Читать книгу Избранное. Поэзия. Драматургия - Максимилиан Гюбрис - Страница 55

The sun of this Spring awoke me,

With the Voice from the Sleep it rose,

From the Doubt of Thought, it took me

Into world, where the Red Truth grows.

«How often you’ve had the Red Day?» —

That mystery teller have led; —

«The word to be fair on your eye-way,

By magus the Nature be spread.»

Dumb, I have stepped into wood mine;

How felt I to see that all new:

The birches not white! – the red line

Mystify the strange poetic view.

How could‘ve that happen, oh, tell me? —

Is’t a sign of Red Horse? Skye cries?66

Like the shades, blood with o’erwhelming,

Those Life’s witnesses stands and sighs.

Human mind – fatalist-dreamer!

All the fancies in time, behold,

Paints the things – fairer to grimmer, —

All embodied in real world.

No image stays off-the-Matter,

Not a map that poein67, but Life;

On this border, the Fate ne’er flatter

With that Polis can use for strife.

Voice had gone… I felt quite awkward.

These red stems, kind of prophecy…

Yet I’ve dreamt, what if some Ode-word,

Incarnated, its author could sее.