A ScarabI sit on the rim of time, my legs dangling into infinity. I see: shards of the ages floating by. I hear: inside an Egyptian mummy that was once a citizen of Faiyum the constant rustling of a scarab— Brother of the scarab that lives in me.MysticismYou followed a secret, stealthily, step by step. You caught the voices of forest monsters. Did you eavesdrop on the songs of vulpine flutes, like Akira Kurosawa’s little boy? Tell me, did you freeze with fear? As you ambushed the mystical did your head reel? Did you watch the well-formed train of vulpine weddings during a sun shower? Fearing to disturb the leafy floor, fearing to exhale, fearing to trip upon yourself. You wished to go out under the rainbow, Under the rainbow and never to return… A flute’s open holes are more terrifying than dead maws, a noose of taut horror around the neck … I go out under the rainbow, under the rainbow. Who is going step by step?… But please… Not a word…CreationYou go after god’s word, In such despair, so hopelessly… you’ll make a tempest in a teapot, and the cosmos will be so silent that god will lean down and say to you: “Hey, Grasshopper, You’ve brought my song down to a such a level of human simplicity that I feel pain today, real human pain…” And so you’ll sit on a branch of the cosmos and sing, like a grasshopper… with God.
[Translated from the Russian by Andrew Wachtel]
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Current Issue - Winter 2003