Максимилиан Гюбрис - Избранное. Поэзия. Драматургия

Стираются понятия от дня,
Как кодекс права в прежних формулярах;
Величию не быть уж в тех томах,
Вчера что мир свершили под себя,
А ныне в политичных экземплярах,
Как рваные полотна в грусть-тонах.

Религии; теории наук;
Черты народов; календарь правлений; —
Вандал смешает всё, что ищет вех;
Дилеммы континентов, войн, мой друг,
Во свете всех безверных настроений,
С издёвкой где мир арбитрует смех.

«Так что же остаётся?» – молвят те, —
И дарят савану плач по культуре,
В примерах не восстановл е нных черт;
И лишь протофилолог-жизнь, во тьме,
В корпеньях, р а знит, по своей текстуре,
Исповеданья лет на нечет-чет.

Их убивают в тысячном числе,
Взрощённых для любви потомств,
Тех, коим н а званными быть в благих,
Кого равняют с жизнью сродств; не в зле,
В рёв, убивают сих во грусть-очах
И в девственных их силах средь живых;
В речах священных, к радостям семьи,
Их убивают, чад волшебных; дни
Бегут вперёд в страх ног покорных их,
Они не прекословны, не молебны;
Они идут податливо, чисты
Их кудри, взгляды преисполнены
Волнительной души, – другая ль есть? —
И не явл е нны оним Царств миры,
В плач солнца, проча лесть по все пиры,
Возносят нож над ними, в божью честь.

Одиноко бродит котофей,
И впадаю, глядя на него, Я в сказки;
В этой межсезонной вертопляске,
Растерял Я, кажется, друзей.

Обречённо скромен павший лист;
Всё же хорошо, что нет Иуды;
В этой жизни, где одни паскуды,
Ты любви сердечной берегись.

Так, пойду тропой своих аллей;
Как шуршит! в эскизах – странны рожи,
До чего ж они на всех… всех тех похожи;
День – что белка в сумраке елей.

Из поэтических экстрактов,
В дополнение
К книге автора сего, «The Secrets of Mdm Breuss».

Эскиз I.

Откуда ж жизни быть в жаровне [1], бес?
Иль кораблю [2], когда, вдруг кануть в твердь?
А дым [3] ли – зеркало есть? – чтобы глядеть
В него, как во чужую будто б смерть,
Но видеть лишь свою печаль и боль…
Да ты поэт, бес! – Ем у ж возможно весть,
Оттоль, весь мир к Трагедии чудес,
Так, будь он Доктор Фауст-Брюс 52: изволь: —
Сидеть чтоб у камина, как в тюрьме [4],
В свидетелях коварств и странствий всех,
Опасный пользуя эксперимент,
Как в страх скиталец, брошенный на брег
Слепой волною, зрить там пред собою
Всё то, что в судьбах пало под запрет…
Свет скрасит ли его удел? Чредою
Т ёмных [5] чувств, слова прихлынут в мозг,
Как острова [6] в мерцаньи среди звёзд [7],
Туман где пел над гладью тёмных вод; —
О, дальний образ. Вот! Уже летят:
Видения – в ту бездну бытия,
Где Бес и Муза [8] свой справляют бал;
Вздымается в высь Белая Гора [9],
И ведьмин [10] рой, кой Байрон 53не вспевал,
Игрой заходится; и фабула
Где, во признаньях и грехах, как вор,
Как тот вампир, по ступен я м [11] до злат
Кто в ночь крадётся, путь забыв обрат,
Взойдя, в обличьи ж новом узнаётся,
Навеки утеряв себя; – и взгляд,
Один лишь только взгляд в пространство,
Оставленное за завесой зла. —
Сгорает красная зола; до дна
Испит в бутыли [12] горький эликсир,
Да не Всесильным был он, – плут-визирь
Из Ада лгал вам 54; – вина лишь капли
Л и лись по губам, не знавшим Рая
Обладанья поднебесным Счастьем.
Она! [13] … Ах! Ты же – не учёный, бес, —
Тень окаянных грёз; в тщете сих слёз,
Аль сплавишь шпоры [14] в вечности огня
Пыт а нных душ?… В Аду, неужто утро?…

*** *** ***

Why ’tis so, that the child loves to hear the singings,
Child in the age of one-day?
Why ’tis so, this animal likes to listen the stories,
Yet never stepped in the age of the Brain?
Not in the age of the Theatre, he makes all grimases,
Never learnt there laughter or fright;
He plays eyes, such, as if he’s in the age of Truth even;
And, far from the age of the Judge, he cries.

