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Юрій Лазірко

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* Народний рейтинг 5.081 / 5.68
* Рейтинг "Майстерень": 5.149 / 5.76
* Творчий вибір автора: Любитель поезії
* Статус від Майстерень: R1
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Переглядів сторінки автора: 597498
Дата реєстрації: 2009-07-10 08:15:58
Звідки: New York
Веб сторінка: http://www.iourilazirko.com
Група: Користувач
Номінація:
П.М.2007
Від редактора: Переможець конкурсу "Поетичних майстерень" 2007
Е-mail: << Для контакту з автором зареєструйтеся >>
Автор востаннє на сайті 2026.11.06 17:07
Автор у цю хвилину відсутній

Про автора
Моє (Редакторське) минуле перебуває у летаргічному сні
в особі Ретро Лю тут:
http://maysterni.com/user.php?id=640
Л.Ю.




Найновіший твір
He Is One of Those Warlocks
Текст:
-------
1.
He’s one of those warlocks,
who rummages through souls
in temples.

How many strange souls
weigh the heart on a scale
in grams…

He’s a master of change,
of transforming
from fish into bird.

He plays with a sea
full of words,
drinks his fill of fear
in the dark.

When he gets to your core,
he won’t ask you
for permission.

Boredom? Jules Verne.
Kusturica?
Chicken feed in the yard.

Pre-Chorus:
And the loser of losers
still worships himself
and goes strutting

through Wi-Fi worlds,
through smoke-filled bars,
begging:

“Give me more likes,
one more time” —
and thoughts
that burn the sacred down…

Chorus:
You would know him
by his soggy,
tear-stained manners —

there’s a soul inside him,
wild as war,
a white panther.

A white panther…
A white panther…

2.
He would live inside you,
baptize his whole life
in Cain’s name.

He would make himself sleep
with the night
as a collar.

He would pour out the wine
and talk down
every winged thing
that flew by.

Pre-Chorus:
And the loser of losers
still worships himself
and goes strutting

through Wi-Fi worlds,
through smoke-filled bars,
begging:

“Give me more likes,
one more time” —
and thoughts
that burn the sacred down…

Chorus:
You would know him
by his soggy,
tear-stained manners —

there’s a soul inside him,
wild as war,
a white panther.

A white panther…
A white panther…
His essence grows smaller…

And the black
meets the black
that is darker…

And he holds up his scythe
over a crime
not yet done —
Silence.

Chorus:
You would know him
by his soggy,
tear-stained manners —

there’s a soul inside him,
wild as war,
a white panther.

His essence grows small,
and the black
meets the black
that is darker…

And he holds up his scythe
over a crime
not yet done —
Silence.

A white panther…
A white…
Panther…
Silence.

Переклад тут:
https://maysterni.com/publication.php?id=184175