Стихотворения - Джойс Джеймс. Страница 18

Soldiers must die, must die.

Soldiers all must die.

Soldiers and soldiers and soldiers

Must die.

What man is there to kiss now,

To kiss, to kiss,

О white soft body, this

Thy soft sweet whiteness?

(1918)

ПЛАЧ ПО РАТНИКУ

Как в недобрый час да пришла война,

Да пришла война, началась война,

Как пришла-началась

Война.

Как солдаты все на войну ушли,

На войну ушли, воевать ушли,

Воевать ушли

На войну.

Не вернуться им с поля бранного,

С поля бранного, окаянного,

С поля бранного

Им не встать.

А и некому обнимать меня,

Обнимать меня, целовать меня,

Белу грудь мою

Целовать.

(1918)

TO SYLVIA BEACH

(following the publication of Ulysses)

Who is Sylvia, what is she

That all our scribes commend her?

Yankee, young and brave is she

The west this grace did lend her,

That all books might published be.

Is she rich as she is brave

For wealth oft daring misses?

Throngs about her rant and rave

To subscribe forUlysses

But, having signed, they ponder grave.

Then to Sylvia let us sing

Her daring lies in selling.

She can sell each mortal thing

That's boring beyond telling.

To her let us buyers bring.

J.J.

after W. S.

(February 1922)

СИЛЬВИИ БИЧ

(по случаю публикации «Улисса»)

Кто Сильвия? И чем она

Всех авторов пленила?

Юна, прелестна и умна,

Талантом янки ей дана

Стихи печатать сила.

Рои людей, и голь и знать,

Вокруг нее столклися,

И рвут и мечут, чтоб достать

Подписку на «Улисса», —

А там уж нет дороги вспять.

Восславим Сильвию, друзья:

Купец она удалый:

Какая бы галиматья

К ней в руки ни попала,

Она издаст ее шутя!

Дж. Дж.

по У. Ш.

(Февраль 1922)

PENNIPOMES TWOGUINEASEACH

Sing a song of shillings

A guinea cannot buy,

Thirteen tiny pomikins

Bobbing in a pie.

The printer's pie was published

And the pomes began to sing

And wasn't Herbert Hughesius

As happy as a king!

(April 1932)

ПЕННИ ЗА ШТУЧКУ — ГИНЕЯ ЗА КУЧКУ

Вот песенка за шиллинг,

Не песенка, а клад.

В один пирог зашили

Тринадцать штук стишат.

Стишата в тексте испеклись,

Запели: «Тру-ля-ля!»

И был Гербертус Хьюзиус

Счастливей короля!

(Апрель 1932)

A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS AN ANCIENT MARINER

I met with a ancient scribelleer

As I scoured the pirates' sea

His sailes were alullt at nought coma null

Not raise the wind could he.

The bann of Bull, the sign of Sam

Burned crimson on his brow.

And I rocked at the rig of his bricabrac brig

With K.O. 11 on his prow

Shakefears & Coy danced poor old joy

And some of their steps were corkers

As they shook the last shekels like phantom freckels

His pearls that had poisom porkers

The gnome Norbert read rich bills of fare

The ghosts of his deep debauches

But there was no bibber to slip that scribber

The price of a box of matches

For all cried, Schuft! He has lost the Luft

That made his U. boat go

And what a weird leer wore that scribelleer

As his wan eye winked with woe.

He dreamed of the goldest sands uprolled

By the silviest Beach of Beaches

And to watch it dwindle gave him Kugelkopfschwindel

Till his eyeboules bust their stitches

His hold shipped seas with a drunkard's ease

And its deadweight grew and grew

While the witless wag still waived his flag

Jemmyrend's white and partir's blue.

His tongue stuck out with a dragon's drouth

For a sluice of schweppes and brandy

And but for the glows on his roseate nose

You'd have staked your goat he was Ghandi.

For the Yanks and Japs had made off with his traps!

So that stripped to the stern he clung

While, increase of a cross, an Albatross

Abaft his nape was hung.