Never felt yet in the age of the Doubt there,
He gives himself to the looks of all-lean e d heads;
Why ’tis so? – Not in the age of Revenge yet,
This babe waves against the lie of false breaths.

Look, not in the age of all-tormented Passion,
He pulls his arms into invisible Far Space;
And, yet ne’er reached the age of Wisdom or Fashion,
This being wins upon Sadness with one even gaze.

He heeds to… As if in the age of New Legend…
Dear friend, don’t you know, where this nostalgie from?
An infant can’t see, but awakes to new sights and the senses,
So irrevitably lives in us, through each age, in each form…

Truth: is that in the sudden thought,
That life goes earthly by?
I rather dream that poesy
Is magnetism attracts tomorrow’s light.

1.
A strangest ghost a witness of the me, —
Prophetic, – from the spheres of deadly peace
Arose right front of my spontaneous gaze; —
The things 'bout pass e d war were in his words;
«How shall we bury it?» – he’ve asked, and I
Felt in the certain pause, and I saw
The vision of unquiet macrocosm.

«How shall we bury it? Should be there tomb?
Should be that sad? – I read your thinker mood; —
Cause it is, firstly, sad to realize
What sort of groan it brings to resolute
Its memory to-come.» – «Thought to foregone.» —
«That’s it: we’ve got to bury it. Although,
The joy of making it, deliberate joy,
Like common ease, could morally confuse
That half of world of citizens, whose pride
Relates to all the dear facts of noble loss; —
Th’unsatisfied dramaticism oppose
To the unseriousity frivolous,
And that’s… to-war?“ – „Suppose, to count on both
Effects will do the whole of worldly truth…» —
«Like in the time of gladiators’ youth?» —
«Oh, no!» – «Although ’twas the performance
Of the pra-ethos of no-foe. Their battles,
Staged, were to express quite certain morals:
Rome used to give to History a chance
To rehabilitate in looser a victor .» —
«But that is rather to celebrity —
Not to the all-repose – of War!» – «Time’s gone?» —
«Ukrain you’ve mentioned, the modernity
Of «public claw» by that?» – «What we don’t want.» —
And, as I stayed quite dumb; – he: – «Not we want
To think the War; we bury it. Our war
Is over, there’s no other war.» – «At all?» —
«For you to get: the War is not discrete; —
Its being is of the matters different?
Me-think, its constitution is permanent.
And what we bury here had its proud end.» —
Well, «Yes» I said. – «So, what we’ve meant,
That must be like, what foe thinks as friend,
Cause, not a foe any more, refused
He’ve been to bear the woe. » – «And what is it?» —
«Compare to th’ ended, «twill have no end.» – «Weird…» —
«Yes, «tmust be like what… CAn be repeated,
Each time with freer memory replayed.» —
«GOOD memory?…» – «Thought smiles, well-comprehend!
New memory of The War-Burial event.» —
«If that … mysterious festivity
Like Carny greatly-mad supposed to be ,
Then only thought «bout it is of the…
Mystery,…the secret there,…very thing
Within the Theme, – you understand?“ – „Indeed
That must inherit the Competity
As part of freeing Act, and all the Art,
All sort of, suiting to fair Ritual…» —
«Undoubtedly. And, so, the question still:
What is that main… intrigue, the Carny’s riddle,
Point of the Mystery? As you can see,
Just «on the usual wing», like that in Spain 58,
With’t secret motive, it will be quite vain, —
I mean, vain for the Whole-War’s burial theme.» —
«If you can tell me just one thing», – he said, —
Though it was shining our words between:
Please, can we ever tell, on thousand percent,
On newer way of thought, who is «the friend»
And who’s foe-nO-more… of the End» , you know?» —
«No. We can’t tell this… from the start, at least.» —
«Oh, thinker’s bliss! The question th’answer is.
That’s first of secrets – who for whom there is. » —
His face expressed quite a unique grimace.
And like that would‘ve been the Light bless us
To play a conversation more like fun,
The irony in words has come, and things.
«Your Fonomore!» – I laughed, – child of the dreams,
Exclusively created son by clever word
Of lingua-hooligan, done just like this!
Out of your ghostly head!“ – „Feast jealous?
Zealous dead?“ – „Fantastic personage’s that!
To imagine, he’s out of the dark;
Miraculous cloak all covers him; —
Surrounded by others, harlequins
And fools, and many a beings unseen,
He moves like psychedelic king, and hymns…» —
«The harmless See of Sin… But listen; see…» —
Ghost looked at me, – «those funny fools you mean; —
What are «the fools» ? Are they as same, as him?
Or they appeared all from gnostic womb
