for Alexis Sosnin
1 (131)
Is not it enough for a libation yet?
Have not we had enough trying to read the truth at the bottoms of our goblets?
Have not we yet had enough refilling and draining them?
Just push your goblet to the edge and linger a second before flicking it down to the floor…
Linger a second and listen to the thoughts elbowing in your head.
There are days and nights to pass after you’ve broken this goblet, there were days and weeks and most probably months and years you spent before,
there were doors you’ve been opening and doors you’ve been closing, and there will be a door you will close on me. One day. I am sure of that, do not even try to persuade me.
There are roads you have already walked by, there are roads still awaiting you, there are paths you are never supposed to take however hard you try,
there are songs and sunsets, for you and me, there are dawns for you alone, there are dawns for me alone, when you will not light a candle for me,
there is East, West, South, North, and the Center,
there is blue, yellow, red, green, and white,
there are skies and seas and oceans and spaceships heading for other galaxies
there are prayers of the faithful…
And there is that goblet you can now dismiss and which provoked all these words I’ve never intended to write down,
but in the name of the thousands of sparkling and jingling pieces on the floor that I’ll see after it’s broken
I let them flow like a torrent downhill.
2 (132)
a coat buttoned de travers and hair waving in the wind
like a bunch of colorless straw
I am standing like Saint Sebastian near the tree gazing into your eyes
waiting just for one gesture to overthrow the Universe
but the gesture does not hurry to manifest itself it remains undone
I am waiting for the words to be uttered
and all I hear is the howling wind of the Void
and a latent feeling of homelessness fills me with awe
because the tree I am hugging has already found its place in the world
but not I
3 (133)
no use to search the Earth over and over again
nothing to be found there but sufferings and hell
better follow the path the Sun is riding in its ignescent chariot
and for you then
amidst the Zodiacs the Great Leo will emerge
to judge of the truth
to assign rendez-vous to beloved
and to allocate separations
so sharpen your daggers tramp your spears in poison unsheathe your blades
we are off to a dangerous journey
to kneel before the Great Leo
to kiss the soils of his feet and to beg him not to separate you from me
4 (134)
once upon a time I did believe there was something enduring
I was trying to cling to a mirage I was trying to pin the elusive reality into my herbarium
but when you went away without coming back
I suddenly realized that after a number of years
we are getting well-disposed towards each other
we are getting indifferently tender and tenderly indifferent to the world:
little by little we become aware we are lonesome strangers
not expected anywhere in the Universe
and the Great Someone should cut the thread one day
5 (135)
bring him to a slaughter house tie him to a pillar
plunge a hatchet into his throat
throw javelins into his eyes
may the blood leak like a mountain stream
be harsh and beat and taunt and torture and tease him
rape cut out the stomach give it to rats
make him spit and barf with bile and foam
may his front sheen of the sweat-drops
cut him in pieces but do not give back to Earth
do not render him to his pristine dwelling
6 (136)
it was a bad tragedy
four years in life three hours on stage
they loved each other
loved loved loved loved loved loved loved
loved loved loved loved loved loved loved
but in the end everybody died
quel cauchemar! ah!
7 (137)
snow-white satin was wrapping you round when you were borne into this world
so be silent like snow be tender like snow be cold like snow be sparkling like snow
your first cry put the weft to work unwinding the yarn of your life
detracting your days subtracting your forces
the satin cover is of no particular longevity
and never believe in durability of feelings for they will crease like a second-quality fabric
they will inevitably wear out like an old woolen sweater
don’t believe in oaths since each vow is a stigma
that will not be washed away when you show your face
in front of God
when the filament is completely unwound
and a tender velvet shroud will accompany you to the sepulcher
8 (138)
you dun me so much that I’m almost done
you’ve always been the only one to have won the right to offend me
but why tell me why with a wry face
do I have to fall into the rye and cry like an insect or like a carnivore flute
when I watched you and knew you were an unattainable bait that will ever make me bate for I never can reach you
I know a door of your passion has been closed on me and not me you adore
my treachery being far more dreadful
none of the nuns will be able to give me absolution
since I had betrayed after being betrayed myself
I have to flee to some distant holme
and let it be my last dwelling my last shelter my last home
where I’ll build myself a small hut to find peace to my heart
9 (139)
ancient temples tell me old stories of those whom I have not known and of those whom I actually do not desire to meet
today tomorrow never
there are Egyptian pyramids I will never see and there is Nile where I will never bathe whose crystal waters will never encompass me with their whispering
there is Schecherazade who will never look at me and who will never – what an effrontery even to think of it! – suggest me to share her couch with her for I am no young beautiful prince from the Arabian Nights
there are mantras of India I will never sing for I wanted to sing them in unison with you but you have abandoned me and I will never want to travel down there alone
there are Chinese characters I will never be able to decode but they are hiding some wisdom I am so craving after
and the old temples in the West still tell me a woeful story
that there is nothing worse than a one-way feeling
which is like death
you enter it to never reappear the same
10 (140)
why do we constantly seem to squander the time
without performing anything useful
either to anyone else or to ourselves?
why do we behave as if we were living in a permafrost region
where no sun was about to come to melt the glacial hearts of our neighbors?
why do we constantly seem to pass the same quay without looking at each other?
