© 1999 pavlo bosy
© 1999 dela design |
boris pasternak
shakespeare
the old inn and the tower of london,
surrounded by dirty walls and dampness...
let's hear horse-shoes' voices, the sound of crackled bells.
let's see westminster palace's rock-like silhouette...
these streets and lanes are narrow like a room,
home-brewed beer is everywhere smelt,
and everything is covered by soot.
cold town is asleep in hangover and gloom...
the snow carpet is becoming thicker
on sleeping squares, and the fall of snow,
like sheepskin coat, suffocates the city,
starts on the streets his old and boring show.
it's dark, and there is little of light
through windows of mica in lead fillets.
"let's sleep thanks to this weather!" -"no, let's shave!"
"yes, this idea is good! yes, do let's!"
* * *
it's not very easy to shave when he is witty,
when he makes his jokes through his favourite pipe.
his nonsense is deadly. but now, more's the pity,
shakespeare looses fun and is starting to write.
the sonnet was born without long torment,
the apple and lobster were baby's godparents.
but suddenly shild is starting to instruct
his father and author, free from any debts.
"well, master shakespeare, i do know your talent,
and i have the seal of your genius, well.
i think, and i'm sure, you will be so prudent
to agree that this place is not ready for me!
dear sir, forgive me this filial scepticism,
but i am the eagle! i don't want this public!
you know for them i am too fine a lyric!
they can eat, in fact, absolutely everything!
please, look on this merchant! he has a good chair
in a billiard-hall, he is full of attention!
i am pleading you, do recite me to him,
it will be my most respectable function!"
"to him? you are crazy! go away, to the devil!
hey, servant! i need the bill for this place!"
shakespeare drops napkins: "my lord and all heavens!
be damned to this inn! so insolent son!"
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