Стихотворения [Карл Август Сэндберг] (fb2) читать постранично, страница - 4

class="book">Дай мне взрыть и сровнять их основанья.

Положи меня, боже, на наковальню,

Сплющи и выкуй стальную заклепку.

Скрепи мною балки в остовах небоскребов.

Раскаленным болтом загони в опорные скрепы.

Дай мне стать крепким устоем, вздымающим небоскребы

В синие ночи к белеющим звездам.

GRASS

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.

Shovel them under and let me work-

I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg

And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.

Shovel them under and let me work.

Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:

What place is this?

Where are we now?

I am the grass.

Let me work.

ТРАВА (перевод И.Кашкина)

Нагромоздите тела под Аустерлицем и Ватерлоо,

Сложите в могилу и дайте мне работать:

Я — трава: я покрываю все.

Нагромоздите их выше под Геттисбургом,

Нагромоздите выше под Верденом, у Ипра,

Сложите в могилу и дайте мне работать.

Два юда, десять лет, и пассажиры спросят кондуктора:

«Это что за места?

Где мы теперь?»

Я — трава.

Дайте мне работать.

KILLERS

I am singing to you

Soft as a man with a dead child speaks;

Hard as a man in handcuffs,

Held where he cannot move:

Under the sun

Are sixteen million men,

Chosen for shining teeth,

Sharp eyes, hard legs,

And a running of young warm blood in their wrists.

And a red juice runs on the green grass;

And a red juice soaks the dark soil.

And the sixteen million are killing. . . and killing

and killing.

I never forget them day or night:

They beat on my head for memory of them;

They pound on my heart and I cry back to them,

To their homes and women, dreams and games.

I wake in the night and smell the trenches,

And hear the low stir of sleepers in lines--

Sixteen million sleepers and pickets in the dark:

Some of them long sleepers for always,

Some of them tumbling to sleep to-morrow for always,

Fixed in the drag of the world's heartbreak,

Eating and drinking, toiling. . . on a long job of

killing.

Sixteen million men.

УБИЙЦЫ (перевод И.Кашкина)

Я говорю вам

мягко, словно отец прощаясь с умершим ребенком,

сурово, как человек в кандалах,

лишенный насущной свободы.

На земле

шестнадцать миллионов

выбраны за свои белые зубы,

острый взгляд, крепкие бедра,

молодую, горячую кровь.

И красный сок течет по зеленой траве,

и земля набухает от красного сока,

и шестнадцать миллионов убивают... убивают... убивают.

Мне ни ночью, ни днем от них нет покоя

Они стучатся в мой мозг, напоминая,

они давят на сердце, и я отзываюсь

на их быт, семью, утехи и грезы.

Просыпаясь ночью, я вдыхаю запах окопов,

слышу неясный шорох уснувших в траншеях,

шестнадцать миллионов спящих и стоящих на страже во тьме.

Иные из них давно отдыхают, и навсегда,

другие скоро споткнутся, чтобы тоже уснуть навсегда,

увлекаемые лавиной, крушащей весь мир,

хмелея, опохмеляясь,... в бесконечном надрыве...

на тяжкой работе убийцы.

Шестнадцать миллионов.

THE LIARS

A LIAR goes in fine clothes.

A liar goes in rags.

A liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.

A liar is a liar and lives on the lies he tells and dies in a life of lies.

And the stonecutters earn a living—with lies—on the tombs of liars.

Aliar looks ’em in the eye

And lies to a woman,

Lies to a man, a pal, a child, a fool.

And he is an old liar; we know him many years back.

A liar lies to nations.

A liar lies to the people.

A liar takes the blood of the people

And drinks this blood with a laugh and a lie,

A laugh in his neck,

A lie in his mouth.

And this liar is an old one; we know him many years.

He is straight as a dog’s hind leg.

He is straight as a corkscrew.

He is white as a black cat’s foot at midnight.

The tongue of a man is tied on this,

On the liar who lies to nations,

The liar who lies to the people.

The tongue of a man is tied on this

And ends: To hell with ’em all.

To hell with ’em all.

It’s a song hard as a riveter’s hammer,

Hard as the sleep of a crummy hobo,

Hard as the sleep of a lousy doughboy,

Twisted as a shell-shock idiot’s gibber.

The liars met where the doors were locked.

They said to each other: Now for war.

The liars fixed it and told ’em: Go.

Across their tables they fixed it up,

Behind their doors away from the mob.

And the guns did a job that nicked off millions.

The guns blew seven million off the map,

The guns sent seven million west.

Seven million shoving up the daisies.

Across their tables they fixed it up,

The liars who lie to nations.

And now

Out of the butcher’s job

And the boneyard junk the maggots have cleaned,

Where the jaws of skulls tell the jokes of war ghosts,

Out of this they are calling now: Let’s go back where we were.

Let us run the world again, us, us.

Where the doors are locked the liars say: Wait and we’ll cash in again.

So I hear The People talk.

I hear them tell each other:

Let the strong men be ready.

Let the strong

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