2020-01-08
"… A proud and arrogant man, such as yourself — with an admittedly admirable qualityof didacticism about him — was given to doing research in the area of a certain disfiguring and degenerative disease. One day he contracted it himself. Since
he had not yet developed a cure for the condition, he did take time out to
regard himself in a mirror and say, 'But on me it does look good.' You are such
a man... You will not attempt to fight your condition. Rather, you are proud of
it. You betrayed yourself in your fury, so I know that I speak the truth when I
say that the name of your disease is Kali. You would not give power into the
hands of the unworthy if that woman did not bid you do it. I knew her of old,
and I am certain that she has not changed. She cannot love a man. She cares
only for those who bring her gifts of chaos. If ever you cease to suit her
purposes, she will put you aside... The moral, therefore, of my sermon on this
small mount is this — even a mirror will not show you yourself, if you do not
wish to see. Cross her once to try the truth of my words, even in a small
matter, and see how quickly she responds, and in what fashion. What will you do
if your own weapons are turned against you..?"
2020-01-05
“
"Everything that's miserable in the world," Nick the dwarf once said to me, "is because of beauty."
"Not truth or goodness?" I'd asked.
"Oh, they help. But beauty is the culprit, the real principle of evil."
"Not wealth?"
"Money is beautiful."
"So is anything else you don't have enough of – food, water, screwing..."
"Exactly!" he announced, slamming his beer mug down so heavily on the tabletop that a dozen heads were turned in our direction. "Beauty, goddamn it!"
"What about a good-looking guy?"
"They're either bastards because they know they've got it made, or they're self-conscious because they know other guys hate their guts. Bastards are always hurting other people, and the self-conscious guys screw themselves up. Usually they go queer or something, all because of that goddamn beauty!"
"What about beautiful objects?"
"They make people steal, or feel bad because they can't get at them. Damn –!"
"Wait a minute," I said. "It's not an object's fault that it's beautiful, or the pretty people's fault that they're pretty. It just happens that way."
He shrugged.
"Fault? Who said anything about fault?"
"You were talking about evil. That implies guilt somewhere along the line."
"Then beauty is guilty," he said. "Goddamn it!"
"Beauty, as an abstract principle?"
"Yes."
"And in individual objects?"
"Yes."
"That's ridiculous! Guilt requires responsibility, some kind of intent –"
"Beauty's responsible!"
"Have another beer."
He did, and belched again.
"Take a look at that good-looking guy over at the bar," he said, "that guy trying to pick up the broad in the green dress. Somebody's going to bust him one in the nose sometime. It wouldn't have to happen if he was ugly."
Nick later proved his point by busting the guy one in the nose, because he'd called him Shorty.
"Oh, they help. But beauty is the culprit, the real principle of evil."
"Not wealth?"
"Money is beautiful."
"So is anything else you don't have enough of – food, water, screwing..."
"Exactly!" he announced, slamming his beer mug down so heavily on the tabletop that a dozen heads were turned in our direction. "Beauty, goddamn it!"
"What about a good-looking guy?"
"They're either bastards because they know they've got it made, or they're self-conscious because they know other guys hate their guts. Bastards are always hurting other people, and the self-conscious guys screw themselves up. Usually they go queer or something, all because of that goddamn beauty!"
"What about beautiful objects?"
"They make people steal, or feel bad because they can't get at them. Damn –!"
"Wait a minute," I said. "It's not an object's fault that it's beautiful, or the pretty people's fault that they're pretty. It just happens that way."
He shrugged.
"Fault? Who said anything about fault?"
"You were talking about evil. That implies guilt somewhere along the line."
"Then beauty is guilty," he said. "Goddamn it!"
"Beauty, as an abstract principle?"
"Yes."
"And in individual objects?"
"Yes."
"That's ridiculous! Guilt requires responsibility, some kind of intent –"
"Beauty's responsible!"
"Have another beer."
He did, and belched again.
"Take a look at that good-looking guy over at the bar," he said, "that guy trying to pick up the broad in the green dress. Somebody's going to bust him one in the nose sometime. It wouldn't have to happen if he was ugly."
Nick later proved his point by busting the guy one in the nose, because he'd called him Shorty.
”
2019-01-05
'"The full power of Kalkin?.. That has never been released... Not in all the ages of the world. Let them come against me now and the heavens will weep upon their bodies and the Vedra run the color of blood!.. Do you hear me? Do you hear me, gods? Come against me! I challenge you, here upon this field! Meet me with your strength, in this place!"'
