Я сижу в одном из кабаков на пятьдесят второй стрит неуверенный и трусливый, вспоминая утраченные надежды подлого десятилетия: волны гнева и страха циркулируют по темным и освещенным сторонам земли, завладев нашими частными жизнями; неприличный запах смерти оскорбляет ночь сентября. Ученые-эрудиты способные объяснить из-за чего обезумила культура, проследив цепь происшествий от Лютера до наших дней, обнаружат произошедшее в Линце, какой великий пример дает психопатический Бог: мне и любому известно чему всех школьников учат — тем, кому зло причинили, пусть зло совершат взамен. Сосланный Фукидид не скрыл ничего, что можно сообщить о Демократии, как поступают диктаторы, старческий вздор шепелявя близ безразличной могилы; анализируя все в своей книге, уничтожение просвещения, формирование привычной боли, неумелое руководство и печаль: ведал, что нам предстоит это снова. В этом нейтральном пространстве, где слепые небоскребы используют свою абсолютную высоту
для объявления силы Коллективного Человека, каждый язык щебечет свое тщетное конкурентоспособное оправдание: но кто может жить очень долго в эйфористической мечте; из зеркала мира выглядывает рыло империализма и международная брехня. Тела вдоль барной стойки стерегут свой обычный день: они не должны выходить, пусть музыка вечно звучит, условно все согласились принимать этот форт за подобие дома; забудем о том, что все мы, как испугавшиеся приближения ночи дети в знакомом лесу, которые не были счастливы или послушны. Вонючую воинственную чушь несут очень важные персоны, которая более продумана, чем наше пожелание: написанное сумасшедшим Нижинским о Дягилеве является исповедью чистого сердца; заблуждение, вошедшее в кость каждого человека вопит, что невозможна всеобщая любовь, а лишь к одному и только. Из консервативной тьмы в нравственную действительность прибывают наивные провинциалы, повторяя свою утреннюю клятву: «Я буду верен своей жене, концентрируясь больше на своей работе.» И беспомощны правители осознать и остановить их обязательный ритуал. Кто в силах разбудить их сегодня? Кто в силах докричаться до глухого? Кто в силах говорить за него? Все, что я имею это голос, обнажающий скрытую ложь, романтичную ложь в мозгу чувственного мужчины с улицы" и ложь Власти, чьи здания щупают небо: государство — не вещь и никто не живет сам по себе; голод лишает выбора гражданина или полицию; мы должны возлюбить друг друга или умереть. Беззащитный к ночи наш мир окутан ложью; все же, пунктиром повсюду, веселые точки света вспыхивают так, словно обмениваясь сообщениями: возможно я, разожгу подобно им из эроса и пыли, осажденный таким же отрицанием и отчаянием, пламя в ответ.
136
Игорь Сибирянин
W.H.AUDEN. SELECTED POEMS
In certain poems the audio version differs from the published text.
W. H. AUDEN
(from a preface by J. D. McClatchy)
When he arrived at Oxford as an undergraduate, W. H. Auden went to see his tutor in literature, who asked the young man what he meant to do in later life. "I am going to be a poet," Auden answered. "Ah, yes," replied the tutor, and began a small lecture on verse exercises improving one's prose. Auden scowled. "You don't understand at all," he interrupted. "I mean a great poet."
The Wanderer
Doom is dark and deeper than any sea-dingle. Upon what man it fall In spring, day-wishing flowers appearing, Avalanche sliding, white snow from rock-face, That he should leave his house, No cloud-soft hand can hold him, restraint by women; But ever that man goes Through place-keepers, through forest trees, A stranger to strangers over undried sea, Houses for fishes, suffocating water, Or lonely on fell as chat, By pot-holed becks A bird stone-haunting, an unquiet bird. There head falls forward, fatigued at evening, And dreams of home, Waving from window, spread of welcome, Kissing of wife under single sheet; But waking sees Bird-flocks nameless to him, through doorway voices Of new men making another love. Save him from hostile capture, From sudden tiger's leap at corner; Protect his house, His anxious house where days are counted From thunderbolt protect, From gradual ruin spreading like a stain; Converting number from vague to certain, Bring joy, bring day of his returning, Lucky with day approaching, with leaning dawn.
1930
O Where Are You Going?
"O where are you going?" said reader to rider, "That valley is fatal where furnaces burn, Yonder's the midden whose odours will madden, That gap is the grave where the tall return." "O do you imagine," said fearer to farer, "That dusk will delay on your path to the pass, Your diligent looking discover the lacking, Your footsteps feel from granite to grass?" "O what was that bird," said horror to hearer, "Did you see that shape in the twisted trees? Behind you swiftly the figure comes softly, The spot on your skin is a shocking disease." "Out of this house"-said rider to reader, "Yours never will"-said farer to fearer "They're looking for you"-said hearer to horror, As he left them there, as he left them there.
1931
Hunting Fathers
Our hunting fathers told the story Of the sadness of the creatures, Pitied the limits and the lack Set in their finished features; Saw in the lion's intolerant look, Behind the quarry's dying glare, Love raging for, the personal glory That reason's gift would add, The liberal appetite and power, The rightness of a god. Who, nurtured in that fine tradition, Predicted the result, Guessed Love by nature suited to The intricate ways of guilt, That human ligaments could so His southern gestures modify And make it his mature ambition To think no thought but ours, To hunger, work illegally, And be anonymous?
