Джеймс Стивенс

[Pickman]

(По просьбе пользователя Фантлаба Tesselar)

Текст Валерия Вотрина :
"Следующий автор на русский переводился, но по большей части как поэт и совершенно бессистемно. Между тем Джеймс Стивенс, одна из ведущих фигур ирландского Возрождения, заслуживает гораздо большего внимания.
Ирландский поэт и писатель, коренной дублинец, родившийся в один день с Джойсом и точно так же никогда не примыкавший ни к одному литературному течению. Колоритнейшая личность – выходец из очень бедной семьи, самоучка, наружностью напоминавший лепрекона, он привлек внимание известного поэта-мистика Джорджа Рассела, который и ввел Стивенса в дублинскую литературную среду. Активно посещал собрания Гэльской лиги, выучил гэльский язык, прекрасно знал ирландскую культуру и обычаи, собирал ирландский фольклор. С 20-х гг. и до смерти работал на BBC, где читал, помимо всего прочего, и собственные стихи.
Его сказки и истории – смесь философии и нонсенса, фэнтези и комедии; сам Стивенс неоднократно заявлял, что хочет подарить Ирландии новую мифологию, призванную заместить собой «поношенные» греко-римские мифы. Его шедевр, роман «Горшок золота» (The Crock of Gold) (1912) – одновременно бурлескное повествование о лепреконах, ирландских божествах и философии и ироничный комментарий к ирландской культуре и политике того времени. Роман удостоился Полиньякской премии за 1912 г. и является классикой англоязычной литературы.
Среди других работ – многочисленные рассказы и сказки, основанные на ирландских мифах, а также автобиографический роман «Восстание в Дублине» (1916) о событиях пасхальной недели 1916 года. Репутация Стивенса-поэта очень высока, за жизнь он опубликовал тринадцать сборников стихов. Его литературное мастерство весьма ценил Джойс, заметивший: «Если бы я умер, не закончив «Поминки по Финнегану», Стивенс был бы единственный, кто сумел бы завершить эту вещь». Того же мнения были и коллеги-писатели, считавшие Стивенса гением, виртуозом языка. Они были правы – творчество Стивенса стоит особняком в английской литературе XX века.
В сети есть довольно приличный перевод «Горшка золота», сделанный Степаном Печкиным, однако на бумаге он так и не был издан. Почти все прозаические тексты Стивенса есть в интернете, хотя бы здесь .
Единственное, чего нет, - издательского внимания."