2019-01-01
'He spoke softly and without inflection:
"I shall tear these stars from out the heavens," he stated, "and hurl them in the faces of the gods, if this be necessary. I shall blaspheme in every Temple throughout the land. I shall take lives as a fisherman takes fish, by the net, if this be necessary. I shall mount me again up to the Celestial City, though every step be a flame or a naked sword and the way be guarded by tigers. One day will the gods look down from Heaven and see me upon the stair, bringing them the gift they fear most. That day will the new Yuga begin.
"But first I must meditate for a time..."'
"I shall tear these stars from out the heavens," he stated, "and hurl them in the faces of the gods, if this be necessary. I shall blaspheme in every Temple throughout the land. I shall take lives as a fisherman takes fish, by the net, if this be necessary. I shall mount me again up to the Celestial City, though every step be a flame or a naked sword and the way be guarded by tigers. One day will the gods look down from Heaven and see me upon the stair, bringing them the gift they fear most. That day will the new Yuga begin.
"But first I must meditate for a time..."'
2018-12-31
2018-11-10
"Anybody can look at a pretty girl and see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl that she used to be. But a great artist - a master - and that is what Auguste Rodin was - can look at an old woman, portray her exactly as she is... and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be... and more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo, or even you, see that this lovely young girl is still alive, not old and ugly at all, but simply prisoned inside her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet, endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart... no matter what the merciless hours have done to her."
2018-07-01
2018-05-16
2017-11-26
To His Mistress Going to Bed
by John Donne
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
19. Elegie: Auf das Zubettgehen seiner Dame
John Donne
übers. Christa Schuenke
Komm, Freundin, meine Kräfte spornt die Ruhe.
Mich treibt es sehr zur Tat, bis ich es tue.
На раздевание возлюбленной
Джон Донн
Перевод Г. М. Кружкова
Скорей, сударыня! Я весь дрожу,
Как роженица, в муках я лежу;
Нет хуже испытанья для солдата -
Стоять без боя против супостата.
Прочь поясок! Небесный обруч он,
В который мир прекрасный заключен.
Сними нагрудник, звездами расшитый,
Что был от наглых глаз тебе защитой;
Шнуровку распусти! Уже для нас
Куранты пробили заветный час.
Долой корсет! Он - как ревнивец старый
Бессонно бдящий за влюбленной парой.
Твои одежды, обнажая стан,
Скользят, как тени с утренних полян.
Сними с чела сей венчик золоченый -
Украсься золотых волос короной,
Скинь башмачки - и босиком ступай
В святилище любви - альковный рай!
В таком сиянье млечном серафимы
На землю сходят, праведникам зримы.
Хотя и духи адские порой
Облечься могут лживой белизной,
Но верная примета не обманет:
От тех - власы, от этих плоть восстанет.
Моим рукам-скитальцам дай патент
Обследовать весь этот континент;
Тебя я, как Америку, открою,
Смирю и заселю одним собою.
О мой трофей, награда из наград,
Империя моя, бесценный клад!
Я волен лишь в плену твоих объятий,
И ты подвластна лишь моей печати.
Явись же в наготе моим очам:
Как душам - бремя тел, так и телам
Необходимо сбросить груз одежды,
Дабы вкусить блаженство. Лишь невежды
Клюют на шелк, на брошь, на бахрому -
Язычники по духу своему!
Пусть молятся они на переплеты,
Не видящие дальше позолоты
Профаны! Только избранный проник
В суть женщин - этих сокровенных книг,
Ему доступна тайна. Не смущайся,
Как повитухе, мне теперь предайся.
Прочь это девственное полотно:
Не к месту, не ко времени оно.
Продрогнуть опасаешься? - Пустое!
Не нужно покрывал: укройся мною.
by John Donne
Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man.
19. Elegie: Auf das Zubettgehen seiner Dame
John Donne
übers. Christa Schuenke
Komm, Freundin, meine Kräfte spornt die Ruhe.
Mich treibt es sehr zur Tat, bis ich es tue.
Wer lang dem Feinde gegenübersteht,
Wird müd vom Stehn, eh es ans Kämpfen geht.
Fort mit dem Gürtel, der wie Himmel glänzt,
Doch schöner ist die Welt, die er begrenzt.
Leg ab die Brustwehr, die dir freilich nützt,
Indem sie dich vor dreisten Blicken schützt.
Bind auf die Bänder, und dein Kleid verrät
Mir raschelnd: meine Liebste geht zu Bett.
Das Mieder fort, das ich beneiden muß;
Daß es dir nahesteht, macht mir Verdruß.
