“Една от разликите между писател и поет е, че писателят един вид се настанява в къщата ти. Имам предвид, че ти трябват три дни или три седмици да прочетеш роман. Аз гледам на писателя като на гост. Поетът е по-скоро някой, които просто се появява. Нали разбираш, една врата се отваря, и ето го поета! Той казва нещо за животa или смърттa, затваря вратата и изчезва. Кой беше този маскиран мъж? Харесва ми едно такова внезапно появяване. Без да злоупотребява с гостоприемството, така да се каже.” – са думите на един поет (пред Paris Review), който преди броени дни се появи отново на български език (в съставената, одобрена от автора, с откупени права и издадена от ИК „Знаци“ като двуезична – на български и английски – книга „Етюд в синьо, каки и млечно зелено / Study in Blue, Khaki and Milky-Green”). Честит рожден ден, Били Колинс.
“One of the differences between being a novelist and a poet is that the novelist kind of moves into your house. I mean, it takes three days or three weeks to read a novel. I think of the novelist as a houseguest. The poet is more someone who just appears. You know, a door opens, and there’s the poet! He says something about life or death, closes the door and is gone. Who was that masked man? I like that kind of sudden appearance. Not overstaying your welcome, you might say.” (from Billy Collins’ interview for Paris Review) March 22 is a special day. Happy Birthday, Billy Collins (someone who just appears… again – „Етюд в синьо, каки и млечно зелено / Study in Blue, Khaki and Milky-Green”)
ON TURNING TEN
by Billy Collins
The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I’m coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light–
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.
You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.
But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.
This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.
It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I could shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees. I bleed.
Били Колинс в „Кръстопът“.
