Она засмеялась, она улетела...

Оригинал здесь

I once realized: there is no special hell for
those who leave dirty dishes till morning.
Not all those who smoke
are doomed for soon death by lung cancer.
Not all who skip classes will by all means end up
working shifts in some hole in a wall
selling spirits and liqueurs.
Also
it's okay to peek in others' cards
as long as no one sees it.

I once realized: there is no special heaven
for those moms who breastfeed their toddlers.
Being always on time for your school does not mean
you'll grow up smart or happy.
Being shut-in or giggly or dorky
is no path to eternity, those are just your personal quirks.
Also
it is never enough to know all Yeats by heart
to be happy in marriage.

I once realized: there is no special heaven
for those skippers on evening dishwashing.
I once realized: there is no special hell for
those moms who breastfeed their toddlers.
But there is my neighbor Elena -
a breastfeeding chain-smoker
with a quick friendly smile and a sinkfull of stale dirty dishes,
a valedictorian, a single mother of two,
and a true fan of Yeats.

I meet her under a neon sign "Spirits and Liquers",
where she sits by the counter, all hunched
over textbooks on Mandarin.
She always says hi, greets my dog by his name,
offers mints for sore throat
and witty comments about the weather.
Last night she forgot to give me change from a tenner
and wished me to have a good one.

Her older one sits and plays by the counter, as usual.
ID says: Tristan. Nickname: the kid.
Middle name: got-nowhere-to-leave-him.
Character: nordic. Shock and awe are his favorite methods.
He's playing the cello,
and its low and tremulous voice
strokes the sky hanging low at this hour
over those who went shopping
for spirits and liqueurs.

Проблема с верлибром в том, что это не просто набор незарифмованных строк, он обязательно тикает (ну, если он крутой, а не то, что Салли Браун родила после кружки абсента, а ее bff на радостях запилила эпиграфом к своей новой драме о зомби-вампирах). А вот как и чем тикает - с ходу фиг поймешь, это тебе не размерный стих, эквивалентность перевода которого можно поверить алгеброй и на том успокоить сердце. То есть, кто образованный, тому, может, сразу и понятно, но я, being poor, всегда испытываю сложности. Что не мешает мне продолжать тренироваться на кошках - в лучших традициях Салли Браун)) В вышепереложенное я влюбилась с первого взгляда, но смелости подступиться набралась не сразу. Кассирше пришлось выдать высшее образование - нужен был короткий и емкий плюс-минус эквивалент "медалистке", и кроме valedictorian в моем кругозоре ничего не нашлось. Соответственно, и с языком потребовалось основательно задрать планку. А также пройтись по именам, чтобы расширить географию предполагаемого места действия. А там пришлось и поэта сменить, да простит меня Пастернак, но на этом локализация, в общем-то, и закончилась. Tread, карочи, softly, и не стреляйте в тапера, кто прочитал.

Оригинал здесь

After one of my mom's usual sermons
over fish with them baked brussels sprouts
(and just for the record , that is like my least favorite food)
she yells at my face - don't you dare lie, you were at your father's,
you know I can see you right through!

Me be like - who? me? at my dad's? no, mom, I would never!
and she grabs me by scruff like some pup that pissed in her shoe,
seething - oh yeah? where were you
when you said you are going to Ernie's?
I talked to his mom, she says she saw nothing of you!

There I pretend to cave in,
like "you got me!", in guilty defiance -
guys made a raft at the river, I'm sorry, now stop with that fuss!
but she's crying already - of course, that's his bullshitty parlance.
Even your meaningless sorry vibrates just like his always does.

You think I'm what, deaf? You think, I can't hear it?
His trashy adverbs, his puns that you pick up like fleas?
He crippled himself, now he seeks to make you a cripple,
he's seeing you just for the pleasure of messing with me!

Then I am grounded, she's sad, we're talking around this matter,
air is thick like molasses and silence is pressing my spine.
Me ain't no poet, mom, really,
don't fret, it ain't gonna happen,
I swear I'll write with no rhyme.

them words inside be instantly flashing
morale beguile sublime
three-dime deny lifeline

Tucking beneath leather and shearling
A handful of brass
You'll kindly offer me some good reasons
To my stubborn whys.
Say, this old rock that we all live on
Hit a bump moving forth,
Mixed right and wrong, honest and evil,
South and north.
Say, far beyond deep oceans clashing
Foes never sleep,
Under a stake lies a heap of ashes
At my heart to keep.
Snakes are their own ultimate measures
Of all their ways.
How d'you like beating under the cold scales,
Heart of a snake?

( Дальше )

Взяла себя на слабо без особой надежды, а пасьянс взял и сошелся. Может, теперь оригинал перестанет привязываться ко мне на марше и сгинет наконец прочь из моей головы. С предыдущими вот сработало.

Возможно, мир сгорит в огне,
а может - лед его скует.
Желаний жар известен мне,
я выбрал бы уйти в огне.
Но тем ли, кто за годом год
от черной ненависти сох,
не знать: для разрушений лед
весьма неплох.
Он подойдет.


Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
(Robert Frost)

they say I was drunk got my paws all down her backline
true but I wasn't drunk that much I remember
my hands they remember as well so clear and sharply
and after I was even taken alive to heaven
where to all the thirsty they kindly offer some water
some clean and sparkly water - of course with no vessel
where those backs-and-forths of us simple mortals
are fluent as water tides coming in and regressing
dizzying wind of april quiet september dawn
sun in gold hair and with both my palms on...
...can't help but say this wood is so dark and drear
oi Virgil mate we went astray I fear

врут я был пьян и обнимал Наташу
верь ты чему угодно но пьян я не был
помню довольно много руками даже
помню потом меня взяли живым на небо
там всем кто хочет пить подают воды
чистой воды без сосуда самой собой
там даже это наше туды сюды
будто вода без сосуда прилив прибой
ветер апрельский сентябрьская тишина
блеск золотых волос и руки на…
...экой тут лес, сумрачный и немой
слушай, Вергилий, мы точно идем домой?
http://yellow-rat.livejournal.com/1236303.html


Midway in our life's journey, I went astray from the straight road and woke to find myself alone in a dark wood. How shall I say what wood that was! I never saw so drear, so rank, so arduous a wilderness!
Its very memory gives a shape to fear.