Анастасия Грызунова's Blog, page 30
May 18, 2011
ДГ и вести из Мордора
May 5, 2011
Good Girls Never Come to This Part of Town This Late, by Alexander Dyomin
Good Girls Never Come to This Part of Town This Late
by Alexander Dyomin
coda ode
We went lower and lower down into the shady quarters
looking for titles for our songs
and new smells
for our collections
We talked about the Origin of Species
corruption of our writers
and the Art of Heeling and Walking Side by Side
and the peepholes became bloodshot
when we went by
and turned black
with relief
when we went on
Good Girls don't come to this part of town
this late
and the hour when Bad Girls were thrown out of windows
hadn't come yet
we met a ninety year old whore
in orthopedic boots
and she said Baby you're too old
for me
We went lower and lower down the wasted alleys
Apple Eaters were long asleep
but here and there on the upper floors
there was still light
and someone balanced on a windowsill
screaming I won't let anyone pick my
littlest brain
and a hand with a There's Happiness in This World tattoo
dragged him back
into the black nostril
of the window
We went lower and lower
warning each other against the wolf traps
put out by the front doors
for the night
and some little one asked for a smoke
and said I've planted a bomb in their fridge
stay with me, let's have
some fun
He took a cigarette
and then hid again in a phone booth
sniffing from time to time
and whispering under his breath
We went down
and the damp and heavy stench of the danger
oozed from the gates
pushing us closer to the walls
of the houses doomed for demolition
the houses demolished many years ago
and the houses that would never
be built
We decided to stop
and split a bottle of bad port
bought from the ex-principal of the mathematical school
who kept a basement
and rented it out to the wannabe
glue sniffers
We drank and read a Live and Help to Survive slogan
scratched on a wall
with a nail
and someone with a face of a necrophiliac
took a piss nearby
and he said The guy who wrote that
doesn't live here
anymore
We walked on
warning each other against gaps in the road and the barbed
wire stretched across the street
throat-high
And an officer from the night patrol who checked our Ausweise
said Do you want to come with us
people are always needed
there's a lot of work and by the way
prisoners make the best prison guards
I think you're not
an exception
and he laughed and laughed after us
stroking the butt of his
AKM
We went down lower and lower stumbling over petrified
excrements
and we wished our way was unique
because otherwise it had no point at all
but Good Girls never come here this late
and however long we would try to cure our sickness
with patience, with shit, and with solitude
we would never invent a new religion
any war with the symmetry would end in a draw
and our claustrophobia had long since turned into
the dread
of open space
We went down lower and lower into the shady quarters
and our shoulders brushed the walls
of the houses where no one had ever lived
and someone who said he's a great-grandson of Svidrigailov
tried to sell us his gun
A family heirloom, you won't be disappointed
and to my great-grandfather
it proved very useful
Informers in ballet shoes crossed the road
or watched us from the smoking manholes
recording our steps
with their portable
tape recorders
And that's how we went down into the stinking Infinity
jingling the change in our pockets
and clanking our
handcuffs
Александр Демин. Хорошие Девочки Никогда Не Появляются В Этой Части Города В Такое Позднее Время - оригинал
и по-прежнему Александр Дёмин
а песня будет такая:
Александр Дёмин. Вниз По Реке // Down the River
Down the River
by Alexander Dyomin
For the Little Watchman
Down the river of the dead juices
Of the trees that are long buried under the sand
Down the river of the dead tree juices
To the dead sea, to the murdered land
Where stones are not rolling and leaves are not falling
The water is still and flows no more
You will easily find your way to this land
Just look for the rotten boats by the shore
Some smell of smoke there, and some smell of iron
Some smell of money and some reek of fear
And still others' bodies in the dead water
Dissolve without a trace like sweetness in tears
Down the river of the dead tree juices
To the dead sea, to the murdered land
And someone has already taken aim
At the target that was drawn on your back by their hand
Stones are not rolling there and leaves are not falling
The water is still and the air is slow
You will find your way, just look for the crosses
With the rebel slaves crucified by the road
No rain and no wine will give you a reprieve
No bread and no stone, no string and no knife
You can see the bottom there through the dead water
I hope you will never see it in your life
I hope you will never trust their yes
I hope their no won't frighten you in the end
Down the river of the dead tree juices
To the dead sea, to the murdered land
Александр Дёмин
Вниз По Реке
Маленькому Стражнику
Вниз по реке из сока деревьев --
Деревьев, которых давно уже нет...
