EXPANSIVE POETRY ONLINE
A Journal of Contemporary Arts 

 

POEMS

by
 

STEVEN DUPLIJ
____________

 

CORRAL

I was swept up in alleyways
Of my tattered soul—
Between the fate and beds,
On which I never lived.

I have paid for my doubts by household
To eradicate them all for sure.
By emptiness of the rapture
Do not compel to quell

In me, true and veritable,
Free man who creates
Avoiding injection of evil:
For them—the corral of life,
For me—the arrow of time.

July 14, 2021

     Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2021/07/11/2181

 

RAIN OF ROLES

You hoped it would blow over?
It doesn't work - it touches everyone.
And the holy ark won't save you.
Do not count on the success.

It is illusory that there is no end
To the play which is life.
Till the last scoundrel
You will never be clean,
No matter how angry you get.

They will stop to beat everyone,
When you only answer in moan.
Humiliated by the power, life is a mess
Of dreams to betray at the end.

If you think that a shot will save you
From your fate with nausea.
It is not in the book that lies,
It's in thee, as the king turned out to be naked.

Step away from the window to know,
At what height is your cry,
It will be heard by all around.
And cast out the night...
And feel thou art: you are an old man again.

I have no strength to turn back time.
Pass on what you have learned, they ignore.
The umbrella of evil is over:
The rain of decay pierced me:
All the roles are already exhausted.

        Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2021/05/12/7536


               
GARDENS OF GRAVES

                Dreaming of the night—
                Gardens of Graves.
                Injections—away:
                They're other's debts.
The halo melted:                     I pray you, read
The throne is false.                 A moment in a necroscream.
I've chased by crowd:             Stumps of desires—
Life is a cyclotron.                  Evil years' wig.
                Pamper with misery
                Sucked meaning,
                The horde of ideas—
                To fate's encore.
                Forgive me for scrapping,
                For the nought, for bargaining.
                What is the delirium to those,
                To me is a home,
                The work—is the morgue.
                I woke up. The ray
                Slides along the bottom
                Of timelessness: I curse
                The coup d'état of "goodness".
Naivety—sprinkles with lies.
The sin of words is overthrown:
The height of mind is the AIDS of souls.

        Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2021/06/21/2805

 

  ________________________________

 

HEARTBEATS

The number of heartbeats left
     Is left as uncountable:
     It is given. To sit
On Time to slam the door.

The end will multiply the goals,
     They’re looking like they don't exist.
     A lost ticket to the train of bliss
We were not in time,
                       All at once.

The meanings of the gods are beaten -
     Fulfilling the commands of sin.
     Namaz of love is washed away,
False feelings unselfish?..

From each a crypt
     Of abandoned ideas,
     Of aspirations all thinner and thinner.
Yes, life was fierce,

                       Forever in the dew of tears...


Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2021/04/02/4023

        ANNIVERSARY

          Who would not want
              On his anniversary,
                To ask his spirit,
     “Have you achieved everything?”
    And to listen to their pseudo-balm,
    To burn the boxes of hateful books,
           Those written by you.

           And among the readers,
              There is only you.
     The heart aspires to fight again,
          But there are no meanings
                Outside of beauty.

               Where has it gone?
     Following the plaid blanket of years,
    It dissipated in the shadows of faces.
                   My light is
     A short splash of life—a blitz.*

*English translation by Larissa Kulinich, Kirkland,WA
Original Russian: https://stihi.ru/2018/06/17/8175

 

         THE LAST FLIGHT
  In memory of Alexander Budyansky 1956-2002

           My friend is gone.
    Or maybe he “was helped” to go.
           The circle is closed,
           And the moment for
         A crosshair was found.
         There is only one way.
            Like a bird—down.
        To forget, to fall asleep.
     There are no visas to go there.
           The selection is tough,
                Blind, and deaf.
       The best ones—to the drain.
 Let the earth be eiderdown for them.

        And we, having betrayed,
            Telling lies, laughing,
       And having stood in a row,
           Afraid to look deeply
           Into each other’s eyes,
        Lest “God forbid not me,”
         An unctuous pus oozes
            From the pale lips.
You cannot shake off everybody.
   You cannot “be helped” to go.
        You cannot slip away.
           Descend to those,
To take revenge, in order to live,
       Like he was hoping for.
         To reveal the essence.
     Well, did he fly in vain?*

Song from "SUPERMANIFOLD OF LIFE" album (Track 2)
https://ivv5hpp.uni-muenster.de/u/douplii/music/SMFOFLIFE
Alexander Budyansky Memorial Page
https://homepages.spa.umn.edu/~duplij/budyansky

*English translation by Larissa Kulinich, Kirkland,WA
Original Russian:
https://stihi.ru/2018/06/17/8175

 

 

   ________________________________

 

ARMY OF TWENTIES

Suddenly I woke up in the twentieth year,
The pastness is in the past. Where am I going again?
|
Not possible to hug, the whole that was—
Not worth dreaming about—the whole what will happen.

Around me—the shadows in the guise of people—
They mock me worse than animals.

The army of goblins will not force me
To suffer from the madness of masks.

All laws—are died in battle
For the illusion of singing to the idle.

Everyone has his own idle on the wall
Who dissolves freedom—in the window.

The demon screams from the souls of angels—into the night:
I will try to calm it down, to overcome it.

To go further without fear,
To avoid humiliations—by striving.

           Original Russian: http://stihi.ru/2020/10/21/4963

 

 

   ________________________________

 

PLAID OF FATE

I'm tired of wandering in the darkness,
The aspiration makes my eyes rattle.
I don't want to suppress night-fear
Before I give away my world.

I am waiting for bullying - a crate.
Without fighting, doubt is their laughter.
I won't notice - jamming of nothingness:
On the run, my soul to extinguish

I quit my slave - to play,
Dressing up, I say to muzzle-rags - no.
I don't kiss anyone's portrait,
So not to puke out the whole rest of life.

I chase away the temptations of dreams,
Their vanity of infected dalliance.
Throwing formulas with alpha, omega on the table:
I light rising up with the infinity of suns.

I remove the naiveness of the white lines,
Waiting for their unfaithful caresses.
I won't accept - whispering after me: scholastic you.
I tailor the plaid of Fate from the losses.

            Russian: https://stihi.ru/2020/07/04/5200

 

THE CHOICE

So tired of scandals and tears
I gave them - much divorces, and dreams:
A hundred lives would be enough to regret,
If you choose not courage, but a crate.

Of all lucks - only likes on my verses,
From friends - only Facebook, Instagram.
Trying not to throw up from news -
I cannot. I can only drink up His laugh.

Behind the dawn the dawn flickers,
All those who are not present have become closer.
I forget that there is sin and passion.
Nothing to steal - from nothing.

To bow down - there is no evil, no knees.
To wait out the wall of change
It will not be possible without enchantment,
I don't care if I don't turn around and to live out to that.

Russian: https://stihi.ru/2020/06/28/3599

 

________________________________

 

VIS-Ŕ-VIS*

No one calls me at night...
I am forgotten like carrion.
Who would care? Where would I end up?
If not in a hospital room, bare and white.
Like a wounded beast, half dead,
That is trudging towards a trap,
I am trying to come back to life
Rising out of the books I've read.

It's not about the mortality of life -
That's not the case.
It is about uselessness of those boring rules
Suggesting we continue a senseless race,
Without any conscious thoughts,
Without any goals that make sense
For only to get a really "fun" end.

It's not that I am waiting for somebody to call.
They have been loveless -
As if selected - all.
My heart is pricked by their greed and gall.
Sunsets of recurrent patterns.
And so let it be -
My life is vis-ŕ-vis...

           *English translation by Larissa Kulinich, Kirkland,WA
              
 Russian: https://www.stihi.ru/2020/02/11/8544

   ________________________________

METAMORPHOSIS*

On the verge of shrieking,
I don't want you as a she-wolf
With a gaze toward the wood,
For all good nourishment and food,
Who chooses to become a harlot, careless and free,
Who is gnawing as souls, as those entrenched in debt might be.

I don't want you as a she-dog,
Forcibly committed, loyal, but not to me -
To conventions making faces, hostile force
Which obviously means
That there are no limits to hypocrisy and double deals.

My dream for you is to become creative, real,
Be able to pulsate with feeling,
Believing in yourself and our common creed
That begs us to perform what both of us need -
To sing it, fully it embrace,
Not to indulge in pleasures, but love each other in full grace.
 

           *English translation by Larissa Kulinich, Kirkland,WA
            Russian: https://www.stihi.ru/2020/01/04/8444
________________________________




 

WEEKDAYS

All I see is daily grey grind,
There is no escape from it, alive.
I grow into uselessness by way of trepidation.
A shriek into futility - there is no salvation.

Minutes pass by and get scattered,
Years pass by giving no salute.
Have they ever really mattered?
Time comes to us to be subdued.

