èîãðàôèÿ #8 Êîíñòàíòèí Àëåêñàíäðîâè÷ Êåäðîâ
Ñomputer of Love
Êîíñòàíòèí Êåäðîâ
Konstantin Kedrov
Konstantin Kedrov (b. 1942) is the Russian avant-garde poet, philologist, literary critic. He hold a PhD in Philosophy. Prof. Kedrov is member of the Writers Union of Russia, currently President of Russian Poetry Society, a corporate member of FIPA, UNESKO, a member of the International PEN, He is the author of term Metacode (united code of world culture), the creator of the new poetry school named Methametaphora and a founder of the poetry group called DOOS (The Voluntary Society for the Protection of Dragonflies). He is also the founder and editor-in-chief of "Journal POetov" (magazine of poets). Was awarded the GRAMMY.ru Prize (2003, 2005) as a poet of the year.
COMPUTER OF LOVE
Heaven is the height of a look
A look is the depth of heaven
Pain is the touch of God
God is the touch of pain
Dream is the width of a soul
Soul is the depth of a dream
Light is the voice of silence
Silence is the voice of light
Darkness is the cry of shining
Shining is the silence of darkness
Rainbow is the gladness of light
An idea is the dumbness of the soul
Soul is an idea undraped
Light is the depth of knowledge
Knowledge is the height of light
A steed is an animal of space
A cat is an animal of time
Time is space curled into a ball
Space is jump of a steed
Sun is the body of moon
A body is the moon of love
A ship is wave of metal
Water is the ship of wave
Sorrow is the emptiness of space
Gladness is the completeness of time
Time is the sorrow of space
Space is the completeness of time
A man is the heaven turned inside out
A woman is the man turned inside out
A man is the woman turned inside out
A heaven is the man turned inside out
A touch is the space of a man
Love is the touch of infinity
The eternal life is the moment of love
A sail-ship is the computer of memory
Memory is the sail-ship of computer
Poetry is the time of a thief
A poet is the thief of time
Sea is the space of moon
Moon is the time of sun
Time is the moon of space
Stars are the voices of a night
Voices are the stars of a day
A ship is the quay of the whole ocean
Ocean is the quay of the ship
A skin is the drawing of constellation
Constellation is the drawing of the skin
Christ is the sun of Buddha
Buddha is the moon of Christ
The time of sun can be measured by the moon of space
Space of moon is the time of sun
The horizon is the width of a look
A look is the width of the horizon
Height is the border of vision
A palm is a boat for a bride
A bride is a boat in a palm
A camel is a ship of desert
Desert is a camel's ship
Beauty is the hate for death
The hate for death is a beauty
The constellation Orion is a sword of love
Love is the sword of the constellation Orion
The Little Dipper is the space of the Big Dipper
The Big Dipper is the time of Little Dipper
A look is the width of heaven
Heaven is the height of a look
A thought is the depth of a night
Night is the width a thought
The Galaxy is the way to the moon
Moon is the developed Galaxy
Every star is the pleasures of the flesh
Erotics is all stars
Space between stars is the time without love
People are the bridges between stars
Bridges are stars between people
Passion is flying
Flying is the continuation of passion
Voice is a jump of one to another
A friend is the understanding of cry
The distance between people is full of stars
The distance of stars is full of people.
(Translated by Marina Rozanova)
The Cross
All around, the wilting roses
Faint in the sobbing summer.
Sinking, the swollen cross
Of the dragon-fly
Where Christ
Is being down by rays of light.
The iridescent cross is lifted from the dragon-flies,
Nailed down under God’s gaze.
Fair, iridescent Christ
Lies himself out
On the river and mountain.
The cross from the river – mountain,
The cross from the river – the heavens,
Sun-moon twinkling cross,
The cross of the night and day,
Trough you and me –
Joined at the hips.
