Transcend

Мария Послеханова
TRANSCEND
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Ma vie me jette des mots,
des noms d'oiseaux et des paroles.
Je ne la retourne qu'un regard –
tant bien faux qu'assez mal drole.
On еcrit en francais, en englais
et de moins en moins en russe.
Mon regard ne rencontre qu'un autre,
emergent des yeux qui tuent.

8.10. 2009

***

Reader, you don't know
how time is fast.
On my forehead there are
traces of the past.
All my loved ones were
twice older than me,
so I'm not inviting you on a spree
as if being birdy, but with a care:
I've got a new: you're like everyone else –
I assert it, wishing you well.
Make a stop, look around,
there's a story to tell,
there's so much to disclose,
a fish never to fry
before hit erased by time.

2009

***

The sleet came covering up
the pavements
of the city
I live in.
Some of the streets
full of virtue,
some of them -
full of sin.
But despite
the moral,
they're all
to be whitewashed 
already quite soon
with snow,
be covered and sheltered
in my heart,
whose beat
goes on.

2009

***

So I told you “ok” and went away,
joined my friend I would never lose,
аnd you didn’t wave your hand,
but winnowed those wings
on your back, that make you look
godlike, even though they’re not
fixed on your sockeroos…
Sure enough, Hermes is another story,
nothing in common with you:
the poets of nowadays
have no wits about anyone.
Save for I do.

3.10. 2009

***

I wanna be with you.
I mean, when you’re dancing
you
look like alone.
You’re beginning to move
as if with me, but soon I
get
a feel like you’re gone.
While I’d give all I have
and then earn thousandfold
just
to make it complete:
I wanna be with you not for
a twosome, sick of
me
and you seem to be each other’s split.

12. 2009

***

The dream I dreamt

We slept again with you tonight –
you didn’t know that I was high
with all that crystal borderline
and twilight on the back of thighs
of yours and mine, and of that guy
who actually once made me high.

You watched a map in rear of your head,
I watched our lives as never met
neither you, nor me, ever him.
It was a dream, plain dream to dream – 
with a bunch of pictures in our heads,
constituting evidence of us already met, 

and got acquainted with each other…
But is there anything to bother?
Me, him or ever you?
Do think about it: we’re so cruel
and so disgustful, and so vile – 
you’d better not even stay nigh – 

but then once wait, so you are,
and then what’s the point
of all this talk and our joints? 
We’ll sleep again with you next time,
and that will be no more than
a cognized necessity, 

all right?


2009

***

I wanna be Kitty, dressed up in pink,
with all of that quilling, making you shrink
and letting a wish sneak into your chest –
to tear it off and see what’s to come next.
D’you know what I think of? Of skating a bit –
my hand in your hand, without having a seat,
skating circles and rounds in that pink quilling dress
on a brilliant ice-rink, somewhere in Paris,
somehow in St. Pete, and one day to achieve
kind of a prize for our strong believes.

2009

***

I'll switch the phone off,
in the mirror I'll see
a face without make-up.
It is so plain me:
to get in my room,
close the door behind,
take off my shorts,
cut loose my spine.
Let loose a pin –
just a glass of wine –
see me, only me,
and no one to try
to come closer or further –
it is only me,
5 feet and 4 inches,
54 kg.

To get in my room
close the door behind,
take off my shorts,
cut loose my spine.
Let loose a pin –
just a glass of wine,
see me, only me
and no one to try
to come closer of further –
it is only me,
5 feet and 4 inches,
54 kg.


18.11. 2009

***

objects, objects around
subjects, subjects to be written and done
instead of doing what's planned –
listening to the music
instead of being a berry –
feeling as if embarrassing and confusing

08.01. 2010
3:25

***

Have a look at you acting like that
striving
to break down your loneliness
but getting a broken heart

of a guy who is fairly ready to fall
for a lie
as the postcards you send him
have not an idea to import 

or a memory
or whatever

And then do adjoin music and lyrics
pulsed
you get after the nights awake
and the head – quite dizzy

of your own, now Narcissus looking
smiling
though having no fun at a time
loading and next shooting

down yourself
down the cockshy


19.01. 2010

***

They don’t wonder why
people play their games –
got to be grown-up,
I do know the answer:
it’s about their dreams,
childish hearts and feels
and the fail to be liable
to each one for other.
They are my coevals
being mad and evil,
screaming at the top
of their pack-a-day lungs,
and I stare at them
with my eyes full of tears
and I know that no one
after all to come
and save them from cold
that they do catch each time
that they build their castles
in playpits and rain
due to their playmates,
who are so contagious,
trying hard to live out
their lives in vain.
They ache to be singers,
they ache to be actors,
hope to be protected
showing up on stage,
but again I see
their blind spot and fear
of another castle
to lay flat in rage.
Their games make no actors,
their playpit – no stage
and it’s better to learn it:
choral screaming – no song.
Madness needs a doctor,
сhildren – motherness,
but risk owners –
always something to go wrong.

19.01. 2010

***

It struck me we were
like some figurines
on a wedding cake:
dressed in white,
being tired and thus brittle,
solely I didn’t wear bridal veil.