Formulas of tenderness are in disguise, somewhere,
Lest they be reduced to zero, an empty spot.
Lips are getting dry and bare-
There's no one to tempt them, make them hot.

Suppressed by darkness, understated feelings
Cannot be hidden by things that used to have some meaning.
Why should we fuss, regret, be in despair?
We'll be appreciated at some point, later on... somewhere... *


Будни

Вижу лишь серые будни я,
От них никуда не уйти живьем.
Врастаю в ненужность трепетом,
И от тщетности — в крик не спастись.
Проходят минуты россыпью,
Года забывают честь отдать.
Давно уж на них не расчитывать,
Чтобы не было стыдно уйти.

Прячутся формулы нежности,
Чтоб не терять объектов ноль.
Пересыхают губы в стон —
Снова некому их искушать.
Прежними смыслами не закрыть
Темной энергии недочувств.
Ну и тогда зачем жалеть?
Мы все признаны будем — там…

---------------------

 

HALO

Let us forgive each other for things
That happened not to us, not for us, -but in
a dream.
Ink tantalizingly attracting you to me,
Is drawing roses on wine.
Let us forget carnal deceptions,
And cover them with frantic struggle.
Far-reaching aspirations drawing us
To the confinement of nirvana,
Reveal mutual understanding-be yourself.
I'll send an instant message into the night-
Why should insanity stack us on a stick of
transformation?
The ashes from the urn of Love
Have been dispersed by an unwanted guest.
A reproach for something sung
Is flying away on the winds of doubt.
I sacredly believe in a halo
Embroidered with purposes made of felt of
colored hopes.
A thrust... Olympus...*
 

 

Нимб

Простим друг другу все, что было
Не с нами, не для нас — во сне.
К тебе манящие чернила
Рисуют розы на вине.
Забудем плотские обманы,
Прикроем истовой борьбой
Стремлений вдаль,
В острог нирваны
Взаимосмысла — быть собой.

Спрошу миг в ночь: зачем безумье
Нанизывает нас на трость
Перерожденья. Прах из урны
Любви разнес незваный гость,
Укор отпетости, по ветру
Сомнений. Свято верю в нимб,
Расшитый целями из фетра
Цветных надежд...
Бросок... Олимп...

---------------------

 

WRITING POETRY IS BETRAYAL
        
OF THE MOTHERLAND

Writing poetry equates
betrayal of the Motherland:
Is there no strength to face reality?
This is not the time to whine or moan.
To make them read me?
Why?
To become famous?
Whom?
Did you decide that?
Maybe-to while away the time?
To hide my fear into the lines of poetry?
To justify powerlessness?
The rows of graves-it is your fault?
There is no washing away the disgrace
by turning a blind eye to a legion of
zombies.
The seal of intense centuries
will not be turned into dignity
by the tears of false adoration
of the bottom you dug out
for you and yours-in sin...*



Стихи писать, что Родину предать
 

Стихи писать,
Что Родину предать:
Неужто на реальность нет и сил?
Уже не время ныть, стонать.
Заставить их меня читать?
Зачем?
Чтобы известным стать?
Кому?
Ты так решил?

Быть может время скоротать?
И спрятать страх - в строку?
Бессилье оправдать?
Твоя вина - ряды могил?
Не смыть позор, закрыв глаза
На зомби рать.
Веков неистовых печать
Не превратят в достоинство -
Ни слёзы псевдоумиленья дном,
Которое ты сам себе
И для своих -
Во грешности отрыл...

*English translations from the Russian by Larissa Kulinich, Kirkland,WA

© Copyright: Степан Дуплий, Steven Duplij, 2019

 

 

Next Fake Year

 

The year—gone,

The life—dismissed.

I cry—begone!

The answer—“blissed”.

 

I need—to be,

But fate—as is,

As biting bee

Perverting kiss.

 

Call-back is dead,

All colors—grey.

Desires—spread,

All friends—away.

 

They love—for sale,

Become turnstile.

I carry sail:

Last shot—a smile.

 

The country—lies:
‘All things must pass’.
The freedom—dies,
Fake future—grass...

 

 

 

ALIEN
 

I’m not a stranger—
I am—a man,
Love—inner changes,
Have—what I can.
I’m not an alien
Among memories—
Searching for spelling
Of supreme tries.
Twisting the spaces
Of different lies,
I melt in traces
Of pain—not to die...

 

 

 

FACE

 

I see the grinning Face
In reddish light again,
I sing the final song
And cry: Begone!
My losses wait
And try to hate
All my false pasts
To choose the last.
I see the Stop
And call the Hope,
But His reply
Is short: you die.