Translated material
Devil, rejoice
New Poem Dmitry Bykov
Illustration: "New Gazeta Europe"
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The poem is based on genuine events. I slightly changed the chronology and thought of the circumstances of 2011.
1.
I haunt me
Marilyn Bergeron,
Her name is cast,
Mourning, like a ringing.
I didn't want to:
The body did not find
There was no funeral.
It's about the French part
Quiet large country
Where are fatal passions
Few people are visible:
Not bloodthirsty power
Not a protracted war.
However, it's time to admit:
New Lord Plan
Maybe today
Only from quiet countries.
Is Nazareth
Is there anything inside?
God says to this:
Go out and look.
In the first chapter of the plot
The girl is twenty -three.
2.
We know little. Ashamed
To climb into your affairs.
We know that it is pretty
Affectionate, cheerful ...
At twenty, take a word, -
Who is not a cut, not sweet?
Blutter February of the eighth
Something broke.
She began to change -
Gradually, for no reason,
Ponds are shy
And avoid men.
- Look, what a king!
Okay, we are silent, silent ...
Further, however, worse:
A couple of weeks passed -
Like spring and puddles
The first influx of heat,
Met,
They gathered joyfully
Somewhat woking
A few got drunk ...
Society has split
Music, Otzhimon ...
Suddenly sobbed into a voice
Marilyn Bergeron
And she ran away at midnight
Shouting on the run:
- Help is impossible here!
I can't!
After she left work
(Announcer on FM)
And for questioning: "What are you?!" -
She began to be silent at all.
Only one friend
Older and smarter,
The one that almost crazy
From compassion to her, -
I lured it on a date
But he could not ask.
- I will not leave! Give me
Only a hint, hint!
Have you lost the money?
Are you hiding from the court?
We will hide you, day,
We’ll take out at least where!
And, pulling with the answer,
I pushed back:
- The one who is guilty of this, -
He will not forget, no.
The versions are completely permissible
Species are completely empty.
I’ll hardly stand it,
But you will save - not you.
Apparently, I'm alone.
My fate is now
The worst, what do you know
A thousand times worse.
I got up, breathing unevenly.
I ran out into the darkness.
He recorded literally
What was said to him.
3.
I don't like details
Lists of capitals and rivers,
Prose in verses, realities -
All this is the last century.
Throwing a house in Montreal,
I went to Quebec.
They did not understand at home -
Whim or escape.
More than others, perhaps
Sister felt:
- She is very anxious
More than sad.
Suddenly she whispered barely
With flour on the face:
- I'm in the middle of the tunnel.
Will there be light at the end?
In this family, we note,
There were six offspring
Adults, and in the soul to children
They are not used to climbing there.
Eternal and unchanged
Currents of the native land,
The walls will help at home ...
The walls did not help.
And two weeks later
In the morning she left:
The houses were not glanced -
Everyday life, everyone has business.
I didn't take the passport -
However, she took rights;
My brother kissed
And - it was like that.
ATM camera:
Woeful, timid,
Fast and guilty
She withdrew the money -
Meek, like a scourge,
Pale, like in a movie
Looking around plaintively,
As if waiting for anyone.
After not for long,
Hurrying from a draft;
With her a backpack (and at home
There was no backpack).
Soon the city froze,
Leading about her
And on one of the cameras
Poyal, voila:
In the provincial bar
A hundred kilometers from
Jokes with the waiter
Slowly drinks coffee
In the same dumb sadness,
In its long coat
Waiting for to be kept ...
No one kept it.
A note was waiting at home:
“I have been tormented from January.
Enough. I will be close
But do not look for in vain.
I looked into the abyss
I winger myself.
If I can, I will disappear
If not, I will return. ”
Reliable information
No about her ways
Not in the news of the evening
Not in city networks.
There were no meetings of random
With Marilyn Bergeron -
Do the dogs have homeless dogs
Gulls or raven.
4.
This is a game of turquoilies.
In the pit of the last days
It is a shame to write in Russian
In rhyme - even more shame.
What else to do to those who
Sweet home captivity
Dropped in the process of text
nickely changes?
(These Anjambemans
Denote a screening
In a fight with a mana fraud,
Inexperienced evil).
The stuffy bowl of Cuzco.
The slope is rocky and cool.
In the streets, closely, densely,
They lie, sell, yell,
For thirsting thirst
Sour drink wine ...
Who is won twice
That is already the same.
What else to do in Cuzco?
Here Peruvian Rome.
It is extremely sad here.
Music of the local rhythm -
Horey and Yamba alloy,
The fight of things is simple.
Plus River Urubamb
So falls in the verse,
This is a cramped channel -
TA-TAM, TAM, TA-TAM.
I saw a lot of Cuzco
Many were killed there.
A lot of cheap wool
Dirty dogs, and lam
And ritual processions
With dancing in half.
If you end briefly -
From below the Ink masonry,
From above the Spanish temple.
This is a single complex.
What did Cortes change?
This is all neocortex,
But the unharmed context.
In the world of cheap wool,
Holidays and celebrations
Vera stands on the victim
And does not live without casualties.
Wherever you look, -
Horror, at least do not live:
On the disaster gloss,
Festivities on the blood.
So this masonry
Quartz, limestone
Closed from the remainder
Dead language -
Without my participation
He writes himself
So that in the midst of bad weather
I don't go crazy.
5.
I haunt me
Marilyn Bergeron,
Her business is deaf,
Painful, like a groan.
The first month stretches
Squeezing like smoke crawls.
We see another area
The city of miles is five hundred.
Night at the end of summer.
Quiet, alarming hour
Walls on the eve of dawn
Feel more than us.
Wind. Confusion. Troubles.
August is sentenced.
Quiet. But for some reason
It smells of the end of time.
House of a lonely couple,
Gray, as old,
Like her and he.
Knock. In front of them in white -
Ghost, dead -
A woman with a fragile body
With a lovely thin face
Wet from tears of abundant.
Black backpack - at the feet.
- Let me? Sitting a mobile phone.
I would have one call.
I will pay.
- Yes, quit!
I began to call. Beeps.
What about a sudden guest
Did the old people remember?
Thin fingers, bones,
Thin heels -
Not for the difficult road.
Fear and longing in the eyes
Little childish
Half -empty backpack.
And shakes his head
Slowly, like in a dream:
- No longer answers
Doesn't answer me.
- Maybe coffee?
Tea?
- I will not have time. Not…
Beeps again.
- It's time for me.
They are covered by fear:
- Listen ... puddles, stones ...
You are in heels!
This is not according to the weather.
Night is your black soil.
Maybe we will spend you?
Maybe a subsidist?
As if not understanding
Looks - a considerable, Bela:
- If I could be the abyss,
I would be glad.
Who is more stubborn on earth
Martyrs are delirious?
- The one who directed me
He knows that I will reach.
I went out. They stayed.
Moved to the station.
A week later the elder
I immediately recognized her
Looking at the ad:
“It's about her, about her.”
Then I thought all day - I -
What is all strange to me
It seemed to it right away?
Her whole appearance has found
Visible even to the eye
Fidy halo.
It can be seen that not from here:
Haster and on the run.
It is evident that she’s so bad -
Do not wish the enemy.
Only a miracle will help out
I will not help.
In this timid white,
Jacket - and that Bela,
As if fled from the ball
Immediately what was.
I remember that I looked after her, -
The street is completely dead.
Darkness, and neighboring house
It is apparent barely
Only bashful pain
A barely noticeable trace
Stretches - so whether
That there is no comfort?
6.
The number was installed:
Office, for a long time empty,
Rent, cars ...
In general, sucks again.
Apparently, the solution is nearby -
Where? A year takes place.
We are all in the neighborhood with hell -
Here he is smoking, roaring
Only a flowering garden
The entrance is masked.
... the more sensible the amount
Money for any fact,
Clear - the more noise
Louder than his surf.
So she was seen
Jumping into the car
With a couple of friends (in sorrow
Waved by him after)
In Kalgary, in Montreal,
In Portland (Oregon).
On Mississippi, Mine,
In the shop "Calvin Klein" -
Unless in Ukraine.
Princeton, Seattle, Irvain ...
The audience is drawn to the secret
I myself am a lover of secrets.
Fumble in the dark - cute.
The secret hides flattery
News from another world
That is, it is, as it were.
Someone (I don't dare to joke)
I shared my halt with it
Someone had lunch with her
Dinner, spent the night;
A certain witness is a rank
Near Croazett
I saw her with a man
Twenty years older;
In a word, she is everywhere
Like oxygen. She,
As befits a miracle
In the world dissolved.
Should roam like a lamb
Should confuse the minds
White and fragile abris,
So that we are touched, -
Either forgetting the address
Either asking for a bite.
This ballad, mystery
Although reduced -
Strictly documented.
Next is silence.
Further - my guess
Revealed in a dream,
Fluently, short, briefly,
For it is hard for me.
7.
Investigator without a sense
Lost three years,
But continues steadily
Dig an area with a nose,
Feeling in it not only
The victim is the ideal.
How to allow murder,
Mania, secret marriage -
If you already fell in love?
(And not fall in love with how?)
The secret background
He felt rushing about:
Somewhere nearby
She wanders now -
In the world of anxiety, unprofitable,
Stations, cabs, cabins ...
Everyone sees her, see -
Just do not recognize.
So the student, smuggled,
Stuffy, and the night of Gusta -
Halfway to Emmaus
He does not recognize Christ.
So pull the story
Into the distance, with sin in half.
Here he is going on a train,
Following on business
In the March train.
Cloudy. Cold.
He rummages out of habit
Look back and forth-
Snow is all white, everything is more ironed.
Clearing. Forest. Platform.
Looking for in any landscape
Marilyn Bergeron -
And not really even
It seems surprised
Seeing how to pass
She goes straight
As if to him for the sake of
Polorlylighted.
The March air is cold,
Snow in the windows suspension.
It's time - noon
The place is here
In a cloudy panorama
Fir trees and clouds
On the train between the worlds
(The train is always like this).
Stomping with her nearby -
Nearby, but lonely -
With a very serious look
Pale as March, son,
Quiet, like a ghetto fugitive,
To herself and mother,
Forever wandering somewhere,
Do not cry out.
8.
Marches, alien to everyone,
And, looking point blank,
As if continuing
The conversation begun
Says, overcoming
Fear, hoarseness and nonsense:
- News - for whom good,
And for whom not.
Anyone who is chosen is expelled.
All circles burst.
Pulled out of life
And they say: run -
In Yerusalim, to Egypt,
The main thing is for the threshold.
Bent you in rock Oedipov
Or in the ram of horn,
There will be your world's world -
The victim of other people's majority
Completely consist of plunes,
Abominations and atrocities.
The fate is no -impending
Do not find, do not sleep.
And no friends, no loved ones.
Circle and layer itself.
Deducted from all sorts of lists
To add to your own.
Your world is now narrowed.
Reigns in him like a night
What you need for
Everything else is away.
But from any misfortunes
The fate is kept by itself:
Will it be more dangerous
Author's stigma?
Immediately, without any sample
You get a role:
A lot of longing and anger,
But hesitation is zero.
What you are for,
Supported, like a super -sulmaz.
Neither man nor a demon
Will not stop us.
The one to whom the name is a plowman
Will plow in a dream
The one who is the name Bakhar
Will chat in fire.
To those who be an expate,
There are no holy roads.
To those who be crucified,
There are no other deaths.
And, looking at his son:
- Maybe tears are sin?
This is insatiable.
He is not enough for him, all.
I don't pay anymore anymore
Only I am silent in response.
Today I will hide it
And after thirty years?
The train crawls along the slope.
Gray from all sides.
It runs along the wagon
Marilyn Bergeron
With a meek smile pale
With the boy, three years.
Investigator! And after her
Still, don't look.
9.
Something breaks off
And drives on the road.
The word "where" is dishonest,
Forget the word "why".
Something is noisy in the fog
Boomed like a surf
Pulls like on the lasso,
Away from all - along with yourself.
Leaves are torn off the branch
Citizens knocks down ...
My poor children
Daughter and son!
I will not hide from myself -
My heat is almost gone.
I would like to sometimes
Shout plaintively aloud
With terrible force
My chest tears me:
“Lord, have mercy on everyone,
And forget about me. "
But you repeat, flipping
Own nonsense:
- Silent.
Barely live flock
So wanders in the night.
Peter, John and Pavel
With us in a row.
The one who directed me
He knows that I will reach.