Искусствоед
Ingeborg Bachmann
Gedichte 1962-1963
Die folter
Ingeborg Bachmann
The Collected Poems
Poems 1962-1963
The Torture
Who is eating with my spoon,
who is lying in my bed,
who spends my pound,
who loves, who suns herseld
under my sun?
It's far away.
In fact I
am where I
cannot me.
Oh he can stand it, who
for a moment that seemed
like a year did not
love me, he can stand it,
my friends,*
don't you see?*
I have begun
to dig my grave,
also scratching my names
into this paper and
thinking I only want to rest
but never will, that I will never
find peace, that it
will last, this iron in my gut, this fist upon
the skull, this whip
upon the back, causing,
the Kurfürstendamm
to break out in shrill
laughter, howling from
a thousand billboards that hot coffee
is poured onto my hand,
that my skin
is ripped off, that my
flesh is cut,
my bones broken,
and me entombed,
a small shark slicing by,
me jumping onto the water,
he eating me as I am
eaten by a larger shark,
a predator called pain.
And I rock back and forth,
not understanding, my head
bent over this. There below
is a ship that sails.*
I see it. Do you see it, my friends?*
transl. by Peter Filkins
* аллюзии на оперу Вагнера "Тристан и Изольда", в частности на предсмертную арию Изольды, Liebestod
Gedichte 1962-1963
Die folter
Ingeborg Bachmann
The Collected Poems
Poems 1962-1963
The Torture
Who is eating with my spoon,
who is lying in my bed,
who spends my pound,
who loves, who suns herseld
under my sun?
It's far away.
In fact I
am where I
cannot me.
Oh he can stand it, who
for a moment that seemed
like a year did not
love me, he can stand it,
my friends,*
don't you see?*
I have begun
to dig my grave,
also scratching my names
into this paper and
thinking I only want to rest
but never will, that I will never
find peace, that it
will last, this iron in my gut, this fist upon
the skull, this whip
upon the back, causing,
the Kurfürstendamm
to break out in shrill
laughter, howling from
a thousand billboards that hot coffee
is poured onto my hand,
that my skin
is ripped off, that my
flesh is cut,
my bones broken,
and me entombed,
a small shark slicing by,
me jumping onto the water,
he eating me as I am
eaten by a larger shark,
a predator called pain.
And I rock back and forth,
not understanding, my head
bent over this. There below
is a ship that sails.*
I see it. Do you see it, my friends?*
transl. by Peter Filkins
* аллюзии на оперу Вагнера "Тристан и Изольда", в частности на предсмертную арию Изольды, Liebestod