Und fällt dein Staat, ist erst ein Staat zu sehn,
Wie wenn die Nebel von den Wiesen gehn.
Fort mit der festgeflochtnen Krone! Zähm
Es länger nicht, von Haar das Diadem.
Die Schuh nun fort, und schreite sicher aus.
Tritt ein ins Bett, der Liebe heiliges Haus.
So weiße Roben trugen Engel einst,
Wenn sie zu Menschen gingen. Du erscheinst
Als Cherub aus des Orients Paradies.
Auch böse Geister tragen weiß, gewiß.
Wir unterscheiden sie von Engeln spielend, weil:
Die machen uns erschaudern, jene aber geil.
Laß meine Hände schweifen, sag nicht nein,
Hinauf, hinab, hinüber, zwischendrein.
Oh, mein Amerika, mein neues Land,
Mein Staat, von einem Mann genug bemannt.
Mein Kaiserreich, mein Berg von Edelstein,
Dich zu entdecken, nenn ich glücklich sein.
In dein Verlies mich senken, macht mich frei.
Der Abdruck meiner Hand mein Siegel sei!
Ganz bloß und nackt, dich zu erfreun bereit.
Wie Seelen körperlos, so Körper ohne Kleid
Zu unsrer Lust. Ihr Fraun legt Perlen an.
Atlanta wirft den Apfel, foppt den Mann.
Der Narren Gier soll auf die Perlen gehn,
Daß sie, so abgelenkt, das Weib nicht sehn.
Für Laien ist das Buch mit buntem Druck,
Ihr Frauen aber seid in euerm Schmuck
Mysterienbücher, die sich nur erschließen
Dem Manne, der erwählt ist, zu genießen.
Weil ich es bin, zeig dich mir ohne Scham.
Fort mit dem Leintuch, das den Blick mir nahm.
Hier ist nicht Buße und nicht Unschuld, Weib.
Ich bin ja nackt. Warum soll denn dein Leib
Verhüllt sein, wenn ich unverhüllt sein kann?
Was muß dich mehr bedecken als ein Mann?
На раздевание возлюбленной
Джон Донн
Перевод Г. М. Кружкова
Скорей, сударыня! Я весь дрожу,
Как роженица, в муках я лежу;
Нет хуже испытанья для солдата -
Стоять без боя против супостата.
Прочь поясок! Небесный обруч он,
В который мир прекрасный заключен.
Сними нагрудник, звездами расшитый,
Что был от наглых глаз тебе защитой;
Шнуровку распусти! Уже для нас
Куранты пробили заветный час.
Долой корсет! Он - как ревнивец старый
Бессонно бдящий за влюбленной парой.
Твои одежды, обнажая стан,
Скользят, как тени с утренних полян.
Сними с чела сей венчик золоченый -
Украсься золотых волос короной,
Скинь башмачки - и босиком ступай
В святилище любви - альковный рай!
В таком сиянье млечном серафимы
На землю сходят, праведникам зримы.
Хотя и духи адские порой
Облечься могут лживой белизной,
Но верная примета не обманет:
От тех - власы, от этих плоть восстанет.
Моим рукам-скитальцам дай патент
Обследовать весь этот континент;
Тебя я, как Америку, открою,
Смирю и заселю одним собою.
О мой трофей, награда из наград,
Империя моя, бесценный клад!
Я волен лишь в плену твоих объятий,
И ты подвластна лишь моей печати.
Явись же в наготе моим очам:
Как душам - бремя тел, так и телам
Необходимо сбросить груз одежды,
Дабы вкусить блаженство. Лишь невежды
Клюют на шелк, на брошь, на бахрому -
Язычники по духу своему!
Пусть молятся они на переплеты,
Не видящие дальше позолоты
Профаны! Только избранный проник
В суть женщин - этих сокровенных книг,
Ему доступна тайна. Не смущайся,
Как повитухе, мне теперь предайся.
Прочь это девственное полотно:
Не к месту, не ко времени оно.
Продрогнуть опасаешься? - Пустое!
Не нужно покрывал: укройся мною.
2017-11-05
"Remind me ... to write a popular article on the compulsive reading of news. The theme will be that most neuroses and some psychoses can be traced to the unnecessary and unhealthy habit of daily wallowing in the troubles and sins of five billion strangers. The title is 'Gossip Unlimited' - no, make that 'Gossip Gone Wild.'“
2017-09-15
2017-04-05
2017-01-08
2015-09-08
To His Coy Mistress
by Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust;
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
by Andrew Marvell
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found;
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long-preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust;
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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