Избранное. Поэзия. Драматургия. Максимилиан Гюбрис

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      All, so spontaneously!… No, I wasn’t feared

      Neither I was satisfied; timelessly,

      Seem, a last question of the Theme we’ve tried,

      Was keeping alchemize my loaded mind,

      And the effect was felt like limbo thought

      Grotesquely-dissolved in mount of sights

      Of all subsequently awaken fancies.

      It was all coming up from stranger words

      Made wilder dancing of the scene-to-world.

      The Provocation how fast was rising

      From the back-imagined talk. …That “’bout tomb»,

      That “’bout dead», that “’bout doom and light»; —

      As if these Two, sane-eyed, sat there, side to side,

      At their philosophic table of the Time,

      Whilst all around, full of common cries

      From yet tonight, the witnesses of our insight,

      Beings too-voluntarous, rose to unite

      And all got closer, and acted there blind,

      And some were just to fight then. All images,

      All characters to find… Dude Fonomore,

      With others, fans of End, Satirehood, and…

      Madder-looking creature broke the hand, then,

      Of the Dead Wall’s Clock, and picture changed all.

      And all, so suddenly, went to behold:

      Oh, that was news unique! that opened wide,

      That newly-viewed field there was; – that hugely…

      Laid all o’er there… corpse. Bigger than house.

      Much bigger than the airplane or gardens

      Some, – the Corpse of War, dread on the sun.

      And ’twas all full of moving…! life, not life, —

      What could I call it like? The crawls, all sounds,

      Those all expressions, parasitic mess,

      All from inside came out; – ants not ants,

      Not so the worms, but looked like flags and guns,

      In tones and tints, materialized moods

      Of things in shape, in shade, dead sentiments.

      …The threats of vision stopped, view lost its ends

      Dissolved in shouts for the needed Grave

      That time, when my stressed psyche invoked again

      Back to my consciousness, that for me then

      To be a here-man. And here I am. – Think,

      Else, what I can say is that, when my old mind,

      Impressed a lot, went wondering alone

      Of that if ever could be right to grow

      Our seductive «Carny’s theme» at all, —

      If e’er we’d find a way to bury doubts

      (Oh, what a wisest thought!) «bout Death of War,

      So it can’t rise again, per rotten chance; —

      To this, I felt, however, but a nerve

      Of Human inspiration, – dreaming then

      Of sage and dispute to be back again.