Сергей ЖИЛИН и "Фонограф-джаз-бэнд"...05.04.2017 / 19:00Москва, Московский...
Underground Earl Come with me to the South, to the lend of stone fires Come into my circle of enigmatic nightmares Where eternal howl of the wolfs goes to the mute temples. Don’t fear to be yourself – come, my friend, with me. Thaw of bloody tears – the trees pine away. But their tears turn to petals of roses. Wreath out of dead roses will cover your pale forehead. You’ll fall into sleep – that’ll take your image. My unknown wood – he’ll become your brother. The blood of sweet skies will carry away us by their sunset. In the music of shadows we’ll sink Now death’s losing the poison – its orange-pale glare. Underground Earl, p. II Amidst infinite valley in the snow a temple stands. Its pensive light streams to singing wolfs. Their prayers are similar to hands of Underground Earl – His red clothes are burning with inside passion to Christ. I like to watch his eyes to shine with sunset. The mark of his white fingers is drunk by maidens’ mouths. He knocks at the door to attract me to the wood’s music. His sons, blue wolfs, are singing about love. He’s left his parents in the unknown land. Their numerous names smell of ash and the books. He’s trusted his friends-moths to leave for some light. However, the candle end’s turned to cold prison. There's nobody to drink tea together Glare of always unhappy eyes – the spirit of pale days and empty troubles. Maybe, it’s more comfortable to walk on earth, but I couldn’t do. I’ve heard that love’s stronger than death but is weaker than marriage and everyday life. Your voice, rustling of house dress and sound of steps are in my ears like dogs’ barking. Dream’s changed into reality and roses’ aroma’s turned to the decay stench. The prose’s stinking with the evil prison, where the walls are smelling with boredom. Where’s numerous bodies, there’re few faces and so there’s nobody to drink tea together. You’ve took the place for overnight stop for your core and true home. They say that it’s possible just to sit and be silent. But I often want to speak about inexpressible things. It’s curious that in a station where spirit of the beyond wander over I met and could recognize her not being ready for it. Glare of unhappy eyes, like telescope, sucking the light of strange stars. Strange flat’s the other cosmos where’s eternal frost. Here’s a dream in which beer’s smell and a girl whose dress likes to the moon. It’s so nice: she was feeding me with sweet bread at that dream. Her dress, and sunburn, and hands were very pretty. However, I was trying and couldn’t find her face. Now that bread’s turned to stone and fish’s turned to snake. Perfume’s aroma and fuel’s stink follow her everywhere. Auf deine Lider Auf deine Lider senk ich Schlummer, auf deine Lippen senk ich Kuß indessen ich die Nacht, den Kummer, den Traum alleine tragen muß. Um deine Züge leg ich Trauer, um deine Züge leg ich Lust, indes die Nacht, die Todesschouer weben allein durch meine Brust. Du, die zu schwach, um tief zu geben, du, die nich trüge, wie ich bin – drum muß ich abends mich erheben und sende Kuß und Schlummer hin. Golem In hysterical cities, in the mad everylife, In the strange world our blood’s dissolved. In that lands where trains don’t go We were young, but they’ve stolen us from there. You’ve sold your wife who’s your first and last love to brothel. You, like cat with carved brain, always go round your graves. Where our home, where our Lord, what attracts our looks? Where our blood? Everywhere stark faces’ appearance, like icy patterns on the pane. Disgusting is your fear for your health – Where’s your God? You’ve fattened your thoughts with their ancient ancestors’ corpses from the rotten crypts. We’ve forgotten after-taste of dreams without faces, names and movements. Lips, faces, colors, walls are casting out stink. I feel that in this home Saturn’s fetid ghost’s penetrated. Telescopes as funnels suck smell of stars. Sewage from distant stars are thrown to us like to rubbish bin. Purple glasses are dorging cosmic flesh. Spirit of consolations’ve governed our consciousness; And night heaven’s nestling up to the windows by its velvety skin. You come into the station to look at this window to the other world. There you see faded light of church candles which are bleeding with your sweat. Carnivorous plants see by the numerous dead goggle eyes. In their veins is blood of your compatriots – your breathless thirsting crosses. That’s poisoned present – saliva of always young rats – blood of the creatures. Those plants are web out faded gods – that’s stolen shine. Their flesh is sweet as perspiration of a strange wife, there’s honey’s taste (of nonexistence) in it. They’re lump in your mouth that’s turning into your brain, and now you’re golem. Always young maiden’s kissing and swallowing your tongue. Your angelic body become flesh of orchids – mute plants. Meek lady The lights are shining gently in the street. Look, don’t frighten their meek shining – We’ll be orphans in the night darkness. You’re running by your hand over air fluently – You’re floating above me with pale shadow. In your regal detachment is burning sweetness of penetrating into myself. Fat flies are squeezing into ring. Face’s disappearing in the swarm of cares – Fallen souls scurry about covering their faces. Everybody’s running around the circle from the beginning; And there’s no end of this run – Give your hand and save me from the hateful care. I’d like so much to learn loving; It’s so easy to carry our it, Seeing you every day. But when I return home after bar, You’ll be tender with me – You’ll feed me and put me to bed. I’m so ridiculous at times. However, this temptation’s not fatal for us; You stand my madness patiently. We’ll stay in the kitchen, and you’ll sing your song quietly. We can remain so till the sunset. The silver lord Your young fades away like shadow. In the dark haze you see the silver lord. You’ve killed the brother in yourself in the stinking air of stuff. And now you’re homeless though you live in diamond palace. You, being edged by a beauty, are ugly and your dress is dirty. You, having all, are poor, barefooted and naked. And so your wealth’s stinking. You’ve deserted your gods, your mother and the native house. And now you’re lost become blind; you’ve left and your home’s desolate. Transcendental diseases In your bedroom you keep dry flowers. You bear in your heart their withered beauty. Petals of these strange plants are the old book. But language of this book is understandable only for me and you. These rapacious roses feed on our flesh And our names have took roots in this carnivorous flowers. There’re many songs and books and pretty women. However, there’re only two names and it’s given only to us to know them. It’s wonderful time that’s mid-Russian winter spring. In this sleety slippery yearning one remember the summer and you. Every rock in that sea is the lost brother’s name. But only you’re free to get those from the sea. We’re looking for the summer in dark and cold winter. But in this search we freeze and become blind and drink vodka. So, from generation to generation is this fate of futile efforts. Only you’ll save us from doom of fathers and sons. In the unknowing sea of passions, In the gray mass of unhappy people Torment yourself with evil pleasure And don’t be confused by the odious doubt. Condescend to the flickering candles, Whose light is retributive sword, Which are shining in the hollow hills’ belly Of impossible unspeakable words. Here April sky play with thin ice. This ice is parish for times of unknowing you. By it I fell the gothic temples’ cupolas By it I cut abscess of my transcendental diseases.