Letters
Viktor Neborak
Viktor Neborak
A Fragment from The Restoration
(A Iambic Memoir with Some Elements of Bubabu)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The passage is shot upwards.
St Andrew’s is soaked
in stringy May, and phantom knights
look downward through limpid air.
The Descent in swaying in the rhythm
of footsteps, the Descent changes its skin
and rebuilds, and in its make-up
like in shining armor attacks
the gray formation of routine. Pull the veil!
Amidst the ears, I’m in the forest,
amidst the eyes, like many candles,
and eye-to-eye with a motionless beast,
which is the audience, it is watching,
it is crumpling wipers, its nose is running,
it hides boos and hisses in its mouth,
it needs and craves for a silly circus,
it roars and tears through the net,
and it is waiting for ‘V.W.’!
- W., those are my initials,
it does not matter, yet it changes
nothing, there were
no theater-goers, and the play
was not planned either, just
the reading of my poems, and The Wails
have gathered the fans of Bubabism…
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
May – July, 1991
Lviv
(Suchasnist, 1992, № 2, p. 14–15.)