Український поет з США присвятив вірш Стівену Гокінгу

Поет Юрій Тарнавський, учасник нью-йоркської групи написав вірш про Стівена Гокінга, відомого фізика, який помер 14 березня 2018 року. 

Текст  надруковано у Facebook. Вірш написано англійською. Перекладу українською на момент публікації новини ще не оприлюднювалося.

when the great astrophysicist stephen hawking dies
he’ll fly off into space on a pair of beautiful wings
wings looking like two wheelchairs
not the motorized kind of wheelchairs like the one he’s been using
the old-fashioned kind
from the nineteenth or eighteenth century or even earlier
made from gracefully curving wooden rods
steamed for a long time before being bent
looking like skeletons of the wings of giant monarch butterflies
he’ll fly off into space moving them with ease
as if swimming under water
finally rid of the disease that had tortured him for so many years
that had latched onto him like a bitchy woman not wanting to give him a divorce
moving at the same time from side to side his colorless bulging eyes
astounded at the beauty of the blackness around him
helping himself thus at the same time to move along
having thrown off his thick bothersome eyeglasses sometime before
like that crippled man his crutches in the christ parable
no longer needing them the same as no longer needing his wheelchair
moving also his big flabby lips like a fish swimming under water whispering words of amazement at the beauty of the blackness around him and likewise helping himself thus at the same time to move along
moving finally also his flabby flesh like a squid its lacy tentacles
his flabby white flesh looking like seedlings that had never seen daylight
to feel it finally move after all these years and also to help himself thus at the same time to move along
he’ll go flying through the breathtaking blackness astounded by its beauty
and who will he suddenly meet not too long thereafter if not alberto rojas jimenez he of the big feet in tight black patent leather shoes looking like children’s coffins
he of the hair plastered down over his skull like black lacquer with the white part down the middle
he of the air of south american provincial movie theaters empty during sunday matinees he was unable to leave behind
he of the most famous flight of all
smiling ear to ear
showing the two rows of his big white teeth with the black gap in the middle in the upper one
throwing his arms wide apart
welcoming him like his own brother
saying i’m so glad to see you dear stephen
i’ve been waiting for you for so many years
you don’t know how we’ve missed you all of us here
and as they will throw their arms around each other
like two brothers who hadn’t seen each other for a long time
or who’d never seen each other before or even had not known of each other but each had hoped the other one existed
who would stephen hawking see behind alberto if not the latter’s great friend
the one who wrote so beautifully about his flight
neftalí ricardo reyes basoalto
the poet of poets
the one and only pablo neruda
hiding behind alberto’s back as if behind a big refrigerator
likewise smiling ear to ear
his face shiny like that of a car mechanic with engine oil as in real life
a three-days’ stubble like engine grease as always on his plump cheeks
and he’ll lock his arms around stephen hawking in a strong abrazo
welcoming him with the words has venido al fin hermano
hermano hermano hermano
and stephen hawking will put his arms around neruda still weak after years of disuse
will press his cold sunken chest against neruda’s hot bulging one
and won’t be able to say because of being so moved nice to see you pablo nice to see you through the tears that had welled up in his eyes
feeling like the thick eyeglasses he has just cast away
and when his eyes clear up
he’ll see behind neruda a long line of famous men who’d come to welcome him
stretching even farther than in a queue to a movie theater on a saturday night to see the latest hot blockbuster disappearing behind its length as if behind the corner of a building
the first among them of course being the famous federico
the federico of federicos
federico garcía lorca
he of the peach fuzz on his cheeks
he of peach groves in bloom in his soul
he of the fear of death in his eyes in fuente grande on the morning before being shot like hoarfrost on peach buds on a branch
and they’ll throw their arms around each other saying hermano
hemano hermano hermano
and then a strange figure with a bony man’s face and a long thin nose but with luxurious woman’s hair on its head will step out from behind lorca
smiling thinly and saying barely audibly even stephen even stephen
look who’s come to join us even stephen hawking
and it’ll put its arm around him reservedly and slap him politely on the back
saying welcome little stevie welcome home at last
you could sit in my chair here too if i were to have one
it’ll be of course the man whose chair stephen had occupied at oxford
the physicist of physicists and a great mathematician to boot
the one and only sir isaac newton
he who shed light on light
who made apples jump for him off the tree into grass like boys bare-ass into water
and next to newton looking like newton’s double with his long nose and luxurious woman’s hair there’ll be standing his great contemporary and rival the univresalgenie gottfried wilhelm von leibniz holding a device of shiny brass full of cogwheels and dials shaped like a human brain busy cranking away at it but also ready to stop and greet stephen when his time would come
and next to leibniz there’ll be rené descartes lying on his back on the ground watching an imaginary fly crawl on an imaginary tiled ceiling above him pretending to be a child sick with fever and being by just lying there
and albert einstein he of the hair on his head standing straight up perpetually shocked by the truth he’d discovered as if by electricity sitting on a three- legged stool with a hammer in his hand tinkering away at a flat piece of sheet metal turning it into a pot busy working on something he’d wanted to do all his life but also ready to greet stephen when his time would come
and niels henrik david bohr standing first on one foot and then on the other hopping from time to time as if from stone to stone in a brook
and archimedes holding a stick in his hand bent over a patch of imaginary sand unaware of the rest of the world drawing the circle he’d been so painfully stopped from completing but also ready to greet stephen when his time would come
and socrates curled up on his side in the fetal position his back to the world still shivering with cold from the hemlock tea he’d drunk but also ready to greet stephen when his time would come
and immanuel kant he of the mouth in the form of a big round o and his right index finger raised high looking like an exclamation point made of ivory suspended in the air
and old will shakespeare his image sharp and clear finally three-dimensional the man from stratford and the one who wrote all those plays and poetry
finally merged into one
