Male C. Pig a.k.a. Svinopolist (piggymouse) wrote,
Male C. Pig a.k.a. Svinopolist

Zero Summer

Я в начале октября написал вам, что прочитал внимательно все четыре квартета. Я вам наврал, вернее, не очень чётко выразился. Little Gidding я оставил на потом, потому что с первых трёх накурило так, что было чутка страшно.

В начале недели меня вновь сильно пропёрло от East Coker, потому что я нашёл новый способ употребления — прослушивание аудиозаписей чтения квартетов самим Елиотом. Аудиозаписи, к слову, выложены на  богомерзском ютюбе некими активистами, скрывающимися под ником poetictouchannel (East Coker у них вот и вот, остальное сами найдёте). Новый способ, да после некоторого попуска, вставил запредельно, как в первый раз, и я на эмоциональном подъёме даже дал зарок отправиться на будущий год в специальное пешее путешествие.

И вот вчера я, аккуратно перечитав олдскульным способом The Dry Salvages (каковыми я ещё вам буду трахать мозг), внезапно не дал организму опомниться и резко начал Little Gidding. И тут Елиот с того света мне и моим туристическим планам как вдруг ответит:

If you came this way,
Taking the route you would be likely to take
From the place you would be likely to come from,
If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges
White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.
It would be the same at the end of the journey,
If you came at night like a broken king,
If you came by day not knowing what you came for,
It would be the same, when you leave the rough road
And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade
And the tombstone.
And what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfilment. There are other places
Which also are the world's end, some at the sea jaws,
Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a city —
But this is the nearest, in place and time,
Now and in England.

И дальше. Олегу П. может быть важно.

If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid.
And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always.

Tags: eliot, personal, poetry, travel

  • Carlyle on blind deference to data (from "Chartism")

    A witty Statesman said you might prove anything by figures. We have looked into various statistic works, Statistic-Society Reports, Poor-Law…

  • From Stenbock's "Faust"

    I said, continuing my enquiry (which was both official and ecclesiastical), ‘You must tell me exactly about it. I know that you monks,…

  • The Secret People

    В связи с событиями в Великобритании один умный коллега ссылался на Киплинга, но другой, куда более умный коллега ссылался всё-таки на Честертона.…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded