Охота за древом

Сложите тела в штабеля в Аустерлице и Ватерлоо.
Забросайте их землей и оставьте мне.
            Я — трава. Я покрываю все.

И сложите их в штабеля в Геттисберге,

в высокие штабеля в Вердене и Ипре.
Забросайте землей и оставьте мне.
Два года, двадцать лет, и у кондуктора спросят:
— А это мы где?
— Что это за место?

             Я — трава.

             Не мешайте мне.

Henry Reed55 / Генри Рид (1914—1986)

Judging distances

Not only how far away, but the way that you say it
Is very important. Perhaps You may never get
The knack of judging a distance, but at least you know
How to report on a landscape: the central sector,
The right of the arc and that, which we had last Tuesday,
And at least you know

That maps are of time, not place, so far as the army

Happens to be concerned — the reason being,
Is one which need not delay us. Again, you know
There are three kinds of tree, three only, the fir and the poplar,
And those which have bushy tops to; and lastly
That things only seem to be things.

A barn is not called a barn, to put it more plainly,

Or a field in the distance, where sheep may be safely grazing.
You must never be over-sure. You must say, when reporting:
At five o’clock in the central sector is a dozen
Of what appear to be animals; whatever you do,
Don’t call the bleeders sheep.

I am sure that’s quite clear; and suppose, for the sake of example,

The one at the end, asleep, endeavors to tell us
What he sees over there to the west, and how far away,
After first having come to attention. There to the west,
Of the fields of the summer sun and the shadows bestow
Vestments of purple and gold.

Henry Reed / Генри Рид (1914—1986)

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