Андерс де ла Мотт
Конец лета

 

 

* * *

Моему отцу.

Спасибо за все, чему ты пытался меня научить.

 

I stood in the disenchanted field
Amid the stubble and the stones,
Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me
The song of my marrow-bones.
Blue poured into summer blue,
A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,
The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew
That part of my life was over.
Already the iron door of the north
Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows
Order their populations forth,
And a cruel wind blows.

Стэнли Кьюниц, «Конец лета»

Отправить