Фрагмент одного из текстов:
ON the day following this melancholy occurrence Meehawl
MacMurrachu, a small farmer in the neighbourhood, came through
the pine trees with tangled brows. At the door of the little house he
said, "God be with all here," and marched in.
The Philosopher removed his pipe from his lips--"God be with
yourself," said he, and he replaced his pipe.
Meehawl MacMurrachu crooked his thumb at space- "Where is
the other one?" said he.
"Ah!" said the Philosopher.
"He might be outside, maybe?"
"He might, indeed," said the Philosopher gravely.
"Well, it doesn't matter," said the visitor, "for you have enough
knowledge by yourself to stock a shop. The reason I came here to-day
was to ask your honoured advice about my wife's washing-board.
She only has it a couple of years, and the last time she used
it was when she washed out my Sunday shirt and her black skirt
with the red things on it--you know the one?"
"I do not," said the Philosopher.
"Well, anyhow, the washboard is gone, and my wife says it was
either taken by the fairies or by Bessie Hannigan--you know Bessie
Hannigan? She has whiskers like a goat and a lame leg!"-"
I do not," said the Philosopher.
"No matter," said Meehawl MacMurrachu. "She didn't take it,
because my wife got her out yesterday and kept her talking for two
hours while I went through everything in her bit of a house--the
washboard wasn't there."
"It wouldn't be," said the Philosopher.
"Maybe your honour could tell a body where it is then?"
"Maybe I could," said the Philosopher; "are you listening?"
"I am," said Meehawl MacMurrachu.
The Philosopher drew his chair closer to the visitor until their
knees were jammed together. He laid both his hands on Meehawl
MacMurrachu's knees-"
Washing is an extraordinary custom," said he. "We are washed
both on coming into the world and on going out of it, and we take
no pleasure from the first washing nor any profit from the last."
"True for you, sir," said Meehawl MacMurrachu.
"Many people consider that scourings supplementary to these
are only due to habit. Now, habit is continuity of action, it is a most
detestable thing and is very difficult to get away from. A proverb will.run where a writ will not, and the follies of our forefathers are of
greater importance to us than is the well-being of our posterity."
"I wouldn't say a word against that, sir," said Meehawl
MacMurrachu.
"Cats are a philosophic and thoughtful race, but they do not
admit the efficacy of either water or soap, and yet it is usually
conceded that they are cleanly folk. There are exceptions to every
rule, and I once knew a cat who lusted after water and bathed daily:
he was an unnatural brute and died ultimately of the head staggers.
Children are nearly as wise as cats. It is true that they will utilize
water in a variety of ways, for instance, the destruction of a
tablecloth or a pinafore, and I have observed them greasing a ladder
with soap, showing in the process a great knowledge of the
properties of this material."
"Why shouldn't they, to be sure?" said Meehawl MacMurrachu.
"Have you got a match, sir?"
"I have not," said the Philosopher. "Sparrows, again, are a highly
acute and reasonable folk. They use water to quench thirst, but
when they are dirty they take a dust bath and are at once cleansed.
Of course, birds are often seen in the water, but they go there to
catch fish and not to wash. I have often fancied that fish are a dirty,
sly, and unintelligent people--this is due to their staying so much in
the water, and it has been observed that on being removed from
this element they at once expire through sheer ecstasy at escaping
from their prolonged washing."
"I have seen them doing it myself," said Meehawl. "Did you ever
hear, sir, about the fish that Paudeen MacLoughlin caught in the
policeman's hat."
"I did not," said the Philosopher. "The first person who washed
was possibly a person seeking a cheap notoriety. Any fool can wash
himself, but every wise man knows that it is an unnecessary
labour, for nature will quickly reduce him to a natural and healthy
dirtiness again. We should seek, therefore, not how to make
ourselves clean, but how to attain a more unique and splendid
dirtiness, and perhaps the accumulated layers of matter might, by
ordinary geologic compulsion, become incorporated with the human
cuticle and so render clothing unnecessary--"
"About that washboard," said Meehawl, "I was just going to say--"
"It doesn't matter," said the Philosopher. "In its proper place I
admit the necessity for water. As a thing to sail a ship on it can
scarcely be surpassed (not, you will understand, that I entirely
approve of ships, they tend to create and perpetuate international
curiosity and the smaller vermin of different latitudes). As an.element wherewith to put out a fire, or brew tea, or make a slide in
winter it is useful, but in a tin basin it has a repulsive and meagre
aspect.--Now as to your wife's washboard--"
"Good luck to your honour," said Meehawl.
"Your wife says that either the fairies or a woman with a goat's
leg has it."
"It's her whiskers," said Meehawl.
"They are lame," said the Philosopher sternly.
"Have it your own way, sir, I'm not certain now how the creature
is afflicted."
"You say that this unhealthy woman has not got your wife's
washboard. It remains, therefore, that the fairies have it."
"It looks that way," said Meehawl.
"There are six clans of fairies living in this neighbourhood; but
the process of elimination, which has shaped the world to a globe,
the ant to its environment, and man to the captaincy of the
vertebrates, will not fail in this instance either."
"Did you ever see anything like the way wasps have increased
this season?" said Meehawl; "faith, you can't sit down anywhere but
your breeches--"
"I did not," said the Philosopher. "Did you leave out a pan of milk
on last Tuesday?"
"I did then."
"Do you take off your hat when you meet a dust twirl?"
"I wouldn't neglect that," said Meehawl.
"Did you cut down a thorn bush recently?"
"I'd sooner cut my eye out," said Meehawl, "and go about as wall-eyed
as Lorcan O'Nualain's ass: I would that. Did you ever see his
ass, sir? It--"
"I did not," said the Philosopher. "Did you kill a robin redbreast?"
"Never,'" said Meehawl. "By the pipers," he added, "that old
skinny cat of mine caught a bird on the roof yesterday."
"Hah!'' cried the Philosopher, moving, if it were possible, even
closer to his client, "now we have it. It is the Leprecauns of Gort na
Cloca Mora took your washboard. Go to the Gort at once. There is a
hole under a tree in the south-east of the field. Try what you will
find in that hole."
"I'll do that," said Meehawl. "Did you ever-"
"I did not," said the Philosopher.