Мир поэзии Поиск книг    О проекте    Обратная связь    Размещение рекламы

Оден Уистан Хью
«Стихи»

Главная страница / Оден Уистан Хью «Стихи»
agree


The day of his death was a dark cold day.


II


You were silly like us: your gift survived it all;


The parich of rich women, physical decay,


Yourself; mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.


Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,


For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives


In the valley of its saying where executives


Would never want to tamper; it flows south


From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,


Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,


A way of happening, a mouth.


III


Earth, receive an honoured guest;


William Yeats is laid to rest:


Let the Irish vessel lie


Emptied of its poetry.


Time that is intolerant,


Of the brave and innocent,


And indifferent in a week


To a beautiful physique,


Worships language and forgives


Everyone by whome it lives;


Pardons cowardice, conceit,


Lays its honours at their feet.


Time that with this strange excuse


Pardoned Kipling and his views,


And will pardon Paul Claudel,


Pardons him for writing well.


In the nightmare of the dark


All the dogs of Europe bark,


And the living nations wait,


Each sequestered in its hate;


Intellectual disgrace


Stares from every human face,


And the seas of pity lie


Locked and frozen in each eye.


Follow, poet, follow right


To the bottom of the night,


With your unconstraining voice


Still persuade us to rejoice;


With the farming of a verse


Make a vineyard of the curse,


Sing of human unsuccess


In a rapture of distress;


In the deserts of the heart


Let the healing fountain start,


In the prison of his days


Teach the free man how to praise.


February 1939


ПАМЯТИ У. Б. ЙЕЙТСА


(умершего в январе 1939 года)


I


Он растворился в смерти, как в зиме,


Замерз ручей, пусты аэропорты,


Неразличимы были

Назад  

стр.11

  Вперед
Наши спонсоры:
Назад  

стр.11

  Вперед