NEW BOT Телеграм, страница

Олег Кашин поделился опытом посещений нудистских пляжей.

Укуренные козлы

18.3K views20:14

LETTERS TO A ROMAN FRIEND
(Полуподстрочник «Писем римскому другу» Бродского)

It’s so windy and the waves are overcrossing,
Weather changes everywhere because of autumn.
Changing colours of the trees excite me, Postume,
Like a girl who’s dressing up from top to bottom.

She could please me but within the limits only.
What can I adore besides her knees and ankles?
Outside the sinful flesh we shouldn’t worry,
It’s impossible to hug and to betray us.

All these folios I’m sending you, my Postume.
And I wonder how it’s going on at Roma,
Do you have to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing?
Do intrigues lurk behind every corner?

I’m sitting in my garden, it’s so pleasant.
There is neither slave nor free. I ask for nothing
But I wouldn’t say it with my Cæsar present.
There are a few of bugs and they are buzzing.

Asian merchant’s laying here on the graveyard
Was a busy modest man and very clever.
He had come to our land for deals and trading
But he met a sudden death because of fever.

Nearby there is a tomb of legionnaire
Who was famous for his bravery and valour.
Yes, he could be killed in action anywhere
But he died of old age: there’s no law of failure.

If one’s fate is to be born in the Empire
One should better live at the provincial seaside.
Birdbrain people often like to play with fire,
I prefer to stay away from our Cæsar.

Far away from our Cæsar and a blizzard
Of bureaucracy, from sycophants and tremblers.
All the governors are like cold-blooded lizards,
But at least they are just bribers, not blood-shedders.

I’m ready to wait out the rain together,
But don’t charge me a full sesterce for a coitus.
If you want to raise your price for it, hetaera,
I consider it as ripoff of my purses.

May this storm will not rip off my roof the same way,
But you said you noticed leaks and pea-sized puddles.
A small leak will sink a great ship. It’s a saying.
That is why I never leak unlike your partners.

We have passed more than a half of our road.
Looking back we can see debris which is rusted,
It’s a phrase I heard from an old tavern servant.
Even though it was barbaric, we can trust it.

I’ve just finished my hillwalking of high moisture,
Now I need to water flowers which I’ve gathered…
How it’s going on in Libya, my Postume?
Are we really still fighting for a desert?

You remember, Postume, our legate’s sister.
She’s a damsel having fat legs but flat-breasted,
And you slept with her. So now she is a priestess.
Priestess, Postume! She confabulates with deities!

Visit me, we’ll have some bread and news to share,
While enjoying plums and wine of local winery.
I would make a bed for you in the fresh air,
Telling you the names of stars in our country.

Soon your friend can be subtracted from the living.
It is me who really loved composing verses.
Take the money you will find under my pillow.
It will be enough for funeral, I hope so.

Dear Postume, ride your favorite black mare
To the Roman Lupanarium we’ve been to.
Pay the girls the price they want for love. Take care
That the tears shed over me are really bitter.

So, it’s windy. And that’s why green laurels tremble.
Doors are opened and a window is dust-covered.
A seat’s empty and a rumpled bed’s abandoned,
And a cloth of sheets on it soaked up the sunlight.

Pontos roars from behind the pinyon hedges,
Someone’s vessel fights the wind around the headland.
Plinius is on a dilapidated bench seat.
In the cypress mane there is one chirping blackbird.

#мрнск

18.1K views20:16