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середа, 7 березня 2012 р.

"On Being Kind to Horses" by Félicia Atkinson: 25 mns of snowy drones inspired by a poem by Vladimir Mayakovsky

Hooves drummed, 
Seeming to say, 

Drink with wind, 
Shod in ice, 
the street slipped. 
The horse 
On its cropper, 
Crowds of gapers 
Gathered, crowds 
Of trousers coming to a crotch 
on Kuznetsky Street. 
Gathered in a seam, 
Laughter tittered and spluttered. 
"A horse down, 
A horse has slipped," 
Snickered the whole Kuznetsky. 
I alone 
Failed to add my voice to its howl. 
I went up 
And saw 
The horse'sgreat eyes... 
The street upturned 
And floating, 
The way he saw it... 

I went up and saw 
Tear after large tear 
Dripping down his muzzle 
And onto his coat... 
And a moaning 
And animal-like grief 
Burst out in a flood, 
And, rustling, spread. 
"Horse, don't you cry. 
Horse, listen. 
What do you think! Are you worse than them? 
My child, we are all 
To some extent horses. 
All of us have in us 
Some of the horse." 
The horse my have been old 
And needed no nursing, 
What said might have seemed trite 
But nevertheless 
It lurched 
To its feet, 
Whinned and 
Moved off again. 
It went back to its stable, 
Stood content in its stall. 
Ans it thought it was 
A young colt again, 
That it is worthwile living 
And it wasn't bad working.

Vladimir Mayakovsky


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