and bat-blind homer swaying on the waves of his hexameters as in a boat on a wine-dark sea a quill like a copper-tipped spear in his rosy-fingered hand
and the tragic trio sophocles aeschylus and euripides tiny with age huddling together like three white lambs lost in the woods the last words of their heroes like lambs’ bleating streaming plaintively from between their lips
and the teenage poet of poets the arthur of arthurs jean nicolas arthur rimbaud chewing rodent-fashion on the corner of his mouth like on a stale crust of bread pressing his severed right leg to his chest like a giant white gladiolus wending his way down a busy sidewalk
and heinrich von kleist on the shore of the misty lake of madness smoke curling out of the hole in his temple like from the barrel of the pistol hanging down in his hand
and marcel proust standing stiff like a cardboard cutout of himself in his starched shirt black cutaway and striped pants smeared with quicklime on the edge of the tuileries garden way late for the soirée at duchesse de guermantes’ but a bit early for his funeral
and hump-domed dostoyevsky doing his epileptic psychological break-dance on the page of one of his books littered with print
and gogol-hohol his body plastered head to toe with the fat black leeches of russian words sucking way at his soul cold pre-death sweat sticking to his flesh like a wet sheet
and the greatest one of all saint johann sebastian the johann sebastian of more than just johann sebastians the one and only johann sebastian bach smiling warmly under the bandage over his eyes his fingers and feet restless as if playing the organ also ready to greet stephen when his time would come
and many many many others with names from a to z aristotle walking nervously back and forth his head bent down thinking about something but glancing from time to time in stephen’s direction ready to greet him when his time would come to zeno standing dead still on one foot his other leg and arms stretched out as if running and including most of the prophets christ among them astride his cross now a bucking wild bronco now a child’s wooden horse of the kind with a head and a stick body you put between your legs
and perhaps even a shaven-headed baby-faced ten-year-old boy looking like me peeking over the fence as into a forbidden apple orchard not sure he dares to climb in
because a lot of time will have passed by then
and besides time doesn’t play a role there
that is time has no place in that place
because there is no such thing as time
because it exists only in ourselves
and we don’t take it there with us because we no longer need it
we leave it behind as stephen will leave behind his wheelchair and eyeglasses and the man in the christ parable left behind his crutches
the line stretching all the way to the horizon where horizontal figures of eight dart around like swallows drunk with the ease of flying
three dots on the end for those you can no longer see …
all dead white men
because that world is segregated too
because each one always tends toward his or her own and the other way around
because who else would come to welcome stephen to a place like that if not those like him
because the others would not come to welcome stephen being busy welcoming their own
and as was said there’ll be great many of them
and it’ll feel very crowded
and there’ll be shoving and pushing and pulling and yanking and laughing and screaming and shrieking and calling of names as in a bed on a sunday morning after a sleepover before the parents are up
and stephen will be having the time of his life and will chastise himself for not having made it there earlier
saying to himself i’d such a difficult time back there and this is such a great place so why didn’t i come earlier?
what a fool i’d been!
so much time wasted!
but it’ll get still more crowded
and it’ll be as tight as inside a peapod for the peas in it
and stephen will realize what’s happening
and will remember him
will recall what he’d been saying about his not being
and he’ll realize how wrong he’d been
because you can’t say he is or he isn’t
because just because if it is true that you can say that he isn’t it doesn’t mean that you can’t say that he is
and because if it is true that you can say that he is it doesn’t mean that you can’t say that he isn’t
because he neither isn’t nor is
because there is no word for his being or not being
because there is no place in our minds for its meaning
because it isn’t a meaning but something else
and stephen will feel ashamed at having been so wrong
and will try to squeeze himself together into as small a ball as possible so as not to be noticed
and will be afraid of how he’ll be punished
but then he’ll hear him speak to him
not hear the sound of his words but understand their meaning
and he’ll say welcome home stephen welcome home
don’t be ashamed at what you thought and said
you couldn’t have done otherwise being a man
all of those here had thought and spoken at one time or another as you did
because this is the only way man can think and speak about me
but now you have grasped the truth and so rejoice at knowing it
and stephen will feel bliss descend upon him
and will stand straight and tall and luminous as an angel
and will not speak to him because you don’t have to speak for him to know what you’re saying
because why would you have to speak to yourself?
and it’ll keep getting tighter and tighter
because it’ll be as if a lot of time had passed although as was said there is no place for time in that place
and stephen will understand once again what is happening
and he’ll be very curious to witness it because he’d been speaking so much about it without having seen it
and elbow will be pressed against rib and rib against elbow
and stomach will be pressed against back and back against stomach
and knee will be pressed against stomach and against back
and elbow will be pressed against knee and finger against eye and eye against another eye
and skin will find itself on the other side of skin and bone outside it
and fingers will be inside someone else’s mouth and someone else’s teeth inside one’s mouth
and it’ll get still tighter
as tight as in a nutshell
and it’ll get hotter and hotter and brighter and brighter
and cells will cross their boundaries and molecules theirs
and atoms will cross the boundaries of other atoms
and electrons and neutrons and protons will become like one
and you won’t be able to tell quarks from strings
and particles from waves and waves from particles
and matter from energy and energy from matter
and it’ll continue getting tighter and tighter
and still tighter and tighter still and still more tight
and it’ll be as tight as inside a poppy seed
and it’ll continue getting still tighter
and still hotter and hotter and brighter and brighter
and it’ll get as tight as inside the concept of a point that is when dimensions no longer exist
and it’ll be as hot and as bright as it can be
and it’ll try to get still hotter and brighter
and then a great release will take place
and everyone will give a big sigh
and everything will start all over again as if it had never happened