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Из Сборника «English Verses»56
The Truth of Shelley’s Ghost
Оглавление/To Lynn Shepherd,
An author of «Treacherous Likeness»,
A book me-read in feeling of irrational, unexplanable regret/
A Shade – there’s the dark echoing: —
«Of a noblest kind!» – slides in,
All silent, pre-materialized.
There can be seen no eyes
Of maid surprised, no scene
Of fatal cries. A monster
Felt from high-poetic stars,
He swam across the sea of Death,
And, after seven lives of storm,
His ugly look how eloquent!
Much peaceful though. The light-rays
Seem are not to aggravate the lines
On his still brow, so ’tis like now
As he tries his light-way back.
Envoked to face the old dream’s wrack.
Within the Rumours House, frank,
He steps, in corridors of Lie.
Those specks of crystal life guides
Him to th’ rooms of other-side Crime;
With manner of the dead he comes,
In manner of a gone-bye stays
There by the frame of glass —
Infernal entrance. – Sweet diable waits,
Envoker of the burned tails:
Intrigue – pristess of ache’n shame —
She ought to do him welcome.
In her service, that a sacrifice
To make for him, to animate
His vague self. – Abandoned Shade!
Be fed thou by a sacred essence
From the most luxuriant Hell!
And can’t thou see these gazing Sins?
Not of the most devoted they
Are seen and bloodsome to be yours?!
Have a liquid life from them, be-shared:
One fear relatives they77. —
A sad guest. He sees around her
The sights of lunarcraft there —
Depraved Gossips ’bout a «lost face»
Has their fun, and, ’tlike some Mass on,
The naive and sensitive in their will.
The loves too sweet are to be killed, —
They laughing?… – «Dear murderer,
You gibbet’s libertine, kids’ knot!
Are you proud not? We yours, yours!»
They’re giving their life-drops; phrase;
And as he yet can’t tell his Fate,
She pours some magic upon glass; —
There, in Diaboli’s circle dark78,
O’er the border of reflected Doubt,
He realize… he stands himself,
His awkward figure, and his face,
As if from ashy rhyme arisen,
Alien to them. But what’s that shape? —
His ugly look where has gone?!…
He sees in his reflection’s eyes,
Would be that Ferro Luxe79 from, those sparks
Of starry soul; and no ruined
Grace, no aught of damned lines
At all – a vision of clean Youth,
Delightful, poetic, but… feared, so.
Feared of (a) doomed self, of diable’s call,
Betrayal of the Past?… Reflections
Quite can be confused, when meet they
In the glass of Times their part,
Their lasting life. – That fears…
Though the feared (is) facing Fear leaves;
A silent visitor steps back;
His Future saw its Shade from dark,
And he’s to keep the path. And…
Yes,… as like the timeless echo-thought,
The other side of Air there spells, —
Whilst his eyes back to kiss his boat
Far let be flying through the ends
Of the blind dream of Life’s Ghost; —
So, he’s to hear: – «He’s with us… Amongst…»80
(25.01.2015 – 03.03.2015;
Moscow dacha by S. Posad)
77
Here, in this part of a poem, I’m bringing the drops of archi-Hellenic knowledge about that mystical ritual called the «envoking the shade». Homer, in his «Odyssey», explains it perfectly in the Songs 10—11. There, exactly, are the words about the giving blood to a shade; and that image, symbolically, I’ve used in my allegoric lines. (As we remember, Shelley himself, too, in his poems, quite often used to send his reader to a sacred meaning of the «blood and blood-sharing», whether it be in social or sexually-mystical context of his poetic works.)
78
I’m using the word «diaboli» here in proper Hellenic meaning of it, what means «columny» or, other way too, simply the «judging».
79
Luxe Ferro, the «Highest Light», and so Lucifer – as we know, is a name of a brightest star in the Sky, like that for ex. in Ovid, and which now days called simply as the Polar Star. – The Shelley’s Ghost was originally picturized in image of a starry-eyed dead. That’s how my Shade can see the reflected sparks of starry-light in the eyes of this-side-living Shelley.
80
P.S. – This poem far is not the representation or any kind of interpretation of Lynn’s fictional scenario with that strangest Shelley’s Henry of hers; and my idea, in these lines, was but of a sort of an author’s trying to picturize that possibly-objective «tete-a-tete» contact just between a Poet and his famous paranormal Ghost, and so, between the times of them too: between the Poet’s time with its past and future, and the Ghost’s time with its past and future indeed, closely to our measures; – however, we may know about it, that «twas a sort of result of that mental distortion happened to be in a cause of all the perfidy and calumny, which Shelley, in his life, have always been a victim and an arbitre of, and which was so impressively performed in Lynn Shepherd’s inventional book.
