Стихотворения

Джойс Джеймс

ПЕННИ ЗА ШТУЧКУ — ГИНЕЯ ЗА КУЧКУ

Вот песенка за шиллинг, Не песенка, а клад. В один пирог зашили Тринадцать штук стишат. Стишата в тексте испеклись, Запели: «Тру-ля-ля!» И был Гербертус Хьюзиус Счастливей короля!

(Апрель 1932)

A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS AN ANCIENT MARINER

I met with a ancient scribelleer As I scoured the pirates' sea His sailes were alullt at nought coma null Not raise the wind could he. The bann of Bull, the sign of Sam Burned crimson on his brow. And I rocked at the rig of his bricabrac brig With K.O. 11 on his prow Shakefears & Coy danced poor old joy And some of their steps were corkers As they shook the last shekels like phantom freckels His pearls that had poisom porkers The gnome Norbert read rich bills of fare The ghosts of his deep debauches But there was no bibber to slip that scribber The price of a box of matches For all cried, Schuft! He has lost the Luft That made his U. boat go And what a weird leer wore that scribelleer As his wan eye winked with woe. He dreamed of the goldest sands uprolled By the silviest Beach of Beaches And to watch it dwindle gave him Kugelkopfschwindel Till his eyeboules bust their stitches His hold shipped seas with a drunkard's ease And its deadweight grew and grew While the witless wag still waived his flag Jemmyrend's white and partir's blue. His tongue stuck out with a dragon's drouth For a sluice of schweppes and brandy And but for the glows on his roseate nose You'd have staked your goat he was Ghandi. For the Yanks and Japs had made off with his traps! So that stripped to the stern he clung While, increase of a cross, an Albatross Abaft his nape was hung.

(October 1932)

ПОРТРЕТ

ХУДОЖНИКА КАК СТАРОГО МОРЕХОДА

Я долго плавал в пиратских морях, Знавал и шторм и грозу. И мне повстречался старый мудряк С повязкой на левом глазу. Его заклеймил Папаша Буль И Дядюшка Сэм отверг. Одиннадцатый год его солнце жжет И звезд слепит фейерверк. Ко-Ко и Пшикспир зовут на пир, Брачные бубны гремят, И мечут перлы скитальцы эрлы Под ноги поросят. Но

чертов старик прыг на свой бриг, Как сверчок на насест! Плевать, если нет в кармане монет, Чтоб уплатить за проезд. Пускай лилипуты кричат: Капут! Хватай негодяя! Пора Как можно скорее вздернуть на рею Этих пиратов пера! Но Водиссей лишь ухо заткнет, Припоминая с тоской Лесок и Песок и голосок Дальней сильвены морской. А бриг выделывал кренделя Под флагом бел-голубым, И чем выше флаг, тем больше фляг Разгружалось под ним. От жажды вываливая язык, Твердя лишь один глагол, Он стал тощее любых мощей И, как Махатма, гол. Ибо янки и япы, алчные лапы, Его раздели всерьез, И вместо рубашки на нем, бедняжке, Нелепый повис «Альбатрос».

(Октябрь 1932)

EPILOGUE TO IBSEN'S GHOSTS

Dear quick, whose conscience buried deep The grim old grouser has been salving, Permit one spectre more to peep. I am the ghost of Captain Alving. Silenced and smothered by my past Like the lewd knight in dirty linen I struggle forth to swell the cast And air a long suppressed opinion. For muddling weddings into wakes No fool could vie with Parson Manders. I, though a dab at ducks and drakes, Let gooseys serve or sauce their ganders. My spouse bore me a blighted boy, Our slavey pupped a bouncing bitch. Paternity, thy name is joy When the wise child knows which is which. Both swear I am that selfsame man By whom their infants were begotten. Explain, fate, if you care and can Why one is sound and one is rotten. Olaf may plod his stony path And live as chastely as Susanna Yet pick up in some Turkish bath His quantum satof Pox Romana. While Haakon hikes up primrose way, Spreeing and gleeing as he goes, To smirk upon his latter day Without a pimple on his nose. I gave it up I am afraid But if I loafed and found it fun Remember how a coyclad maid Knows how to take it out of one.