеить
Или смешно танцевать -
Не убивай только никого, не мучай,
По беспределу в тюрьму не сажай,
Не пытай.
И даже можешь говорить ерунду,
И даже глупые шутки,
И даже не извиняться.
И тратить собственные деньги, как тебе заблагорассудится.
Мне искренне пофиг.
Впрочем, если есть возможность,
Переведи политзэкам, пожалуйста.
Не обязательно нашим - любым - чужих не бывает,
Или тем, кто им помогает.
Jozu Des Gamete Ne.
Не сметь.
Веник липы превращается в плеть.
Греметь, звенеть, далеко не смотреть.
Не бежать и не петь.
Несменный, вневременной,
Обременённый, соединённый.
Не( )мой.
Сотканный из глаголов,
Нетканных слов из моих снов.
Глаза так режет, что спать нельзя.
Вдруг во сне я увижу тебя?
Эта белая дыра
Исторгает слишком много света,
Истекает остатком странного дня.
Самое время найти пустоту и потерять ту,
Что считает собой меня.
Невелика потеря...
Но может,
Пусть пустота подождёт?
Лет двадцать-тридцать...
Пустоте-то какой счёт?..
...
Was it "You" or "Yes",
That fine heavenly sentence,
Legible clouds?
The Aztecs.
A melody... Ever so brief...
I'll pretend you're the one who's playing...
Nowadays I'm so good at make-belief
and pretending.
Let's watch Classic Doctor Who together?
This episode is a bit like "The Story of Isaac".
By the way, I pretend, it's your favorite Cohen's song.
I wonder, which one is it really?.. If any...
Yeah... "Doctor Who" with brownies...
A pain-numbing remedy,
a happiness subsidy...
The Doctor's so young in this episode:
a pretentious Lord,
unable to rebel -
not enough fire -
somewhat short on compassion,
outwitting himself...
His human companion is wiser,
than the Doctor,
with his smoke of words suffocating the flame.
An "old rogue"...
As if! Not yet, but he will learn.
How many more lives will it take him?
about ten?
to know that his gods
must be challenged, too.
For gods pretend to be absolute
and therefore in this world of no absolute rules
has no place to dictate our choices.
Except for the rule of one's conscience.
no one's to rule.
Every dictatorship must be abolished.
...
True uglies
Always destroy beautiful things,
Instead of trying to better themselves.
That's how one recognizes ugliness.
What's next?..
Just stay away from them, I guess.
As far away as possible...
And protect the most fragile things
From their corrupting influence.
...
Иногда небеса
Будто бы испытывают меня:
Предлагают перекрёстки,
Намекают, что есть пути
Власти, богатства, славы,
Исполнения иных моих желаний.
А я всего лишь хочу тебя любить,
Дарить - каждый день
Улучшать твоё счастье.
Одна из моих любимых фантазий - будить тебя по утрам поцелуями, чтобы ты сразу, с первой минуты улыбался этой своей улыбкой, чтобы так каждый твой день начинался. Просто так чертовски нужно тебе это всё сказать, так давно просится наружу, намозолило сердце, душу.
Who wears shades indoors?
"So strange for the stranger
To wear shades indoors.
To wear your smile
Is doubly so,"
Must've been my thoughts.
Actually, no.
Wasn't thinking at all.
Was like an automaton
With the singular goal to keep going.
Keep it together, do not break apart.
It was the matter of pride,
Self respect, and survival.
Wasn't enough processing power left in my mind to process wonders.
You must've mistaken it for negligence.
I honestly don't see
How I could've reacted differently
Given the circumstances.
Only if I was a different person.
Someone more normal perhaps,
Who could cry or show weakness,
Or ask for help from strangers.
I'm not cut this way,
I'm truly sorry, babe.
No point re-hashing. What's done is done. Let's learn lessons and be better, don't skip formalities next time. Or do, but then all the way: start with a kiss, a hug, a grab of hand - something like that. But better yet, be very old-fashioned and bring flowers. And in case you're wondering I did need a hug that day. I needed it badly.
...
Проезжаю "Марьину Рощу"...
Выбираю верить во все
Абсолютно любые знаки:
Счастливые номера,
Неожиданные песни,
Воодушевляющие встречи -
Когда люди приятно удивляют тебя
Как та продавщица,
Которая опередила меня помогать бабуле.
Люди всё равно люди,
И всё не зря.
...
И всё равно в твоих глазах
Я вижу слово "ДА" на всех языках.
Не могу объяснить почему.
Возможно, когда я тебя обниму,
Я всё пойму?
Интересно, светятся ли твои глаза в темноте?
И каким цветом?
Или это чёрная чернота,
Бесконечная бездна,
Чтобы было куда падать,
Выпадать тем самым снегом
До рассвета?
...
Задуло в вагон ветром
Новогоднюю блестяшку,
Упавшую звезду.
Загадаю всё то же желание,
Ну а вдруг.
...
Да, иногда меня побеждает тоска
и мне приходится себя заставлять:
верить, а также есть, пить и дышать.
Грешу на местных дементоров,
их тут похоже разводят - поля для выпаса.
Всё-таки дементор - средоточие страха, а не смерти,
так как иначе они были бы распределены по планете равномерно,
а это очевидно не так.
But you win as long as you say
"No, I won't" one time more
than they say "You'll obey".
Когда я верю в твоё "да",
мне легче дышать,
а когда мне легче,
мне проще верится в твоё "да", и тогда
мир снова светел и легки слова,
и космос бескраен,
и покрой времени не бездарен,
а именно такой,
чтобы привести меня домой.
И так получилось, что это ты.
Точнее, так и было задумано изначально.
Ты опять мне всюду мерещишься.
Я думала, это закончилось в октябре,
но похоже нет.
Иногда - до толчка в сердце:
когда это твои глаза
в чьём-то мотоциклетном шлеме,
твоя улыбка в склонившемся за цветком в темноте,
но обычно проще - выносимей.
...
У меня есть антиконспирологическая версия,
что это та реальность в Мультивёрсе,
где абсолютно всё против меня,
где мне не везёт тотально,
где всё происходит невовремя.
И если даже в этой реальности мы в результате вместе,
то во всех остальных и подавно.
Although, I wouldn't mind some luck.
Between being lucky or brave
I'd choose being brave on any day
but c'mon... give me a break.
This story becomes too repetitive and unending.
...
Я склонюсь близко-близко, чтобы шептать...
Чтобы невзначай,
как бы случайно,
целовать
мочку уха...
Чтобы гладить ресницами кожу щеки...
Извести немножко той нежности,
Что переполняет,
так давно просится наружу...
Но это не обязательно:
Можешь держать меня на расстоянии вытянутой руки,
если тебе это зачем-то нужно.
...
Refusing gifts is impolite.
Even when badly wrapped,
Or delivered not on time,
Or the toy seems too unsturdy and fragile,
Or silly poem in the card
Doesn't quite rhyme.
It's not a crime to love someone.
Even if "too much" - it's not a crime.