Вниз по реке из сока деревьев
К мертвому морю, к убитой стране.
Там камни не катятся, листья не падают,
Там стоит неподвижно вода.
И гниющие лодки у берегов
Указывают дорогу туда.
Там одни пахнут дымом, другие -- железом,
Третьи -- деньгами, четвертые -- страхом,
И тела пятых в мертвой воде
Растворяются быстро, как сахар.
Вниз по реке из сока деревьев
К мертвому морю, к убитой стране...
И кто-то уже наводит прицел
В мишень, нарисованную у тебя на спине.
Там камни не катятся, листья не падают,
Там стоит неподвижно вода
И кресты с телами восставших рабов
Указывают дорогу туда.
Там не спасают ни дождь, ни вино.
Ни хлеб, ни камень. Ни нож, ни струна.
Сквозь мертвую воду там видно дно --
Дай тебе Бог не увидеть дна.
Дай тебе Бог не поверить их «да».
Дай тебе Бог не убояться их «нет»...
Вниз по реке из сока деревьев
К мертвому морю, к убитой стране.
Александр Дёмин вообще
a-and the song as it is
May 2, 2011
Александр Дёмин. Хорошо, Капитан (Мы Съедим Эту Рыбу) / Very Well, My Good Captain...
Very Well, My Good Captain (We Will Eat Up This Fish)
by Alexander Dyomin
Very well, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
Though for weeks it has not even been trying to swim
That's alright, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
The only parts that'll be left are its eyes and a fin
That's okay, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
If you say that it's our only way to do fine
Don't worry, my captain, we will eat up this fish
We will eat it and leave it with just its scales and its spine
Please calm down, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
Though it cannot be good if it's not medium rare
It's agreed, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
But I think we won't touch its fishy gills and its hair
It'll be fine, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
Though we pictured the enemy as someone tough
But absolutely, my captain, we will eat up this fish
We won't touch, however, its mighty horns and its fluff
Certainly, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
It has zero chance in this life, it's too weak
But of course, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
And then all that'll be left are its udder and its beak
Yes we will, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
Our fast was too long, now your persuasion can't fail
No doubt, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
And then we'll leave behind just its trunk and its tail
Surely, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
It was reckless, now it has no cause to complain
It's decided, my captain, we will eat up this fish
We will eat up its rectum, its lungs, and its brain
No question, my captain, we will eat up this fish
And these talks have exceeded a maximum dose
Jolly good, my good captain, we will eat up this fish
And for starters we'll cut off its ears and its nose
Александр Дёмин
Хорошо, Капитан (Мы Съедим Эту Рыбу)
("Синглы")
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу —
Она бросила плавать дней сорок назад.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Мы оставим ей только плавники и глаза.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Если вы говорите, что выхода нет.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Мы оставим ей только чешую и хребет.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Хотя нам не особенно хочется есть.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Мы не тронем только жабры и шерсть.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу —
Мы не так себе представляли врага,
Но хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Мы не тронем только пух и рога.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Все равно ее шансы равнялись нулю.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
От нее мы оставим только вымя и клюв.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Чтоб достойно отметить затянувшийся пост.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
От нее мы оставим только хобот и хвост.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Что искала забот на свою же башку.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу —
Ее легкие, мозг и прямую кишку.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
Мы съедим эту рыбу и закроем вопрос.
Хорошо, Капитан, мы съедим эту рыбу,
А вначале отрежем ей уши и нос.