(Translated by Marina Rozanova)
The butterfly
The earth is flying
by the orbit
not like a butterfly
who follows it's own way
(Translated by Marina Rozanova)
The Endless Poem
Every day I hear inside myself your voice
The words sound very strange
And when I close my eyes
I see those shouts which are given birth with silence
And the bright colors which was born by dark
I am finding myself left by all
Except concepts and word which are so deep
That the word we can see disappears
But I can speak and when I understand it
The word is born again
I string sounds on a naked nerve
And feel the great dissonance
And the rapture of an eminence above the world
The Poetry is top of being
Carriages are connected by iron hand shake
Trees – stations – silence
And you in silence of old night
And everything that connects me with you
And millions people which sleep as slaves
Nothing understanding in such love
The zero of the worlds rotates in the heaven of stars –
It is a sight comes back to his source
Both dark blue day and a red wave
A green beam has fallen to a parrot
And the parrot has started talking verses
Both dark blue day and a red wave
Where the blue fern has hidden
And in days of the rivers centuries have stopped
We have been a meeting of lizards on a stone
I am a red ship
And you are a blue one
We contrast by colours of us
I am a red ship
And you are a blue one
Together we’ll swim thought the death
On black lake a white swan
On white lake a black swan
The white swan swims
Also a black swan swims
But if you will look in reflection
All will be on the contrary –
On white lake the black swims
White swims on black lake
I ‘m a cemetery of the lost ships
I’m her dream
her grief and light
I’m a fog for he and I’m a bell in fog
And I’m nothing for myself
I know I’m a cemetery of the lost ships
About windows flight of flight
And this groan among grey walls
Any passer-by has stepped in space
And has collapsed in a dead faint through centuries
Water flew through concrete and eternity
And the dustman swept away stars from sidewalk
And people refracted in wet asphalt being broken in splinters
I has left to itself “through – towards – from”
And has left “under” erecting “above“
(Translated by Marina Rozanova)
Looking-glass
The Looking-glass
A template
Of the Sound
Mount
Stay put
Turn up
A tone
You are not
You are all
Mount
Take yourself out
Strike right across
Like a mast
Sss – zzz
A lake of cross-section
A template of reflection
Again the face plane
Smash yourself
There is floor of the ceiling
Eyeless
Darkness
Grey
Red
Re
Do
Si
La
Sol
Fa
Me
Re
Red
Grey
Darkness
Eyeless
There is floor of the ceiling
Smash yourself
Again the face plane
A template of reflection
A lake of cross-section
Sss – zzz
Like a mast
Strike right across
Take yourself out
Mount
You are all
You are not
A tone
Turn up
Stay put
Mount
Of the Sound
A template
The Looking-glass
(Translated by Alexandra Zabolotskaya)
The Ship of Prayer
Prayer is a ship
that sails through bareness
the moon is prayerful
and the sun consists of kisses
prayer is a ship
with babies on board
she sails into love
kissing the ocean with her back
World-wide silence can't drown
worldly noises
we believe that we exist
and that life is in abundance
Shiva has many arms
but he can't bind sheaves
God has many legs
but love is biped
Two-legged nakedness
is wide open into the horizon
every lodging is temporal
only the ship of love
sails through Hellespont
time and again
the living have been dead for long
but they are slowly
returning to life now
(Translated by Anatoly Kudryavitsky)
Wings
These wings –
on the right – on the left –
at the front – behind –
they are only one wing
refracted
in all dimensions
into which those with an odd number of wings
fly away,
their wings turned inwards.
This is a secret, yours and mine,
a secret with an odd number of wings.
In some four-dimensional space
souls weave,
and perceive with,
such tentacles of lace.
(Translated by Anatoly Kudryavitsky)
Speaking for Yourself
To my home
To your sign
To the flame-coloured
pillar of creation –
speaking in the voice
oblivious of pain
shutting yourself off
from the world
and crying bitterly
blazing slowly:
ah, I joined
the chorus –
but it’s not up to you
nor to me
to choose going round
to each one of us –
his own scream
or a dream
or a bride –
fascinating
transformed
gentle
(Translated by Anatoly Kudryavitsky)