Of the Unfathomable Lot’s magazine,
With very news of that the War we think
Existed on this Earth yet have ne’er been?
What a Jew Shestov 59could «ve dream’ngly seen,
Or like that Mister Happy History —
«No-Holocaust-no-Auschwitz» Doc 60 – brings
Loud as the facts against the hissed story
Of the «gas times» limitlessly horrid,
As if true Nazis’ records was a joke:
No hair, no bones no kameras, no films;
There was no Human shock, but just a dream!
That schism changed Peace of Clock – a childish dream,
No more than just a little spoilt seemed…“ – „The flock
Of thoughts….“ – I’ve took a lead, – „No, we can’t do
So that the things, we look at, wi ll be like…
Oh, no. We do we bury th’ended War;
If that’s a pseudo type, the End we’ve thought
Should be… alas!…’twill be like… the War start!
The fools are.., though But-the-But gigged their times…» —
…«Just look: to be «no more the foes», – ghost smiled; —
« They’re not „the friends“ yet , is’t all right? And so…» —
«The some could really be the „Endsome foe“.» —
«Or called as «th’endful» as one full of End;
The End-fool foe – great! a name suites one at all!» —
«What if that’s Mr War Crime out of manhole?» —
I felt, I can’t provoke not. – «Kindly joke.» —
He answered. – «Well, it can be so; fear’s choked.
Let him be dressed all, let him swing and walk,
And let the mystery works: – where’s his friend?
Has he a friend? Though, there must be «the friends»,
But does he know them? Or do they know him?
In fact, that’s, mostly, up to role of fools
To be a sort of messengers within
The Project . And, even though I would see
In light of my own logic that example
Of the last be better idol not alive,
But anyway, in general, fool’s task, —
To that we find them being of foe type, —
To act that way «the friends» could be found right.
Dilemma is: who’s first to witness there
For the other’s side?“ – he wisely sighed. – „Wild
Is the sight in games of doubling mind; – dim
Is the truth of darker dream for unforeseen…
What have you done to my thought blind? Me-seem,
It’s getting to absorb…» – «The vanity?» —
Good joke! «twas a ghost’s singing. (Clarity,
Oh, clarity! Fool is your reality!)
…«Exotic dispute we are bringing thus; —
Yes, «tmakes me wonder – clever words of yours: —
To do that th’ «Carny’s eidos» 61will be just,
(What should be the War’s Funeral, repose,)
To do so we should humanize the pride
In fool, the foe’s pride, but in the name of…» —
«All the good , you’re right. Is there any doubt?» —
He asked critically. – «A doubt… Is any
There as such, socratically, the thing «bout,
Like that thought, like that of… Mister Hitler,
Gorgeously who could be seen a figure
Of World Pacifism, main antifascist,
Consciously who bury all-war passions ,
Full of anti-dominativism, love?» —
…«In Haides we, the ghosts, heard from above
Once there came to us titanic melos
And voice of hippyistic hooligan
Sang: – «Twenty first century schitzoid man.» 62
I felt he’s rather teasing me. – «No, please,
Tell seriously. I know, it’s a fun
For you to make the earthly jokes on m e
Full of the crying logic for so done,
But…“ – „What higher-strophically been mentioned,
All should be. No aught of different we
Pointed here than that… he’s «a fool», agree?» —
«A fool a being free… Mad thought’s dimension…
Lucky we, that whole our Great Carny
Not by the only fools there filled will be!» —
«Exactly! How wise to see: more foe’s he
Like – more fool he’s carnyshly.“ – „Already,
What the images here comes to me! To be
For not to be – strange there Lenin, Stalin,
Utopically all-surprising… The key,
However… Key! to notions were rising —
What’s that meaning? Such the «humanizing »,
We’ve discussed, what really do in practice? » —
Him I asked. – «The grave.» – He shortly answered.
(Oh, Man’s thought – Th’Imaginary’s dancer!)
«No need of the reasking glance. You’ve got:
The Carny’s purport is to bury «known-what» ;
That’s how «the grave». Do you remember not
What was the dispute start?”… And then I’ve heard
Again that «of the tomb» inside my mind,
(«Should be there tomb?» 63…) and once again of that
What «sad way off» could be the joyous laugh.
«However, I find now it’s enough
Of talking for tonight; we’ll do next time.» —
«Where’re you going?» – Me-seen, he moved back.
«Wine ist too earthly luck. Before the dark,
I’m going to have cicuta 64now —
The drink all-philos o phiest! Your wow!» —
No! He lifted up his nowh e re-from cup,
And, smiling sage, he «hadlle» 65in one gulp,
And, like that in the strange cartoon, turned green,
Turned blue then, and so soon all-disappeared.