Aeneas Terrain
or
Aen Easter Rain
I Bled Baked Bread
From Hurting Head
When Willing Wed
I Loaf Instead
I Dido Dough
From Shade Sorrow
When Lent Limbo
I Knead to Know
I Sowing Slain
From Lovers’ Lain
When Sweet Songs Strain
I Will Refrain
I Bred Blood Bread
From Something Said
When Underfed
I Am Not Dead
—Cyril Cook
“Field of Stars” (YouTube)—Oliver Schroer
[A Good Comrade]
Բարի, գեղեցիկ առաքինի ընկերը մարդուն
Փայլեցնում է արեւի պէս պատկերը մարդուն
The good, graceful and virtuous friend of a man
Brightens the image of the man to shine like the Sun
Ինչ մարդ ունենայ յուր մօտ հաւատարիմ ընկեր
Ցերեկի նման անցնում է մութ գիշերը մարդուն
When a man enjoys the company of a loyal friend
His darkest night turns into a daylaight!
—Աշուղ Ջիվանի ֊ Troubadour Tchivani
Nothing is impossible to change
Distrust the more trivial, in appearance simple.
And examine, above all, what seems habitual.
We begged expressly:
don’t accept what is of habit as a natural thing,
because in time of bloody disorder,
of organized confusion,
of conscious outrage,
of unmerciful humanity,
nothing should seem natural,
anything should seem impossible to change.
—Berthold Brecht
The Layers
I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.
—Stanley Kunitz
Força Estranha
Eu vi um menino correndo
Eu vi o tempo brincando ao redor
Do caminho daquele menino
Eu pus os meus pés no riacho
E acho que nunca os tirei
O sol ainda brilha na estrada e eu nunca passei
Eu vi a mulher preparando outra pessoa
O tempo parou pra eu olhar para aquela barriga
A vida é amiga da arte
É a parte que o sol me ensinou
O sol que atravessa essa estrada que nunca passou
Por isso uma força me leva a cantar
Por isso essa força estranha
Por isso é que eu canto, não posso parar
Por isso essa voz tamanha
Eu vi muitos cabelos brancos na fronte do artista
O tempo não pára no entanto ele nunca envelhece
Aquele que conhece o jogo, o jogo das coisas que são
É o sol, é o tempo, é a estrada, é o pé e é o chão
Eu vi muitos homens brigando
Ouvi seus gritos
Estive no fundo de cada vontade encoberta
E a coisa mais certa de todas as coisas
Não vale um caminho sob o sol
E o sol sobre a estrada, é o sol sobre a estrada, é o sol
Por isso uma força me leva a cantar
Por isso essa força estranha
Por isso é que eu canto, não posso parar
Por isso essa voz tamanha
Por isso uma força me leva a cantar
Por isso essa força estranha no ar
Por isso é que eu canto, não posso parar
Por isso essa voz tamanha
[translation]:
I saw a boy running
I saw the time playing around
That boy’s path
I put my feet in the stream
And I don’t think I ever took them off
The sun still shines on the road and I never passed
I saw the woman preparing someone else
Time stopped for me to look at that belly
Life is a friend of art
It’s the part that the sun taught me
The sun that crosses this road that never passed
So a force leads me to sing
So this strange force
That’s why I sing, I can’t stop
That’s why this voice is so big
I saw a lot of white hair on the artist’s forehead
Time doesn’t stop however it never gets old
He who knows the game, the game of things that are
It’s the sun, it’s the weather, it’s the road, it’s the foot and it’s the ground
I saw many men fighting
I heard your screams
I’ve been at the bottom of every covert will
And the most certain thing of all things
Not worth a path under the sun
And the sun on the road, it’s the sun on the road, it’s the sun
So a force leads me to sing
So this strange force
That’s why I sing, I can’t stop
That’s why this voice is so big
So a force leads me to sing
So this strange force in the air
That’s why I sing, I can’t stop
That’s why this voice is so big
—from a Brazilian song [by Caetano Veloso, recorded by Roberto Carlos]
Жди меня Wait for Me
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Жди меня, и я вернусь.
Только очень жди,
Жди, когда наводят грусть
Желтые дожди,
Жди, когда снега метут,
Жди, когда жара,
Жди, когда других не ждут,
Позабыв вчера.
Жди, когда из дальних мест
Писем не придет,
Жди, когда уж надоест
Всем, кто вместе ждет.
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Wait for me and I’ll come back!
Wait with all your might!
Wait when dreary yellow rains
Tell you nothing’s right;
Wait when snow is falling fast;
Wait when summer’s hot;
When no one waits for other men
And all the past’s forgot!
Wait when those that wait with you
Are bored and tired and glum,
And when it seems, from far away,
No letters ever come!
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Жди меня, и я вернусь,
Не желай добра
Всем, кто знает наизусть,
Что забыть пора.
Пусть поверят сын и мать
В то, что нет меня,
Пусть друзья устанут ждать,
Сядут у огня,
Выпьют горькое вино
На помин души…
Жди. И с ними заодно
Выпить не спеши.
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Wait for me and I’ll come back!
Wait in patience yet
When they tell you off by heart
That you should forget;
And when my mother and my son
Give up on me at last
And friends sit sadly round the fire
And talk about the past
And drink a bitter glass of wine
In memory of me –
Wait! No rush to drink with them!
Tell them to wait and see!
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Жди меня, и я вернусь,
Всем смертям назло.
Кто не ждал меня, тот пусть
Скажет: – Повезло.
Не понять, не ждавшим им,
Как среди огня
Ожиданием своим
Ты спасла меня.
Как я выжил, будем знать
Только мы с тобой,-
Просто ты умела ждать,
Как никто другой.
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Wait for me and I’ll come back,
Escaping every fate!
‘Just a lot of luck!’ they’ll say,
Those that didn’t wait.
They will never understand
How, amidst the strife,
By your waiting for me, dear,
You had saved my life!
Only you and I will know
How you got me through!
Simply – you knew how to wait!
No one else but you!
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Wash Your Hands
We are humans relearning to wash our hands.
Washing our hands is an act of love
Washing our hands is an act of care
Washing our hands is an act that puts the hypervigilant body at ease
Washing our hands helps us return to ourselves by washing away what does not serve …
Polytropy 