04-11-2009 23:10 I was supposed to write an essay "The person I would like to speak to"
"People and things surround us..."
Brodskiy was wholly alone
When whole this verbal tormenting mass
Was straining to turn into tone.
And when is it my turn to start to talk?
Or should it be asked this way:
Is there anyone who is ready to hark
At what I'm going to say?
Hey You, whose temples the greyness has touched,
I would like to speak to you
To make all your dreams - pale and smudged -
Glare and blossom anew.
And if you are feeling yourself to be old -
No time to feel listless and black,
If birth is detachment from out the World -
Prepare a gift to give back.
And you, trusting child, who's learning to speak -
That means to feel and to live -
You still know the secrets that I want to seek,
You still know the art - to perceive.
I tell you, the world is as such as it seems,
Where fantasy's more real than fact,
Don't let them convince you that childish dreams
Are doomed to ironic neglect.
To speak? For what? And how when words
Stop being what they have been?
I speak or it just sound my vocal chords -
I don't understand what I mean.
A word. A pure nominal form
That makes comprehension grow dumb.
Your night is the sky with the Moon coloured chrome,
Mine - is waiting for morning to come.
What can my words give you when even while talk
We still stay as lonely as were?
Ts-ch! Silence! Feel the smell of the fog
And taste it and touch this smooth blur.
The voice of the wind, the smell of the ground,
The colours dissolved in the air...
This dialogue with nature, talk lacking of sound
Is getting to be inner prayer.
What's making us closer - is those fragile links
That are not expressed aloud.
I know, that we have so many things
To think and keep quiet about.
Current music: Sigur Ros - Ti-Ki
Brodskiy was wholly alone
When whole this verbal tormenting mass
Was straining to turn into tone.
And when is it my turn to start to talk?
Or should it be asked this way:
Is there anyone who is ready to hark
At what I'm going to say?
Hey You, whose temples the greyness has touched,
I would like to speak to you
To make all your dreams - pale and smudged -
Glare and blossom anew.
And if you are feeling yourself to be old -
No time to feel listless and black,
If birth is detachment from out the World -
Prepare a gift to give back.
And you, trusting child, who's learning to speak -
That means to feel and to live -
You still know the secrets that I want to seek,
You still know the art - to perceive.
I tell you, the world is as such as it seems,
Where fantasy's more real than fact,
Don't let them convince you that childish dreams
Are doomed to ironic neglect.
To speak? For what? And how when words
Stop being what they have been?
I speak or it just sound my vocal chords -
I don't understand what I mean.
A word. A pure nominal form
That makes comprehension grow dumb.
Your night is the sky with the Moon coloured chrome,
Mine - is waiting for morning to come.
What can my words give you when even while talk
We still stay as lonely as were?
Ts-ch! Silence! Feel the smell of the fog
And taste it and touch this smooth blur.
The voice of the wind, the smell of the ground,
The colours dissolved in the air...
This dialogue with nature, talk lacking of sound
Is getting to be inner prayer.
What's making us closer - is those fragile links
That are not expressed aloud.
I know, that we have so many things
To think and keep quiet about.
Current music: Sigur Ros - Ti-Ki
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I smile when I read my chil...
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Poor Yorick