Стихи Джозефа Фазано в переводах Ала Пантелята


Joseph Fasano
Processional

The wisdom of others, that too.

Until flesh is glass.

Remember that evening in childhood: alone
behind a power plant,

the owl you found, spread-winged, nailed
to a spruce trunk,

a rolled note in its mouth?

You will paint
with the dun colors of the warblers'

breasts in October,
exhausted with love. You will open

your mouth to the salt air of the darkest and lowliest
harbor.

You will kneel before splendor
and majesty and say

this
is my portion, this shadow.