Стихотворение «ТРЕВОГИ»
Тип: Стихотворение
Раздел: Переводы
Тематика: Переводы
Автор:
Читатели: 325 +1
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ТРЕВОГИ

ТРЕВОГИ
Донна Мазини
 
Они как муравьи,
потом ещё их больше.
 
На запад, восток -
куда ни глянь:
 
терзают, раздражают.
Долги. Грехи твои.
 
Такая тебе Этна,
твой ужаса                                                                        
                                                                                                                                                                    
сенат, на грани
разума, такси -                                                                  
                                                                          
и прямо в ад. Всё
в прошедшем...
 
А будущего нет. Одних
тревог гнездо...
 
Тебе не по себе
на море, на свободе -
 
почти что не-
вменяема. Святых
 
сожрала. И
молишься грехам.
 
Не помогает
даже секс.
 
А он и ныне там.
 
2014
Donna Masini is the author of «Turning to Fiction» (W.W. Norton & Company, 2004) and «That Kind of Danger» (Beacon Press, 1994). She is the recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship and a New York Foundation for the Arts Grant. She teaches at Hunter College, City University of New York, and lives in New York City.
 
ANXIETIES
Donna Masini
 
It’s like ants
and more ants.
 
West, east
their little axes
 
hack and tease.
Your sins. Your back taxes.
 
This is your Etna,                                                                
your senate                                                                                       
                                                                                                                                                                    
of dread, at the axis                                                            
of reason, your taxi                                                             
                                                                          
to hell. You see
your past tense—
 
and next? A nest
of jittery ties.
 
You’re ill at ease,
at sea,
 
almost in-
sane.  You’ve eaten
 
your saints. 
You pray to your sins.
 
Even sex
is no exit.
 
Ah, you exist.
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