Искусствоед
Lawrence Durrell
A Noctuary in Athens
I
I have tasted my quantum of misfortune,
Have prayed before the left-handed woman;
Now as the rain of heaven downfalling tastes of space,
So the swimmer in the ocean of self, alone,
Utters his journey like a manual welcome,
Sculptures his element in search of grace.
II
I have sipped from the flask of resurrection,
Have eaten the oaten cake of redemption,
And love, sweet love, who weeps by the water-clock
Can bring if she will the sexton and the box,
For I wear my age as wood wears voluble leaves,
The temporal hunger and the carnal locks.
Ill
I have buried my wife under a dolmen,
Where others sleep as naked as the clouds,
Where others lie and weigh their dreams by ounces,
Where tamarisk, lentisk lean to utter sweets,
And angels in their shining moods retire:
Where from the wells the voice of truth pronounces.
IV
I have tasted my quantum of misfortune.
In the desert, the cities of ash and feathers,
In front of others I have spoken the vowel,
Knelt to the curly wool, the uncut horns;
Have carried my tribulation in a basket of wattle,
Solitary in my penitence as the owl.
V
I have set my wife's lip under the bandage,
pound the roses, bind the eye of the soul,
Recite the charm of the deep and heal soon,
For the mountains accuse, and the sky's walls.
Let the book of sickness be put in the embers.
1 have tasted my quantum of misfortune.
A Noctuary in Athens
I
I have tasted my quantum of misfortune,
Have prayed before the left-handed woman;
Now as the rain of heaven downfalling tastes of space,
So the swimmer in the ocean of self, alone,
Utters his journey like a manual welcome,
Sculptures his element in search of grace.
II
I have sipped from the flask of resurrection,
Have eaten the oaten cake of redemption,
And love, sweet love, who weeps by the water-clock
Can bring if she will the sexton and the box,
For I wear my age as wood wears voluble leaves,
The temporal hunger and the carnal locks.
Ill
I have buried my wife under a dolmen,
Where others sleep as naked as the clouds,
Where others lie and weigh their dreams by ounces,
Where tamarisk, lentisk lean to utter sweets,
And angels in their shining moods retire:
Where from the wells the voice of truth pronounces.
IV
I have tasted my quantum of misfortune.
In the desert, the cities of ash and feathers,
In front of others I have spoken the vowel,
Knelt to the curly wool, the uncut horns;
Have carried my tribulation in a basket of wattle,
Solitary in my penitence as the owl.
V
I have set my wife's lip under the bandage,
pound the roses, bind the eye of the soul,
Recite the charm of the deep and heal soon,
For the mountains accuse, and the sky's walls.
Let the book of sickness be put in the embers.
1 have tasted my quantum of misfortune.