Speaking In Tongues
Ëàâêà ßçûêîâ

Õåðáåðò Àðîíîôô

â ïåðåâîäàõ Ëüâà Ãóíèíà





al nakbeh


the order is out:
more room for the mastersof intrercalation.
vulcan hammers at fever pitch.
the walls of time are dangerously thing.
sabbaths are shouldered aside for new days
of raged and remorse
sown in blood and bone meal.
the calendar is about to burst.

àëü íàêáåõ



ïîðÿäîê âûäàí òàêîé:
áîëüøå ìåñòà äëÿ ôèðìåíííîé âèñîêîñíîñòè.
âóëêàíè÷åñêèå ìîëîòêè â ðàçãàðå ãîðÿ÷êè.
ñòåíû âðåìåíè îïàñíî èñòîí÷èëèñü.
øàááàòû îòäåëüíûå ïëå÷è äëÿ íîâûõ äíåé
ãíåâà è ðàñêàÿíèÿ
ïîñåÿííûå â êðîâè è îáæîðñòâå êîñòÿìè.
êàëåíäàðü âîò-âîò ðàçîðâåòñÿ.



phylacteries



strafings staple
rough graft of skull and soil.
irrigating tubes juice roots
to impossible growth.


blood and bile together
leech along the watershed,
split and spill
in two waiting seas:
blood to the dead;
bile to the other.



ôèëàêòåðèè



îáñòðåë øòàïåëèðóåò
ãðóáûå ñàæåíöû ÷åðåïîâ è çåìëè.
ðàçäðàæàþùèå òðóáêè âûäåëåíèÿ äîõîäÿò
äî íåâîçìîæíîé âåëè÷èíû.


êðîâü è æåë÷ü âìåñòå
ïðîñà÷èâàþòñÿ âäîëü âîäîðàçäåëà,
ðàçäåëÿþòñÿ è âûïëåñêèâàþòñÿ
â äâà îæèäàþùèõ ìîðÿ:
êðîâü äëÿ ìåðòâûõ;
æåë÷ü îñòàëüíûì.