The surrounding zipped
and I touched my hair
as we were standing close,
and you listened to me,
touching your arms
as if wanted them across.

But you know,
being always on top
and sweet,
as they use to say about us,
I’m glad we finally managed to handle
this winter without gloves.


7.03. 2010

***

It got cloudy on the morning you left  –
I was wearing my slacks all day long;
wearing my shoes with no heels;
the sunglasses you liked – well, I took them off.
I began to talk to citizens,
still being short of words,
but the easiness that you left me with
seemed to pay it off:
it got cloudy, and the light dispersed,
but the lightness applied to it all:
my walk, reactions and, in conclusion,
both consent and accord.

9.07. 2010
02:28

***

l taste salt on my lips and it causes thirst,
and my head is about to burst,
and I’m good for nothing,
and it still hurts
though nobody ever left negative blurbs

and I’ll go so far
as to say even positive were

I erase it all and draw smoke in my lungs,
and lickety-split I rush and run,
being bruised by stir ding,
which is no fun
and I wish I was a peg too high for sound

and I’ll go so far
as to become a deaf one

18.04. 2010

***

For what it’s worth


It's no point of more or less.
It's something to deal with stress.
It is an S.O.S.
And it's a proverbs test. 

And it's a merry-go-round.
It is something culture-bound.
It's yet a know-how.
And an inevitable row.

After all a care is no cure.
It's been classified and crude.
Inherently it's nothing new.
I just rehashed it for you.


27.04. 2010
6:19

***

Il y a mon connu quelque part la-bas,
mon connu ne fume ni ne boit;
nous sommes des heros aux beaux numeros
qu'on compose jamais et ce se compte “parfait”.
Et par toute la ville il y a des cimetieres,
et n'y a rien de tel que les belles manieres.
 
01. 2011

***

Je n’ai pas des choses a faire,
Je fais un soupir.
Il me manque un peu de l’air
Et des faux sourires.
Il me manque de Paris,
l’an 2001,
de la Seine, de ses paves
et plutot des gens.

2003

***

I'm not to get your exile style.
I lied in throat last summer,
becoming the lens of your eye
along with shadows under it.

And so I gagged, achieved the cough:
onerous and long-lasting.
Right now in a hysteric laugh,
fixing sleep paralysis,

I'm typing letters, picking words -
in order just to get through
another night. No need to lurk.
You'll hardly get my cruelty.


05.04. 2011
3:08

***

”You look like you need a partner, –she said. –
Well, I don’t wanna be your friend.
‘cause, you know, things may come and go,
and the most trite will be the end”.
She said: “Let’s just start a band”.

“’cause you seem to need a partner, – she said. –
No matter how brilliant you are”.
She just offered her hand, not being mad,
but he found it at least bizarre.
But, well, what is it so far?

Poor you and me, getting this instead of going for a walk…
“Let’s just start a band”, – she said. This is a trite but true talk.


3.06. 2011

***

It's the sound of a plane landing,
followed by the saddest song ever;
it is me not being afraid
to walk under the ladders
in a city too rough and wacky
wich I see eye to eye with you:
pizza slicers up high – remember? –
made you smile; and all that hue
left impassible. You're to choose –
that's the point. And since
you are to state it,
do leave aside your drawn face
and watch me drawing a hand now:
it's the sound of a buzzer
and eftsoons the saddest song ever,
and the following wish to become
the one to make you feel better.

01.08. 2011
8:18

***

Comme une propre infirmiere m'habillee en blanc
j'ai quitte ma maison du quartier d'hopital.
Sans aucune prescription j'ai achete mon remede –
ce qu'ici se compte illegal.
Et en le prenant, j'ai pense que je sais bien 
faire donner a parler avec moi: 
je dirige mes mouvements,
je dirige ma voix,
mon causeur,
le theme
et bien je me dirige.
Cependant qu'en fait
je ne veux que qqch me donne le vertige.

16.06. 2010

***

My love is vacant as a stranger.
And wasps are struggling for my meat.
Yet it's the only place that I
have found myself and found a seat.
That I have found myself a rest.
You see, it never goes –
the pain those people do ache for,
the leash I got myself for them to gain.
I love y o u more than I could tell,
I love you not to put in words.
And I do really think it is
the best part of it, not the worst.

08.08. 2011
12:30

***

Here comes another guy along,
there might be other tricks to show.
Yet I can deal just with the rain –
the April that I watched the snow
beyond the window of my room
has gone for keeps;
no one to groom
my hair or, rather, thaw the frost.
They say, sea-shores or getting lost
could work it out.
That's not 'bout work.
I feel aware it's not a joke.
I've come a mile to see you smile.
I love you more than all that vile.
...
I don't write this kitsch to be read.
I just welcome you to my head.
It's a safe place as long you stay.
Happy and eager. I'm the same
15 years-old girl you once reached:
long-haired, blue-eyed, in CK jeans.
You're in a white shirt. Short hair-cut.
Pictures are cut off. Please, let's start.
A conversation or whatever.
Watching and smiling – I'm one's better.

08.08. 2011