Александр Дёмин вообще
этой песенки, видимо, в записи не существует, поэтому будет другая:
April 30, 2011
Лаудон Уэйнрайт III. Человек, который не умел плакать // The Man Who Couldn't Cry
Лаудон Уэйнрайт III
Человек, который не умел плакать
Жил-был человек, что рыдать не умел
Не плакал - такой вот курьез
Ни детские вопли, ни киношные сопли
Не пробуждали в нем слез
Ребенком он плакал, как плачут все дети
Потом пересохли глаза
Он подрос наконец, и подкрался трындец,
Но на свет не явилась слеза
Сбили собаку, жена хлопнула дверью
С войны без руки пришел, как дурак
Блядь смешил до икоты, был выперт с работы,
Ему б зарыдать - а никак
Его роман отклонили, кино запретили,
В театре спектакль не пошел
Дальше опций немного: КПЗ, без залога
Но сырости он не развел
В тюрьме издевались, дрючили, били
Послали на лесоповал
Он жил у параши на жиденькой каше
И все-таки не зарыдал
Ну, созвали ученых и всяких врачей
Богословы слетелись, как мухи на мед
Рассудили все так: тут у нас не слабак
А вообще-то бесчувственный скот
Из тюрьмы его перевели в тихий дом
Для тех, у кого уже все позади
Там он в шашки играл и с друзьями болтал
И он плакал, когда шли дожди
Как-то раз шли дожди сорок дней и ночей
А он плакал, и плакал, и всхлипывал жутко
Все рыдал и рыдал и богу душу отдал
Обезвоживание - не шутка
Очутился в раю, там собаку нашел
Руку тоже потом отыскал
В отставку подали критиканы внизу
А шлюху рак доконал
От растяжек жена умерла, босс - банкрот
Богословов сослали в глушь
В старой тюрьме случился пожар
А в мир пришла вечная сушь
The Man Who Couldn't Cry
by Лаудон Уэйнрайт III
There once was a man who just couldn't cry
He hadn't cried for years and for years
Napalmed babies and the movie love story
For instance could not produce tears
As a child he had cried as all children will
Then at some point his tear ducts ran dry
He grew to be a man, the feces hit the fan
Things got bad, but he couldn't cry
His dog was run over, his wife up and left him
And after that he got sacked from his job
Lost his arm in the war, was laughed at by a whore
Ah, but still not a sniffle or sob
His novel was refused, his movie was panned
And his big Broadway show was a flop
He got sent off to jail; you guessed it, no bail
Oh, but still not a dribble or drop
In jail he was beaten, bullied and buggered
And made to make license plates
Water and bread was all he was fed
But not once did a tear stain his face
Doctors were called in, scientists, too
Theologians were last and practically least
They all agreed sure enough; this was sure no cream puff
But in fact an insensitive beast
He was removed from jail and placed in a place
For the insensitive and the insane
He played lots of chess and made lots of friends
And he wept every time it would rain
Once it rained forty days and it rained forty nights
And he cried and he cried and he cried and he cried
On the forty-first day, he passed away
He just dehydrated and died
Well, he went up to heaven, located his dog
Not only that, but he rejoined his arm
Down below, all the critics, they took it all back
Cancer robbed the whore of her charm
His ex-wife died of stretch marks, his ex-employer went broke
The theologians were finally found out
Right down to the ground, that old jail house burned down
The earth suffered perpetual drought
а на самом деле это звучит так:
April 29, 2011
Have Gun, Will Travel
желаю сообщить urbi et orbi, что с 30 апреля я больше не являюсь главным редактором Sergey Kuznetsov Content Group, а равно шеф-редактором "Букника" и "Букника-младшего". вместо меня главным редактором всей этой красоты будет - и, собственно, уже является - Владимир Потапов.
это были занимательные три с половиной года, я за них многому научилась. урок окончен. я очень благодарна. для тех, кто знает меня лучше, чем прочие, я специально уточняю: нет, я ни капли не иронизирую. это было увлекательно и еще полезнее, чем я до недавнего времени думала.