little by little our vital forces are being strewn into the immense sea of misfortune
I know we could diminish our sorrows if we were together
but tomorrow you will still pass me by without even noticing the glowing heat of my eyes behind the frozen tears
11 (141)
balancing on and on in the Black Womb was the Fire
the Fire would not open his mouth unless his lover
the Water eternal would come to copulate with him
and to bear the Thought the Idea the Uttered Expression
the Thought would be their son
the Uttered Expression and the Idea would be their daughters
there would be no Religion Faith and Temples until the Thought would copulate with shaggy Stones lying cold and waiting for him on the littoral
there would be no Science or Practice
unless the Uttered Expression and the Idea would copulate with the Ether and the Air
those who saw the Black Womb also saw a longest umbilical cord paving the way to the stars
but unless the Fire and the Water and the Ether and the Air emanate from the Non-Existence
and unless all the words are forgotten and the Wordless Idea is not crowned queen
we will be helplessly balancing in the nets of Her Majesty Ignorance
12 (142)
stars pine-trees zebras alcohol
recitation of ancient verse Vajrayana Tenochtitlan Yarilo tea for two
dream of the snow and snow of the dream
skies puking oars hell rivers lakes shadows electric wires postmen laying eggs
abacas wheel of fortune perfume from your body
windscreen wipers brushing raindrops away
robust workers in the frost building Babylon towers through the skies of Montreal Oslo Copenhagen and Helsinki
notepads obesity doorknobs women’s chests men’s breasts
all this has blended within me into a hallucination
which I know is in fact a visualization of a two-dimensional tiger
amidst the mountains that I shall never see
13 (143)
sitting slack like dough in armchairs zapping zapping zapping zapping zapping
a world of illusions where one is becoming illusory himself
where are dissatisfaction and passion
that formerly used to encourage unveiling Isis and discovering routes to America?
where is languor of spirit that bore thoughts and ideas?
where is emotion? is it forgotten?
where is compassion? is it up for grabs?
caged we’ve forgotten that fairy-tales are true
and that dreams are the only things to push us onward
14 (144)
in the craniums of our towns cities villages
the last belief in God is being given away just for pennies by made-up chicks stamped out pavements and coca-cola machines
the last hope for a better morrow is set on an electric chair
for a bottle of perfume for a box of cosmetics chocolates condoms
and those whom I used to call friends
who were trying to creep under my blanket and tear off the veil covering my Great Usurper
are now strolling through dirty stinky markets
buying cats snakes and mongrels in closed sacks
to prepare that putrid meat for another rotten breakfast
15 (145)
your sounding trumpets oh Tibet are about to herald the Last Day
a day full of repentance will come
for us to be carried away to your judging throne
through the clamor of crossroads
amidst the whistles of policemen in dirty caps
amidst the sirens of cars buses taxis
amidst the yelling of passers-by and dogs crushed by wheels
amidst the silent reproach of the skyscrapers
standing tall and indifferent
there is just one entrance into this life
there is but one exit
and unless he condescends to open his chilly paths to us
we are not to cherish a slightest hope to change the lines of our lives as we do it on public buses
16 (146)
be gone you predators my exchequer is empty
there’s nothing more to take nothing more to dispense
someone whom I trusted has cruelly ravaged upon my treasures
someone whom I loved has stolen the golden ingot
I’ve been keeping for you
to offer with a humble smile one night
so anthrax on your head you traitor
instead of multiplying our treasures
you’ve ruined me and yourself
and the autumn leaves putrefied to the very midribs
and the golden ingot of my passion is still hidden under my coat
for someone I still do not know but it is dubious now I’ll give it to a human
17 (147)
sitting and drinking my tea in a small chaguan on the talus
I am draining to the last tiniest tea-leaf my solitude my disbelief
imagining your advent in every glare of headlights from the cars indifferently crawling by
fancying your smell in every whiff of the wind in every waft from the cup in every rustle of women’s dresses
dreaming of your ghost stepping from the morning mist from the depths of the waters from the clouds from the sun from the shadows of the evening trees weeping with dew
pressing your illusory silhouette to mine under the bridges
embracing hugging kissing caressing stroking tickling coddling
feeling my lips over yours
and the only taste to substitute my frustrated passion for your prohibited lips
is the ineffable smell of the tea I am drinking in this lonesome chaguan
18 (148)
one letter is enough to change a word into the whole world
one letter is enough to change a friend into a fiend
there is a distance shorter than a yard
that lies between a passionate affection and an unaccountable hate
between a brilliant day and an impenetrable night
one glance askance and
there is no more godlike patience but a satanic wrath
we never care for slightest gestures feelings breaths
so what remains is to regret to sob to pray:
oh had I only restrained myself
my life would take another path
and there would be no precipice that sunders you and me
19 (149)
so I see you once again after the years of hustle
so many roads have changed and you have not
you are the same the asphalt is the same the traffic signs the fences
you are the same but different to my eyes
for youth is gone and passions gone
and do you still remember how I tumbled into dirt
having become aware of the vile repudiation?
the road remembers everything you don’t remember
(it’s dubious you still recall my name)
how towering above me so listlessly you said
I was but a pretender
you rode on and motionless I lied there on the edge
sobbing my fare-the-well into the grass
20 (150)
the rhymes and lines I dared bring to you are mere sounds
sequences of meaningless noise
no need to criticize their imperfection or reproach for being trite
you are relieved of useless compassion or approval
indeed the fact you’ve read them will sustain me on my further way
and possibly reveal the simple secret how to remain yourself
it is to swallow reality and dreams the way they are
you know I am no swallow to bring you cheering chants in spring
I am no quail to bring you songs of sorrow in autumn
I am no bullfinch to accompany your steps in winter
I am no nightingale to sing you love songs in summer
I am just your friend your fiend your sword your ultimate desertion
to help you crush the hostile world
and hopefully enter a better one
we call it Hades
14 January 2006. – Nizhny Novgorod (Russia)