Sparkler Candles In Supermarket

r_m_rilke @ 2004-10-11T15:03:00

Song widow

(Translation E. Witkowski)

Initially, life was good,
in the warmth of well-established soul grew stronger.
Early Years have passed, slowly, -
I did not know that well with everybody.
And suddenly reached for the year year,
not new and is joyous was their turn,
one after another come and go, -
broke in half the time.

Guilt was not his fault not mine,
patience to type and he and I,
but death would not tolerate.
I saw death, hobble us,
all without asking it to seize,
to me something to her - what a deal.

What I have done, for myself, my?
Is this miserable habitation
fate given bail?
Not only happiness life gives,
and sorrow and pain go into circulation -
starevschitsyn trash poor.

Destiny bought me for nothing,
lips and eyelashes any tremors,
even gait, and this was
sale every day.
Fate купила все - а потом
счет не оплатила.

The Song of the widow

At the beginning, life was good.
It kept me warm, it gave me courage.
That it does so all the boys,
how could I know then.
I did not know what was life -
was a sudden it just year and year, not more
well will now no longer
wonderful
as heart torn in two.

That was not his own, not my fault, we keep both
nothing but patience, but
Death has no.
I saw him coming (how bad it was),
and I watched him as he took and took:
it was not even mine.

What was the My, My, My?
War lent me not even my Elendsein
only by fate?
Fate does not want only happiness,
it wants the pain and the Sehrein
back and buys it for the old ruin.

Fate was there and bought for nothing
any expression of my face
up on the way to go.
That was a sellout
daily and when I was empty, there was me and had me stand on
open.

Ipod Touch Screen Failure

r_m_rilke @ 2004-09-27T17:26:00

О фонтанах

(Translated by A. Karelian)

I suddenly understood the essence of the first fountains,
glass crowns the puzzle and a phantom.
They like tears to me, it's too early -
during take-off dreams in anticipation of deceptions -
I lost and then forgotten.

Uzhel I forgot that, and to random things
outstretched arms of Horní spheres?
What I breathed grandeur of the original
old park in the fire of sunset farewell
uplifting - and sound at the edge of the sad
maiden songs, dark, like spells,
shot up to the carotid crowns night
and seemed to become reality, if they
much reflection in the pond waiting for the mirror?

But when I remember at the moment,
what happened to me and fountains,
as the newly I go back to the overthrow,
where the water appeared to me to another world:
then the world branches, who look into the darkness of the well,
world voices, whose flame is barely beating,
ponds that only banks
twists in itself able to repeat the sad,
heaven had suddenly recoiled in embarrassment from
groves sunset, darkness absorbed,
and bulged out differently, and darken,
like lit up the world is not one ...

Uzhel I had forgotten that the sky vault
does not hear us in a solemn desert
and that the star is a star recognizes
only through the tears in this expanse of blue?
maybe, and here we are, in turn,
someone to serve the air. Those people
looks at us in the night and we sing their praises
. Il send it so
curses us. Il cry alone
to us crying, looking for God,
somewhere near us, and the threshold
podemlyut lamps and prayer with the words
elevate - and then on our faces,
как бы от этих ламп, на миг ложится
невыразимый отсвет божества ...

From the fountains

Suddenly I know a lot of the fountains, the incomprehensible
trees made of glass.
I could talk about how to own tears, I
, seized with very big dreams, wasted
once and then forgot.
because I forgot that heaven
rich hands to many things and in the crowd?
Did I not always greatness unparalleled
in the rise of old parks, before the soft
expectant evenings - in pale
from other girls growing chants,
the overflow from the melody
and really are and when they would
reflected in the opened ponds?

I must only think of the All
what happened at fountains, and with me, -
then I feel the burden of the low case,
saw again in what I water
And know of branches, which turned down,
of votes that were burning with low flame,
of ponds, which only the embankments
repeated moronic and moved
of evening skies, which were charred by
western forests completely estranged
differently curved, darkened and did
as if that is not the world she meant ...

I forgot, then, that Stern on Stern petrified
and closes against the neighboring globes?
that the world just like stained
seen in space? - Maybe we're up in heaven
woven of other beings,
the upturned to us in the evening. Maybe we praise
their poets. Perhaps many
pray up to us. Maybe we are the targets of foreign
curses that we never erreichen,
Nachbaren eines Gottes, den sie meinen
in unsrer Höhe, wenn sie einsam weinen,
an den sie glauben und den sie verlieren,
und dessen Bildnis, wie ein Schein aus ihren
suchenden Lampen, flüchtig und verweht
über unsere zerstreuten Gesichter geht ....

Nauseous Four Months Post Partum

r_m_rilke @ 2004-09-15T11:41:00

* * *

(Translation Evg.Borisova)

over the top of the heart. See how all fine there, you see:
here border village of words, as above,
but also subtle, yet
last hut feelings - whether he knew you?
over the top of the heart. Only a stone
hands meet. And here
something is growing: the steep cliffs -
not knowing about the growth of singing grass.
But the knower? Ah, referring to knowledge,
he is silent now over the tops of the heart.
And wander here, in the minds of the innocent,
fearless mountain beasts, and suddenly freeze,
listening. And a huge secretive bird
draws in the sky pure denial. - Но открыта для взора
здесь, сердца над вершинами.

* * *

Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. See how small there
see: the last village of words and, later,
but how tiny, one last farmhouse of feeling
. Do you recognize it?
Exposed on the cliffs of the heart. Stoneground
under the hands. And this is in bloom
to some, from an ignorant dumb crash
herb flowers, singing.
But who knows? Oh, he began to know
and is quiet now, exposed on the cliffs of the heart.
There goes well, heal consciousness,
much about, many Faces, mountain animal,
replaced and bored. And the great bird born
revolves around the peak pure denial. - But
unborn, here on the cliffs of the heart ...