A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений
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Название: A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений
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Мария Визи (1904-1994) – поэтесса «первой волны» русской эмиграции. Данное собрание стихотворений, изданное в США, под редакцией Ольги Бакич, наиболее полное на данный момент собрание ее поэтических произведений и переводов.
Издание состоит из 4 частей и включает в себя:
1. Три опубликованных сборника М. Визи: 1929, 1936 и 1973 гг.
2. Стихотворения, не вошедшие в сборники, написанные на русском языке.
3. Стихотворения, не вошедшие в сборники, написанные на английском языке.
4. Неопубликованные переводы
Вступительная статья и комментарии на английском языке.
Внимание! Книга может содержать контент только для совершеннолетних. Для несовершеннолетних чтение данного контента СТРОГО ЗАПРЕЩЕНО! Если в книге присутствует наличие пропаганды ЛГБТ и другого, запрещенного контента - просьба написать на почту [email protected]
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517. «Quiet the waters were, — do you recall?..»
Quiet the waters were, — do you recall? —
quietly did the waters rise and roll
in low and gentle swells, when one fine day
you dropped your anchor in my slumbering bay.
Softly the breezes from the western sky
swept over silent sands where you and I
gazed at the sea — and not a shadow fell,
nor came a cloud to break the golden spell.
How can I wonder now, with you no more,
that black the waters rise, and roar, and roar?
23 Feb. 1936
518. «High in the mountains, where the grass is cool…»
High in the mountains, where the grass is cool,
we tied our horses by an emerald pool,
and as they drank, as they neighed in glee,
we two sat motionless, and speechless, — we.
Upon the shining flanks of your black steed
you watched the water flicker, bead by bead;
you never raised your eyes, yet well you knew —
that all the while 1 only thought of you.
Dear dream forgotten, dream that was so frail!
The evening sky was cloudless, calm and pale —
could I have guessed, as we resumed that trail,
that every star would wane, and every stream
run dry and silent, as in a by-gone dream?
23 Feb. 1936
519. Falling Star
Star as you fell through the blue evening air
when I stood watching you, silent and thrilled,
I was supposed to have breathed a word of prayer
that some deep wish I had might be fulfilled.
But, star, oh, — white, round star, — I saw you fall,
breathlessly saw the light behind you trailed,
and I forgot the earth I trod, and all
earthly desires and wishes, — and I failed…
Bitter my sorrow now, and sore regret
not to have grasped the chance the day it came!
But such was your swift sudden spell, that yet
if others fell — I still would do the same!
Shanghai, [1936]
520. «I'm often dreaming…»
I'm often dreaming
that I unfurl
my tall wings, gleaming
like mother-of-pearl,
and cut my tether,
and take to flight,
with each small feather
glistening white;
but, oh, I waken,
and, to atone,
breathless and shaken
fall, like a stone,
and see — a token
of earthly things —
they're broken —
my shining wings!
[1936]
521. «I am a stranger here. Leave me alone…» [233]
I am a stranger here. Leave me alone.
My eyes are tired of your streets of stone,
your tower houses; I am used to wood
and hill and meadows and to solitude.
All now is ended — all the wild birds flown,
and stars burnt out which had so brightly shone —
all the tall stately firs stand bare and dead
and silent lies each empty riverbed.
Only the still brown rocks, moss-covered, keep
their watch where silver wavelets curl and creep,
and that same sky, sunless and cold and grey,
hangs, — as the morning when I sailed away.
Shanghai, 1936–1937
522. «I hope from where you sit or lie…» [234]
I hope from where you sit or lie
that you can see a patch of sky
at night, with angels flitting by,
each lighter than a sigh.
I hope that thru your window pane
you see trees, dripping in the rain,
or stooping low as under strain
where heavy snow has lain.
That you can watch a billowy cloud
sailing, like some white galleon proud,
and birds around it, crying loud,
ever a joyous crowd;
I hope that you may never tire
of watching sunlit skies on fire.
27 Nov. 1951
523 Nocturne(«White clouds…») [235]
White clouds
Remote
Like little explosions
Climb the sky and float
Above the black erosions
Of the castle moat.
Behind the grey parallelogram
Of his castle wall
The aged knight
Snores, for he doesn't really give a damn
At all
For the beauty of the night.
But in her tower
The knight's young daughter
Forgetful of the hour,
Silently watches
The silver splotches
Upon the water.
29 Mar. 1955
524. Impressions at the Opera (a true story)
Three dowagers with silver tresses
and silver foxes over pale-blue dresses
floated into their box,
fox after fox,
and settled down,
like pillows stuffed with eiderdown.
And Salvatore Baccaloni,
as Bartolo up on the stage,
though usually quite the rage,
seemed not as fat,
nor half as funny.
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