мой секретный конвейер

As with anyone else,
the climate between us could change.
Theoretically,
it might become unsustainable
for one or both of us
to keep up this oasis.

But you are virtuous,
not just a drifter.

Should worse come to worst,
you will not leave me alone with it
or allow everything that was
disappear into the thirsty sand
without a glance of recognition.

Like my dear friend says,
There are three modalities
Of creating art.
The service of the Muses,
Pleasure, and application.

Once you apply
For the right to be audienced,
You probably dream
Of becoming at some point
A standard upon yourself.

Winterfell, the stronghold of the North,
In spite of what everyone believes,
Is quite a sophisticated place.

Consider the way that it is built:
Designed by Bran the Builder himself,
A man-made oasis against cold.

Hot water piping inside the walls,
A considerable library,
Blue roses growing in glassed gardens.

No direwolves except in bedtime tales.
Candles sufficient to read by night,
Steaming baths, the art of the lord’s kiss.

It has a sense that rule means service;
That a commander must know his men;
That better not fight in tournaments.

Yet what everyone believes is right:
Great as its store of knowledge may be,
It is quite straightforward in one sense.

It has no skill to disentangle
Wheels within wheels of mean, selfish wiles
or pitch-black wormholes of a cruel mind.

And even by its great daughter saved,
Bandaged with banners of direwolf,
The citadel stands bereft and numb.

In its simple heart it will not believe
That Rickon could be used in this way,
That such a thing could be done to Jon.

being together
in physical space
activates the fear

that my prolonged
excessive closeness
may chafe the skin of your mind to blisters

that another wi-fi failure
in my brain
may ruin the iron girders of bridges

that we may hurt each other
without knowing
or realizing

A seduction scene, then, says the Philosopher,
must be of a certain duration,
to have a beginning, a middle and an end.

The action has to be of a certain magnitude,
neither petty,
nor overwhelming in scale.

It has to be like a funnel:
much time and floating scarlet clouds
of mind and body
go in,

a few lines come out
that make the reader’s corporal imagination
to veer off from secure to dangerously exposed.

The hero – oh, there have to be two.
At least.
They have to be

expectant
vibrant
believable.

What does that mean?
Only the writer’s
conjuring gland can determine,

but the reader’s capacity
to suffer their want
is the ultimate measure.

The best kind of action develops
according to the laws of probability and necessity
of what can’t realistically happen.

What is achieved in the end
and who it is that achieves it
is the biggest unknown of this equation.

Перевела на английский одно старое стихотворение - в Voices Israel желают в апреле видеть стихи на тему Light Hearted :)

( April White )

по поводу многонедельного зависания в Song of Ice and Fire

( Read )

You must be disappointed
I don't appreciate your sound good advice
to lock the entrance door
or call and get an answer
or witness to the rightness of your ways.
I am going.
And if you want to taunt me with it further,
you will simply have no opportunity.
For you
I am a slippery dweller of the deep
who disappears into her green darkness
sparking you goodbye 
with phosphorescent dots.
For sure, I carry the burden of the world with you
but it will only be as always
in my own way.

Если вы еще не посмотрели четвертый сезон - лучше не открывать:
( contains serious spoilers )