Искусствоед
Lawrence Durrell
Syracuse Marble Stele: Syracuse
One day she dies and there with splendour
On all sides of her, for miles and miles,
Stretches reality in all its rich ubiquity,
The whole of science, magic, total time.
The hanging gardens of folly, the aloof sublime,
just as far as thinking reaches,
Though lost now the nightingale's corroboration
Of spring in meadows of dew uprising.
Only the avid silence preaches.
"Whence came we, blind one?" asks the nursery rhyme,
"And wither going, say?" The cherub questions us
"In the dark of his unknowing clad
He charms eternity, makes all process glad."
Tine has made way at last, the dream is ended
Least said is soonest mended.
Hear old Empedocles as calmly wise
As only more than mortal man can be
Who stands no nonsense from eternity.
"The royal mind of God in all
its imperturbable extravagance,
Admits no gossip. All is poetry.
There is no which, nor why, nor whence."
(from "Sicilian Carousel", 1977)
Syracuse Marble Stele: Syracuse
One day she dies and there with splendour
On all sides of her, for miles and miles,
Stretches reality in all its rich ubiquity,
The whole of science, magic, total time.
The hanging gardens of folly, the aloof sublime,
just as far as thinking reaches,
Though lost now the nightingale's corroboration
Of spring in meadows of dew uprising.
Only the avid silence preaches.
"Whence came we, blind one?" asks the nursery rhyme,
"And wither going, say?" The cherub questions us
"In the dark of his unknowing clad
He charms eternity, makes all process glad."
Tine has made way at last, the dream is ended
Least said is soonest mended.
Hear old Empedocles as calmly wise
As only more than mortal man can be
Who stands no nonsense from eternity.
"The royal mind of God in all
its imperturbable extravagance,
Admits no gossip. All is poetry.
There is no which, nor why, nor whence."
(from "Sicilian Carousel", 1977)