Читать книгу Apples from Shinar - Hyam Plutzik - Страница 14

AS THE GREAT HORSE ROTS ON THE HILL

As the great horse rots on the hill

till the stars wink through his ribs;

As the genera of horses become silent,

the thunder of the hooves receding in the silence;

As the tree shrivels in the wind of time,

as the wind Time dries the locust tree—

Thus you prepare the future for me and my loved ones.

I have been in many towns and seen innumerable houses,

also rocks, trees, people, stars and insects.

Thieves, like ants, are making off with them,

taking them to your old ant-hill.

Thus you prepare the future for me and my loved ones.

What spider made the machine of many threads?

The threads run

from time’s instants to all the atoms of the universe.

In each instant a wheel turns in your head, threads go taut,

and one of a quintillion atoms is transmuted.

Thus you prepare the future for me and my loved ones.

I observe the ordained explosions on the paper as I write,

The pinpoints of flame in the wood on the table, and on the wall

(Like a battlefield at night, or a field where fireflies flicker).

My hand, too, scintillates like a strange fish;

Fires punctuate the faces on the road;

A pox, a fever, burns in the tissues of the hills.

Thus you prepare the future for me and my loved ones.

As the great horse is transmuted on the hill

Till the stars wink through his skull;

As the stars become husk and radiance;

As the locust tree is changed by the wind Time;

As the wind Time too will lapse, will blow from another quarter—

Thus you prepare the future for me and my loved ones.