Стихи Макки

Ребзя, бороздила я тут инет-просторы и наткнулась на стихотворные произведения Usika-Pusika :)))
Талантливый человек - талантлив во всем.
Наверное.
Но вот картины его мне далеко не все нравятся...

Привожу на ваш суд (без перевода, ессно).
Как вам?

-In Liverpool-


I spent my early life in Liverpool
Something I'm not likely to forget
People blend with places
Faces that I know but never met

Upstairs on a bus behind a man
Talking to himself or so it seemed
Repeating names of old comedians
And laughing at them...

Down the pierhead where the preachers met
Each of them his own imagined crowd
Giving us his version of the book
That God has written...

In a house before they built the road
Raising jam jars for a worthy cause
Prince the dog with one eye to his name
Wants to follow...

By the sports field of the Institute
Lives Soft Sid the harmless village fool
Greeting kids who pass the other side
Saying Hello Children...

Listening to the bin man holding court
Promising to buy a brand new bike
King of little children for a day
He gives them money...

Walking with the boys of Dungeon Lane
Aimlessly towards a muddy shore
Telling tales about the Chinese farm
And getting captured...

I spent my early life in Liverpool
Something I'm not likely to forget
People blend with places
And the faces that I know but never met

In Liverpool.

-Dinner Tickets-


My mother always looked
For dinner tickets
In the breast pocket
Of my grey school shirt.

Dried mud
Falls from my workboots.
Zigzag sculptures
Leave a trail as I head
For the woods.

She found a folded drawing
Of a naked woman.
My father asked me about it.

Chainsaw makes easy work
Of young birch blocking my path.

For days I denied all knowledge
Of the shocking work of art.

Resting on a fallen log,
I wipe the sweat from my brow.

Admitting I had made the drawing,
I wept.

-Jerk Of All Jerks-


I'm a motorist that quite
Likes a drink when he drives
Who causes the loss
Of innocent lives

I'm the guy with the pistol
Who kills your best friend
You can't really blame me
'Cos I'm round the bend

Hello—how are you?
I'm jerk of all jerks
I'm here to undo
All your charitable works
I do it quite simply by
Making mistakes
And one little boo-boo
Is all that it takes
And you're at the mercy of
Jerk of all jerks.

I'm the man that disposes
Of nuclear waste.
There's no need to worry
It's perfectly safe

In fact there is now
Every reason to hope
That if anything happens
I'll easily cope

Hello—how are you?
I'm jerk of all jerks...

I'm the leader who says
As he wages his war
That the children are not
Ones that he's aiming for

Hello,
How are you?
I'm jerk of all jerks...

-Chasing the Cherry-


Fragile fragments
Clattering down
The lavish marble staircase
Tinkling smithereens
Smashing, grabbing
At china stars
Bursting in clusters,
Scattering E-side cats
Credit cards dropping
From rain-clouds
Pour down on the well-polished floor
Tortoiseshell hair-combs
And black tape cassettes
Rattle the cages of
Knife-wielding grand dames

And say, are you chasing the cherry?
The merry go round of the roses
If so, you must know
That the down side
Is to sink like a ferry

Ascending the slope
In herring bone fashion
Holding on chromium steel
Lifting the bar bells
With candlestick motion
Side stepping hot wax,
And wheel
Flying with lizards
All blown in a gust
Through staining glass
Windows and covered with dust blood,
To keep out the rain

And say, are you chasing the cherry?
The merry-go-round of the roses
If so, you must know
That the down side
Is to sink like a ferry

A weapon is not
Worth a button,
When anti-world
Matters explode
And chandeliers
Drop from the ceiling
With sharpshooter's skill

Exhausted collapse
In the playground
Apeak epileptic remains
And froth at the mouth
Like a river, till
Teachers in apple-pie beds
Reach out
Chalk filled hands
And lift
Lift

And say, are you chasing the cherry?
The singular red one on top
It gleams with particular pleasure
That may never stop
If so, you must know
That the high tide
Has sunk like a ferry.

-Fool Moon's Eve-


On a full moon's eve
A tiger sprang
And gnawed on
Who I used to be

A pale haze lights
The fox's eye
And . . .
Checking once
He leaves by a hole in the hedge

Old loves return
To kiss the lips
In case the empty gallery
Should fill with whispering strangers
Like a flood

-Blessed-


I would come back from a run
With lines of poetry to tell
And having listened, she would say
"What a mind."

She'd fold my words inside her head
And though the lines may not have been
Supreme, she wasn't merely being kind
She meant it, what she said

And I am blessed
For she said, "What a mind."

-Black Jacket-


Sadness isn't sadness
in a black jacket

Death isn't death
it's life
that's jumped off a tall cliff

Tears are not tears
They're balls
of laughter
dipped in salt

-Her Spirit-


Her spirit moves wind chimes
When air is still
And fills the rooms
With fragrance of lily


Her eyes blue green

Still seen

Perfectly happy

With nothing



Her spirit sets

The water pipes a humming

Fat lektronic force be with ya sound



Her spirit talks to me

Through animals

Beautiful creature

Lay with me



Bird that calls my name

Insists that she is here

And nothing

Left to fear



Bright white squirrel

Foot of tree

Fixes me

With innocent gaze



Her spirit talks to me

-Steel-


Steel yourself against the rapid fire
Confusion of events that masquerade as life
Bullet holes in time's demented curtain

-To Be Said-


There's a lot to be said
There's nothing to be said

My love is alive
My love is dead

I hear her voice
Inside my head

There's a lot to be said
There's nothing to be said

There's a lot to remember
A lot to forget

My love is hot
My love is wet
As if it was
The night we met


There's a lot to remember
A lot to forget

There's a lot to be said
There's nothing to be said

Мне вот последнее особенно понравилось почему-то.
2Annabeatles
Насчет картин я с тобой соглашусь. Большинство из них мне не очень понятны.

Когда-то давно я по мере сил и возможностей пыталась переводить стихи Пола, но поскольку поэт я аховый, выносить на суд общественности свои переводы не буду (побьют...). А вообще мне больше всего нравятся Black Jacket и To Be Said. Да и картины Пола люблю (некоторые) - например, ''Доисторическая антилопа'' хороша.

А мне нравится Jerk Of All Jerks. Суровый стих!

<А мне нравится Jerk Of All Jerks. Суровый стих!

Прямо просится тут разудаленький весёлый мотивчик. Может, Пол нас порадует?