я перехожу в режим свободного полета и рассчитываю оставаться в нем как можно дольше, а лучше всегда. заниматься надеюсь переводами, редактурой и неконвейерным написанием текстов (чем, собственно, и так занималась всю дорогу). для предложений открыта. потерять меня, если что, довольно сложно - я по-прежнему тут. пушка есть, согласен ездить.
спасибо всем, кто.
now I'll keep going.
музыкальное сопровождение тоже будет:
April 28, 2011
work-a-day
Мне больше не нравится лечиться
Вы сосуд, пустая скорлупа, оболочка. Мы знаем ваше имя, но предпочитаем не вспоминать. Вы его забыли еще раньше, так что ничего страшного. Вы отказались от себя — нельзя, конечно, утверждать, что мы предоставили вам выбор, но какая разница? Вы отказались от себя. Невелика потеря, честное слово.
Настик ГрызуноваДалее на сайтес вами был я, эмигрант отовсюду. без имени.
April 27, 2011
three desert songs of an unwilling deserter
1
here I am: I am standing
in the middle of nowhere
with a gun in my hand and
no idea of the drill
and I think it's a desert
and the war's going on and
I'm not particularly scared
not especially skilled
maybe I've got some mission
anyway, it's forgotten
and I certainly don't have
the right kind of zeal
so they've sent me away
to this mexican stand-off
and I wait somewhat curiously
for some dubious thrill
I'd prefer being elsewhere
I'd prefer peaceful ending
but I guess I'm not leaving
this sad battlefield
maybe I'll be the last one
to lay down my gun but
it's equally likely
I'll be the first
to be killed
2
have gun, will travel
not afraid of the devil
not concerned with the evil
and not scared of death
will defeat any bad guys
will assume any disguise
will save multiple lives and
will be a model of stealth
have gun, do travel
then this desert, this war and
I've been dealt a bad hand
with not an ace in my sleeve
not that I've tried to do right
but this cheerless sight is
not the last thing I thought I might
see before I take my leave
looking into the muzzle
I just lazily puzzle
over that whitish dazzle
that will turn into a roar
unbeaten but unabled
not Cained but Abeled
had gun, did travel
I guess not anymore
3
5 seconds
this stand-off is absurd and it's bound to end
so I can just as well raise my hand and take aim
I don't care if my bullet rests in the sand
or in the abyss of my own wretched brain
4 seconds
or maybe a miraculous last minute escape,
say, a chopper, a bomber, guys with medical aid
a lone paratrooper, Superman in his cape
or just some poor shithead with a grenade
3 seconds
now it's pointless to hope, to dream or to shoot
and it's no use to hypnotize this sorry gang
if I cannot get out alive then I should
at least try to walk out with a tangible bang
2 seconds
no home, no family, no prospects, no ties,
no enemies except for these clowns
but I still have one second, a gun and these skies
and a desert devoid of sounds
1 second
no ludicrous matters like love or trust
no lies, no regrets and no dread
no future and now thankfully no past
that's because I'm already dead
April 26, 2011
два вопроса в никуда про Зрительскую Аудиторию
1) что происходит в голове у каждого отдельного зрителя, когда Уотерс поет In the Flesh и Run Like Hell и аудитория на раз-два-три разводится на вполне нацистский и/или молоточный салют в первой и на вопли "hammer! hammer!" во второй? это простой вопрос: что - при этом - происходит - в голове - у каждого - зрителя? например, кем он себя ощущает в этот момент?
2) что впоследствии происходит в голове у каждого отдельного зрителя, когда на The Trial вся аудитория в конце скандирует, собственно, приговор? ну т.е. мы понимаем, да, что приговор - это якобы к лучшему. но тем не менее.
я правда хочу понять. is anybody out there? ответьте мне, что ли?
April 23, 2011
was caught red-handed showing feelings of an almost human nature
интересный результирующий эффект выглядит примерно так:
1. the real things are real
2. the lord works in mysterious ways
3. it's a good idea to fucking know thyself already
учитывая все, что внутри "Стены", я считаю, это хоть и непрямая, но вполне симметричная реакция.
