Translated by Nika Skandiaka
| , , , , , , ... , : ? ? , ? |
And could it be that this our bodies' pounding begets a sound unheard by human ear, but heard up yonder in the clouds and higher, but heard by those who can no longer hear a common sound... And could it be for sounding us that He wanted it: quite sound? no cracks? And could it be the reason that He whacks men against women? |
| : ! : , . , , , . : ! : , . |
Thus in the park a bed of state-owned tulips implores the passer-by: Stay off the plantings! in hopes of being plundered after sundown; Thus does a young vagina, sobbing under man's fingers, beg, and beg, and beg for mercy and long for mercy never to be granted; Thus do I pray: Spare me a life in Russia! and know full well: thank God I shan't be spared. |
| , , , , , ... , , , , , , , ... |
Peering at your flower, at your butterfly, like a supplicant at a medal, a button, a boot: ashiver to look right into the pupil of the master's eye... For the supplicant: money, a promotion, a house by the river; but for me it's a sin to ask for anything, Lord: for I have the very middle of day here, a flower and a butterfly... |
| , , , , , , , ... , , , . |
O the most musical people in all the world, so little differs from music your written word, which, right to left, I could sing with the quarter of blood that is sometimes a third and sometimes a half and sometimes a flood: out the throat, out the nose... And lo and behold, the sea of ages discloses a trench in the waters; I see Moses advancing toward me and leading close by his side Rachel Lifschitz, my greatmama, Granny Rose. |
| - , . |
Eternize me just a touch, make my likeness from the snow, with a hand that's warm and naked polish me from head to foot. |
| , , , ... , , : , , , . |
Incognito: like to his Psyche, Cupid; incognito: like to his Elsa, Lohengrin... But, being more well-read and not so stupid as these two chits of lore, my fortune's lone grin acknowledging, I will not ask nor wonder about your name, won't even raise my eyes, when in that hostel titled strangely under the sign of love you'll take me for your prize. |
| , ? , , , , , e . |
You're caught, pal, and locked in a cell, you are locked in my every cell, I can make you from just one cell, I can like a hologram add them, divide into you an atom: an Eve atom into Adam. |
| |
i promised to god i promised to mom to myself i promised little little little little the power of god little the strength of mom i have no strength get out of the way i'm off to betray |
| : , ? , , . , - . , . . : , - |
Bob said: Did you write about how I was catching bats? Bob was catching bats because Dad said you can't catch them: they've got ultrasound. Bob was catching bats by really-really quickly spinning a towel. It was sinewy as if from Kulinariya. They released it. Bob said, That's right, but something's up with the rhythm. |
| . . . |
The other world: a turn of speech. But in that world there is no speech. And any cemetery speech is but a late attack of speech and but a late defeat of speech against the speechless. |
| , , , , , , , , , ... |
Now I know where my soul resides: on the skin's innermost, tenderest side, on the inside, underside, body's own hide, one that separates kisses from torment, one that seeks torment more than the kisses... |
| - |
Some in distress get angels I get people Either there's not enough angels Or there is enough people Or in the dark I mistake the angels sent me for people Or in people I see angels And don't see the people |
| , , , , , , ! |
Don't scream at me, birds, don't wave your arms at me, spruces, don't spy on me, angels, through the keyholes of stars there's nothing in the world I could do for you! |
| . | Please observe my silence. |
|
(. holos
, gamos )
|
Hologamy (Gk. holos whole, gamos
marriage): the most primitive
|
| ? , , , , , ... |
Why is the word YES so short? It should be longer than any, harder than any, so as to take time daring to say it, so as to think better of it and fall silent halfway through... |
| . , . |
A tongue is a body part. No matter how in my heart I'd like to keep them apart, a tongue is a body part and in body's lot will take part. |
| . . . |
I: with one stroke. You: plucking the pen four times. Writing You is four times harder. |
| . . , , . |
I enjoy kissing books: that one's entire cover, and this one upon both pages, thrice, fitfully. |
| , : . , . |
Now memorize me as I speak: as am now: absent-minded, curt and with beating words beneath the cheek like butterflies beneath a curtain. |
| , , , , , . . . |
Were it in my power, I would extend the ban on using one word in two adjacent phrases to adjacent pages, chapters, novels, months, years. Keep silent awhile. But you are repeating yourself even in silence. |
| a cup on the table on an oilcloth on the lawn in the sun after the rain and no rhymes |
| , , , , , , , , , , . |
Let us touch each other while we still have arms, forearms, elbows, palms, let us love the torture, let's torment, distort, batter, maim, dismember, to remember better, bearably to part. |
| ? ! . ? , , , , , . |
There's no love? We've got enough to make her, eh? Done. What shall we do with all the rest? Make the caring, bravery, caress, Jealousy, betrayal, cloyment, fakery. |
| , , . , , . |
The word to shiver's not hot but cold if one is old. The word to shiver's not cold but hot if one is not. |
| , , , , , |
In a sign of shh press your finger to my smaller lips As a matter of fact, they're no smaller than my main lips As a matter of fact, nor are they larger As a matter of fact, why main As a matter of fact, no matter now, because shh... |
| |
In winter an animal In spring a bud In summer a bug In the fall a bird All the rest of the time I'm a woman |
| ? , . : --! . |
Give my gift to the people But gifts are not to be given away, nor sold. Bury, bury it deeper: abracadabra! Tomorrow it'll sprout. |
| , , , , , , . , , , , . |
To the choral carousel! In chants running hallows over haloed scales, to forget: salvation takes perchance more than the unfurling of the hails... Light the load: I ask for no reward; short the way, as A-ward from a C, vineward from the wine and homebound toward lunar nullity from crossbound Thee. |
| , , , . , ? ? , . , ? ? |
If we stare at a flower in a pattern, we can see, say, a shape of a person. Does it mean that our eyes have betrayed us? That he's weary of aping a flower? If we stare long at our own reflection, we can see something far from reflection. Does it mean that our eyes have betrayed us? Or has death really stepped up so close? |
| , ... |
To tuck up the sleeper in bed, kiss his brow and suddenly see the beard and curls on the pillow from Herodias' point of view... |
| 1) , , 2) , , 3) . . 4) 5) , , |
(1) A girl whose lips are more expressive than her eyes (2) A man whose hands are wiser than his face (3) A street man. St. Francis would have kissed him (4) A child with bad teeth (5) The next one, I know, is you But am afraid to look What if I love you no more |