вторник, май 31, 2011

На изток от рая

И любимите ми цитати от тази велика книга на Стайнбек:

Just as there are physical monsters, can there not be mental or psychic monsters born? The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?

Monsters are variations from the accepted normal to a greater or a less degree. As a child may be born without an arm, so one may be born without kindness or the potential of conscience. A man who loses his arms in an accident has a great struggle to adjust himself to the lack, but one born without arms suffers only from people who find him strange. Having never had arms, he cannot miss them. To a monster the norm must seem monstrous, since everyone is normal to himself. To the inner monster it must be even more obscure, since he has no visible thing to compare with others. To a criminal, honesty is foolish. You must not forget that a monster is only a variation, and that to a monster the norm is monstrous.

Щом има такива физически уроди, не може ли да се допусне, че ще се раждат и умствени, психически страшилища? В лице и тяло може да са съвършени, но ако един ненормален ген или деформирана яйцеклетка могат да произведат физически изрод, не е ли възможно същият процес да доведе и до една деформирана душа?

В по-голяма или по-малка степен чудовищата са отклонения от общоприетата норма. Както едно дете може да се роди без ръка, така може да се роди и без човещина или без никакви наченки на съвест. […] Не, за урода уродливото е нормалното, понеже всеки е нормален за себе си. Сигурно още по-объркано е това за духовните чудовища- видимо те с нищо не се отличават от останалите. За човек, роден без съвест, душевната болка навярно изгежда смешна. За престъпника честността е глупост. Не бива да забравяме, че чудовището е само едно отклонение и че за чудовището нормалното е чудовищно.

In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed, most of their vices are attempted shortcuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror. It seems to me that if you or I must choose between two courses of thought or action, we should remember our dying and try to live that our death brings no pleasure to the world.

We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the never-ending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly respawn, while good, while virtue, is immortal. Vice has always a new fresh young face, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is.

С цялата си несигурност, в едно съм сигурен: под горния пласт на своята слабохарактерност хората искат да бъдат добри и да ги обичат. Повечето пороци практически са опит да стигнат по най-късия път до обичта. Стигне ли човек до смъртта, нищо, че е бил може би способен, с влияние, гениален, умира ли необичан, животът му положително изглежда провал, а самата смърт - смразяващ ужас. И ми се струва, че ако вие или аз трябва да избираме между два пътя на мисълта и действието, длъжни сме да помним, че ще умрем, следователно нека се опитаме да живеем така, че нашата смърт да не носи облекчение на света.

Една единствена приказка. Всички романи и стихове са изградени на неспирния конфликт между доброто и злото у нас. И ми хрумва, че докато злото трябва постоянно да се оплодява, доброто, добродетелите са безсмъртни. Порокът вечно се прикрива с нов, привлекателен и жизнен лик, докато добродетелите, за разлика от всичко друго на света, са вековни.

четвъртък, май 05, 2011

Of silence

За тишината - дали наистина е геният на глупците и достойнство за мъдрите? Няколко любими цитата и прекрасен стих на О. Уайлд:

It is better wither to be silent, or to say things of more value than silence. Sooner throw a pearl at hazard than an idle or useless word; and do not say a little in many words, but a great deal in a few.

Silence is the genius of fools and one of the virtues of the wise.
Pope Boniface VIII

It is better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt.
Abraham Lincoln

I have often regretted my speech, never my silence.
Publilius Syrus

Silence is golden when you can't think of a good answer.
Muhammad Ali

Three things are ever silent--Thought, Destiny, and the Grave.
Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
Lord Byron

Silence is the most perfect expression of scorn.
George Bernard Shaw

With silence favor me.

He that would live in peace and at ease, must not speak all he knows, nor judge all he sees.
Benjamin Franklin

Silence is more musical than any song.
Christina Rossetti

In the attitude of silence the soul finds the path in a clearer light, and what is elusive and deceptive resolves itself into crystal clearness. Our life is a long and arduous quest after Truth.
Mahatma Gandhi

The rest is silence.
William Shakespeare

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
Martin Luther King Jr.

Silentium Amoris (The Silence of Love)

As often-times the too resplendent sun
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.

And as at dawn across the level mead
On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.
Oscar Wilde

сряда, май 04, 2011

Nobody Home


I've got a little black book with my poems in.
Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in.
When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.

I got elastic bands keepin my shoes on.
Got those swollen hand blues.
Got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from.
I've got electric light.
And I've got second sight.
And amazing powers of observation.
And that is how I know
When I try to get through
On the telephone to you
There'll be nobody home.

I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm.
And the inevitable pinhole burns
All down the front of my favorite satin shirt.
I've got nicotine stains on my fingers.
I've got a silver spoon on a chain.
I've got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains.

I've got wild staring eyes.
And I've got a strong urge to fly.
But I got nowhere to fly to.
Ooooh, Babe when I pick up the phone

"Surprise, surprise, surprise..." (from Gomer Pyle show)

There's still nobody home.

I've got a pair of Gohills boots
and I got fading roots.

"Where the hell are you?"
"Over 47 german planes were destroyed with the loss of only 15 of our own aircraft"
"Where the hell are you Simon?"
[Machine gun sound, followed by plane crashing]