ART-ZINE REFLECT


REFLECT... КУАДУСЕШЩТ # 37 ::: ОГЛАВЛЕНИЕ


ILYA BERNSTEIN. стихи



aвтор визуальной работы - Asya Pervukhin




***

Funny to think of the wind
That moves the clouds
Across the sky
Blowing in my face
In erratic gusts
That have no pattern to them
But are shaped
Solely by the invisible
Bottlenecks
That earlier gusts
Of the same wind
Have left behind
In the air. The sky
Above New York
Is filled with brilliant
Patches of light
Between silver clouds
And reminds me of the sky
In El Greco's Laocoon,
The sky above
El Greco's Toledo,
Where through circulating
Waves of air
And gaps in the clouds
A clear light falls
On the bodies of Laocoon
And his sons.

I am standing on the street
On a windy day
And looking at the sky
And the wind
That slaps my face
Seems to me to be
Another Laocoon,
Tangled up
In the history

Of its own blowing.
And as it labors
At the knots
Of its own strangulating past,
It fills
The whole atmosphere
With howling
As awful
As the bellowing
Of a bull
That has escaped
From an altar,
With an axe
Still loose in its neck,
As it tries
To shake itself free.



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