Стихи и поэмы. Проза. Переводы. Письма. О поэте. Фото и видео.

Переводы

Translated by Wayne Chambliss

Converging, they vanish, one in front of the other—
the bear and the fish—
circling
patiently.
In belts of barnacles
souls.
Each one
shifts his weight from foot to foot
squints
as if having lost
a contact.

read today: 1
Translated by Wayne Chambliss

A Jugendstil tower. Myself quite new.
I heard the underbell flowers uncurl.

You were sitting on the little staircase. By all accounts, a pearl.
I stiffened. Limits were measured.

You were the sum of all you encountered,
become what you could not deter.

We were joined by the ladies’ confessor (and connoisseur),
self-absorbed as a Klein jug.

read today: 1
Translated by Christine Zeytounian-Belous

Ma vie en est à son milieu, on pourrait planter un compas dans cette date.
La ligne de partage des eaux entre les fleuves Sud et Nord est un kilomètre absent.
La prenant pour un tunnel, tu sens comme sont étroitement alignées
les couches de molécules, tu bondis sur la poche du sous-sol qui sous toi se retourne.

read today: 1
Translated by Constantine Rusanov

The hedgehog extracts the root of the sky – a dark prophet
shouldering the full weight of Sebastian’s body.

The hedgehog has trickled out of a sieve – its back is
at odds with itself, so meticulously plural.

read today: 1
Translated by Eugene Ostashevsky

Maybe you do draw
                seriously,
but not now, alas! Lines
form a grill,
and behind it—lions.

Lions. Their life is a diplomat’s,
they pose on their paws, their heads double.
With celerity of computer chess,
lions occupy cells with each cell.

Translated by Eugene Ostashevsky

since morning the street was lined with
glass towers chiming like salami
dangled from vacuum

from any vantage transpicuous
intersections of buzz and breeze
          (nerves) as
if all’s about these: contacts and contracts
ring and if anything sting

Translated by Eugene Ostashevsky

In a factory where they make chloramphenicol
          cats          loiter

one—gnarled
          like a woodblock: waterlogged, barnacled
another—thin with an elongated tongue—
          a fireman’s hook
and the third—huge like a calm
          in the Persian Gulf

Translated by Eugene Ostashevsky

A betty’s mouth rotates. The wind’s proof doubles.
Mesmerizing Boeings. The cyclopic reveries
of stadiums. And America doubles
over and b/pounces—all are pleased

Translated by Eugene Ostashevsky

Navigating on roller-skates in the dark, I understand:
the country around me vibrates.
The spider’s mute web
reflects an equilateral slumber. Both Satan
and a cobra next to him would seem pusillanimous, two schlimazels.
On the other side of the glass, the spider is quieter
          than my phone in Basel.

comments: 1
Translated by Wayne Chambliss

A jackal and a crow. Blood neither shed nor shared
between them. The dynamite, nearby, is armed.
They are barely contours, prepared
to escape the kernel of blackness and assume a rudimentary form.

Above them, thought balloons are floating. The cartoon repaginates
the seashore, windy, dry as bone.
When the rain falls, it becomes clear the photographer, buried to his waist,
was welded of bronze and focused on no one.

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