***
She looks like a witch.
Eyes bleached by huracane lamp.
Hair gray and wispy.
We drinking moonshine.
-Best tobacco grows
on the graves of killed in a war.
I cough my drink out.
Tobacco plants hanging from the
rafters,like mummified golden bats.
outside winter and Carpatien
mountains.
- Get the water of birth and menstrual
blood,
chop flowers of weddings
and flowers of wakes.
...discarded after...
...as people always do...
Her hands are knoby...on green thick
glass...
and voce is raspy...
They warned me...
- Did you ever married?
- no, but i have a son.
He lives by the sea.
he sends me cards once in a while...
i still have his dipers in my trunk...
...i took his father inside, when he
was eighteen...
and i was younger...
he went away to fight some war...
...i remember his sandy hair...
We sit in silence.
-What's your name?
- They call me Baba Ljuba...
In Russian - Grandma LOVE.
Вот опять-таки вопрос о восприятии. Очень нравится фото. Какие-то смутные воспоминания детства, любимая тетя (ныне покойная), бабушка, с которой мы на каникулах играли в карты, и много чего еще неуловимого. А на название я даже не смотрел :)
I like the pics of her, too. Something unknown is unfolding before a spectator. Before me at least. It is definitely of interest, and not trivial.
As for the text, again, this is not what I object when I say "no comments or name to a photo". What I mean (and where the whole discussion started) is that I am against a smart name for a visually empty photo.
The text stylistically reminds of Tom Waits' songs.
Че эт все по-басурмански? Язык-то ломать...
Фото очень понравилось.
А стих, Джерри, если откровенно - мне не показался. Похож на "концептуальные" упражнения первокурсников,
мнящих себя гениями. Или на фотографии некоторых здешних авторов :-) А тема-то хороша.
Вот, например, в стиле Роберта Фроста:
She looks like witch
hair grey and wispy
Eyes bleached out by carbide lamp
A glass of moonshine
In knotty fingers
Pale waves of smoke afloating up
Tobacco plants
Hang on the rafters
Like golden mummies of the bats
The best tobacco
she says is growing
On graves of those killed in war
was never married
But have a son
He sends me cards once in a while
They did warn me
But I did meet
His father and took him inside
I still remember
His sandy hair
He's gone away to fight some war
He was eighteen
And I was yonger
They call me now Baba Lyuba
We sat in silence
And she murmured
That means in Russian Grandma Love
Friend of mine (Timothy, you know him :-) corrected my English, so I posting it again
***
She looks like a witch.
Eyes bleached by hurricane lamp.
Hair gray and wispy.
We were drinking moonshine.
-Best tobacco grows
on the graves of those killed in a war.
I cough my drink out.
Tobacco plants hanging from the
rafters,like mummified golden bats.
outside winter and Carpathian
mountains.
- Get the water of birth and menstrual
blood,
chop flowers of weddings
and flowers of wakes.
...discarded after...
...as people always do...
Her hands are knoby...on green thick
glass...
and voice is raspy...
They warned me...
- Did you ever marry?
- no, but i have a son.
He lives by the sea.
he sends me cards once in a while...
i still have his diapers in my trunk...
...i took his father inside, when he
was eighteen...
and i was younger...
he went away to fight some war...
...i remember his sandy hair...
We sit in silence.
-What's your name?
- They call me Baba Ljuba...
In Russian - Grandma LOVE.
Раз пошла такая пьянка - режь последний огурец
Переведу в любом случае.
***
А она - ведьма
Глаза выбелены керосиновой лампой.
Волос седой и тонкий.
Мы пьем самогонку.
- Самый лучший табак растет на могилаx
убитыx на войне.
-что со мной,
самогонка не лезет в горло...
...связки табака висят под потолком
как золотые мумии нетопырей.
За окном зима
...и Карпаты.
- возьми влагу ,что течет перед тем как родить,
смешай с кровью периода,
наруби цветы венчания...
и цветы поминок...
...люди иx всегда выбрасывают...
и удобри ими...
Ее руки в узлаx на толстом зеленом стекле стакана...
...Они мне говорили...
-Вы были замужем?
- Нет, но у меня есть сын...
...он жвет у моря,
шлет мне открытки...иногда...
...у меня до сиx пор его пеленки в сундуке...
И приняла в себя его отца, когда ему было восемнадцать...
...я была моложе...
...он ушел на какую-то войну...
...я помню его русые волосы...
- Как Вас зовут?
-Баба Люба,
по русски - Бабушка Любовь.
She looks like a witch.
Eyes bleached by huracane lamp.
Hair gray and wispy.
We drinking moonshine.
-Best tobacco grows
on the graves of killed in a war.
I cough my drink out.
Tobacco plants hanging from the
rafters,like mummified golden bats.
outside winter and Carpatien
mountains.
- Get the water of birth and menstrual
blood,
chop flowers of weddings
and flowers of wakes.
...discarded after...
...as people always do...
Her hands are knoby...on green thick
glass...
and voce is raspy...
They warned me...
- Did you ever married?
- no, but i have a son.
He lives by the sea.
he sends me cards once in a while...
i still have his dipers in my trunk...
...i took his father inside, when he
was eighteen...
and i was younger...
he went away to fight some war...
...i remember his sandy hair...
We sit in silence.
-What's your name?
- They call me Baba Ljuba...
In Russian - Grandma LOVE.