«Человек, первым открывший Бродского Западу». Беседы с Джорджем Клайном - Синтия Л. Хэвен

class="v">this dread Last Judgement seems no longer dread.

The radiance of that Country does not fade.

From there all here seems a faint, fevered dream.

From there our Lord is but a light that gleams,

through fog, in window of the farthest house.

The fields lie fallow, furrowed by no plough.

The years lie fallow, and the centuries.

Forests alone stand, like a steady wall.

Rain batters the high head of giant grass.

The first woodcutter – he whose withered mount,

in panic fear of thickets, blundered thence —

will climb a pine to catch a sudden glimpse

of fires in his own valley, far away.

All things are distant. What is near is dim.

The level glance slides from a roof remote.

All here is bright. No din of baying hound

or tolling bell disturbs the silent air.

And, sensing that all things are far away,

he’ll wheel his horse back quickly toward the woods.

And instantly, reins, sledge, night, his poor mount,

Himself – will melt into a Scriptural dream.

But here I stand and weep. The road is gone.

I am condemned to live among these stones.

I cannot fly up in my body’s flesh;

such flight at best will come to me through death

in the wet earth, when I’ve forgotten you,

my world, forgotten you once and for all.

I’ll follow, in the torment of desire,

to stitch this parting up with my own flesh.

But listen! While with weeping I disturb

your rest, the busy snow whirls through the dark,

not melting, as it stitches up this hurt —

its needles flying back and forth, back, forth!

It is not I who sob. It’s you, John Donne:

you lie alone. Your pans in cupboards sleep,

while snow builds drifts upon your sleeping house —

while snow sifts down to earth from highest Heaven.’

Like some great bird, he sleeps in his own nest,

his pure path and his thirst for purer life,

himself entrusting to that steady star

which now is closed in clouds. And like a bird,

his soul is pure, and his life’s path on earth,

although it needs must wind through sin,

is still closer to nature than that tall crow’s nest

which soars above the starlings’ empty homes.

Like some great bird, he too will wake at dawn;

but now he lies beneath a veil of white,

while snow and sleep stitch up the throbbing void

between his soul and his own dreaming flesh.

All things have sunk in sleep. But one last verse

awaits its end, baring its fangs to snarl

that carnal love is but a poet’s duty —

spiritual love the essence of a priest.

Whatever millstone these swift waters turn

will grind the same coarse grain in this one world.

For though our life may be a thing to share,

who is there in this world to share our death?

Man’s garment gapes with holes. It can be torn,

by him who will, at this edge or at that.

It falls to shreds and is made whole again.

Once more it’s rent. And only the far sky,

in darkness, brings the healing needle home.

Sleep, John Donne, sleep. Sleep soundly, do not fret

your soul. As for your coat, it’s torn; all limp

it hangs. But see, there from the clouds will shine

that Star which made your world endure till now.

1963

Nunc Dimittis [200]

When Mary first came to present the Christ Child

to God in His temple, she found – of those few

who fasted and prayed there, departing not from it —

      devout Simeon and the prophetess Anna.

The holy man took the Babe up in his arms.

The three of them, lost in the grayness of dawn,

now stood like a small shifting frame that surrounded

      the Child in the palpable dark of the temple.

The temple enclosed them in forests of stone.

Its lofty vaults stooped as though trying to cloak

the prophetess Anna, and Simeon, and Mary —

      to hide them from men and to hide them from Heaven.

And only a chance ray of light struck the hair

of that sleeping Infant, who stirred but as yet

was conscious of nothing and blew drowsy bubbles;

      old Simeon’s arms held him like a stout cradle.

It had been revealed to this upright old man

that he would not die until his eyes had seen

the Son of the Lord. And it thus came to pass. And

      he said: ‘Now, O Lord, lettest thou thy poor servant,

according to thy holy word, leave in peace,

for mine eyes have witnessed thine offspring,

he is thy continuation and also the source of

      thy Light for idolatrous tribes, and the glory

of Israel as well.’ Then old Simeon paused.

The silence, regaining the temple’s clear space,

oozed from all its corners and almost engulfed them,

      and only his echoing words grazed the rafters,

to spin for a moment, with faint rustling sounds,

high over their heads in the tall temple’s vaults,

akin to a bird that can soar, yet that cannot

      return to the earth, even if it should want to.

A strangeness engulfed them.