Уоллес Стивенс. Планета на столе

Он сочинил стихи - и рад.
Он отразил в них время
Или все то, что полюбил.

Другими же твореньями у солнца
были пустыня, хаос и
большой засохший куст.

Едины с солнцем
его стихи; они его,
но и творенье солнца.

Не важно, выживут ли.
Важно,
чтоб в них была неповторимость, личность,

Родство(пускай наполовину
уловленное бедными словами)
с планетой - они ей принадлежат.




THE PLANET ON THE TABLE

Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.

Other makings of the sun
Were waste and welter
And the ripe shrub writhed.

His self and the sun were one
And his poems, although makings of his self,
Were no less makings of the sun.

It was not important that they survive.
What mattered was that they should bear
Some lineament or character,

Some affluence, if only half-perceived,
In the poverty of their words,
Of the planet of which were part.