1934
On This Island
Look, stranger, on this island now The leaping light for your delight discovers, Stand stable here And silent be, That through the channels of the ear May wander like a river The swaying sound of the sea. Here at a small field's ending pause Where the chalk wall falls to the foam and its tall ledges Oppose the pluck And knock of the tide, And the shingle scrambles after the suck — — ing surf, and a gull lodges A moment on its sheer side. Far off like floating seeds the ships Diverge on urgent voluntary errands, And this full view Indeed may enter And move in memory as now these clouds do, That pass the harbour mirror And all the summer through the water saunter.
1935
"As I Walked Out One Evening"
As I walked out one evening, Walking down Bristol Street, The crowds upon the pavement Were fields of harvest wheat. And down by the brimming river I heard a lover sing Under an arch of the railway: "Love has no ending. "I'll love you, dear, I'll love you Till China and Africa meet, And the river jumps over the mountain And the salmon sing in the street, "I'll love you till the ocean Is folded and hung up to dry And the seven stars go squawking Like geese about the sky. "The years shall run like rabbits, For in my arms I hold The Flower of the Ages, And the first love of the world." But all the clocks in the city Began to whirr and chime: "O let not Time deceive you, You cannot conquer Time. "In the burrows of the Nightmare Where Justice naked is, Time watches from the shadow And coughs when you would kiss. "In headaches and in worry Vaguely life leaks away, And Time will have his fancy To-morrow or to-day. "Into many a green valley Drifts the appalling snow; Time breaks the threaded dances And the diver's brilliant bow. "O plunge your hands in water, Plunge them in up to the wrist; Stare, stare in the basin And wonder what you've missed. "The glacier knocks in the cupboard, The desert sighs in the bed, And the crack in the tea-cup opens A lane to the land of the dead. "Where the beggars raffle the banknotes And the Giant is enchanting to Jack, And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer, And Jill goes down on her back. "O look, look in the mirror, O look in your distress; Life remains a blessing Although you cannot bless. "O stand, stand at the window As the tears scald and start; You shall love your crooked nelghbour With your crooked heart." It was late, late in the evening, The lovers they were gone; The clocks had ceased their chiming, And the deep river ran on.
1937
Fish in the Unruffled Lakes
Fish in the unruffled lakes Their swarming colours wear, Swans in the winter air A white perfection have, And the great lion walks Through his innocent grove; Lion, fish and swan Act, and are gone Upon Time's toppling wave. We, till shadowed days are done, We must weep and sing Duty's conscious wrong, The Devil in the clock, The goodness carefully worn For atonement or for luck; We must lose our loves, On each beast and bird that moves Turn an envious look. Sighs for folly done and said Twist our narrow days, But I must bless, I must praise That you, my swan, who have All gifts that to the swan Impulsive Nature gave, The majesty and pride, Last night should add Your voluntary love.
1936
Autumn Song
Now the leaves are falling fast, Nurse's flowers will not last; Nurses to the graves are gone, And the prams go rolling on. Whispering neighbours, left and right, Pluck us from the real delight; And the active hands must freeze Lonely on the separate knees. Dead in hundreds at the back Follow wooden in our track, Arms raised stiffly to reprove In false attitudes of love. Starving through the leafless wood Trolls run scolding for their food; And the nightingale is dumb, And the angel will not come. Cold, impossible, ahead Lifts the mountain's lovely head Whose white waterfall could bless Travellers in their last distress.
1936
Death's Echo
"O who can ever gaze his fill," Farmer and fisherman say, "On native shore and local hill, Grudge aching limb or callus on the hand? Father, grandfather stood upon this land, And here the pilgrims from our loins will stand." So farmer and fisherman say In their fortunate hey-day: But Death's low answer drifts across Empty catch or harvest loss Or an unlucky May. The earth is an oyster with nothing inside it, Not to be born is the best for man; The end of toil is a bailiff's order, Throw down the mattock and dance while you can. "O life's too short for friends who share," Travellers think in their hearts, "The city's common bed, the air, The mountain bivouac and the bathing beach, Where incidents draw every day from each Memorable gesture and witty speech." So travellers think in their hearts, Till malice or circumstance parts Them from their constant humour: And slyly Death's coercive rumour In that moment starts. A friend is the old old tale of Narcissus, Not to be born is the best for man; An active partner in something disgraceful, Change your partner, dance while you can. "O stretch your hands across the sea," The impassioned lover cries, "Stretch them towards your harm and me. Our grass is green, and sensual our brief bed, The stream sings at its foot, and at its head The mild and vegetarian beasts are fed." So the impassioned lover cries Till the storm of pleasure dies: From the bedpost and the rocks Death's enticing echo mocks, And his voice replies. The greater the love, the more false to its object, Not to be born is the best for man; After the kiss comes the impulse to throttle, Break the embraces, dance while you can. "I see the guilty world forgiven," Dreamer and drunkard sing, "The ladders let down out of heaven, The laurel springing from the martyr's blood, The children skipping where the weeper stood, The lovers natural and the beasts all good." So dreamer and drunkard sing Till day their sobriety bring: Parrotwise with Death's reply From whelping fear and nesting lie, Woods and their echoes ring. The desires of the heart are as crooked as corkscrews, Not to be born is the best for man; The second-best is a formal order, The dance's pattern; dance while you can. Dance, dancefor the figure is easy, The tune is catching and will not stop; Dance till the stars come down from the rafters; Dance, dance, dance till you drop.