presenting...

[wytchcroft]

Today is all about other people...
i'm going to post a couple of pieces by friends of mine here on lj.
The first is a rough translation of an original text by mr_stapleton.
The second piece, which i'll post a bit a later is a companion to Doctor of Locks by chalissa my lj-beloved. 


babylon bus
( after mr_stapleton )

to our drivers, to Vladimir and to Alexander
 
gently the driver slows us
gently we turn and we stop
with our numb feet
three steps from the asphalt

for a half hour we're parked
between the road and the sky
a cup of coffee
between sunset and the night

a cup of coffee
and a haze of tabacco
gives our stiff limbs a chance to relax

while the headlights are off, simply two dark holes

beyond us the foothills and here
just insects
and an old post

under the streetlight
mosses spread in the gasoline mist

and the dark road is gray, a forgotten tape
unwinding through the landscape
like an empty river running between alder trees

with the air so thick, cool and drowsy
we could sleepwalk to the hotel
to love
would be only a step
and then -

(we're off again)

disturbed by the cough of the engine
as it builds to a roar from the bus

once more all our actions are repeated
we're folded up and put back aboard
and ahead of us all lies the holiday

and so it goes

then let it be.
...................................

Here is the original text: much more poetic, i've tried to keep the mood of the whole, rather than worrying over phrases that translate easily on their own but make it difficult to use them;
e.g. a network of holes, the boiling hours/distilled by hours -
so it may seem i've just reduced it to nothing...
if such is the case then i'm really sorry because i loved the original!

нашим водителям Владимиру и Александру

Мягко сброшена скорость, поворот, остановка,
три ступеньки к асфальту онемевшей ногой.
Полчаса на стоянку между трассой и небом,
между чашечкой кофе и закатной зарёй.

Полчаса - потрепаться в сизой дымке табачной,
распрямиться от долгих перегонных часов.
На погасшие фары, как в дырявые сети,
из бескидских предгорий наловить комаров.

За фонарным форпостом возвышаются кроны,
под завесой бензина расползаются мхи.
Позабытая лента тёмно-серой дороги -
опустевшее русло в берегах из ольхи.

Воздух густ и прохладен, время сонно и вяло,
до отеля весь вечер, до любви только шаг.
Флегматичная зетра зарычала мотором.
Снова те же ступеньки, снова тем же простором.
Впереди целый отпуск. Пусть всегда будет так.

(c) mr_stapleton 09 

Comments

[wytchcroft.livejournal.com]

ara! so cute:))