"Джек Керуак. Big Sur (engl)" - читать интересную книгу автора

million years - The world being just what it is, moving and passing
through, actually alright in the long view and nothing to complain about -
Even the rocksof the valley had earlier rock ancestors, a billion billion
years ago, have left no howl of complaint - Neither the bee, or the first
sea urchins, or the clam, or the severed paw - All said So-Is sight of the
world, right there in front of my nose as I look, - And looking at that
valley in fact I also realize I have to make lunch and it wont be any
different than the lunch of those olden men and besides it'll taste good -
Everything is the same, the fog says "We are fog and we fly by dissolving
like ephemera, " and the leaves say "We are leaves and we jiggle in the
wind, that's all, we come and go, grow and fall" - Even the paper bags in
my garbage pit say "We are man transformed paper bags made out of wood pulp,
we are kinda proud of being paper bags as long as that will be possible, but
we'll be mush again with our sisters the leaves come rainy season" - The
tree stumps say "We are tree stumps torn out of the ground by men, sometimes
by wind, we have big tendrils full of earth that drink out of the earth'...
Men say "We are men, we pull out tree stumps, we make paper bags, we think
wise thoughts, we make lunch, we look around, we make a great effort to
realize everything is the same" - While the sand says "We are sand, we
already know, " and the sea says "We are always come and go, fall and plosh.
" - The empty blue sky of space says "All this comes back to me, then goes
again, and comes back again, then goes again, and I don't care, it still
belongs to me" - The blue sky adds "Dont call me eternity, call me God if
you like, all of you talkers are in paradise: the leaf is paradise, the tree
stump is paradise, the paper bag is paradise, the man is paradise, the fog
is paradise" - Can you imagine a man with mar-velous insights like these
can go mad within a month? (because you must admit all those talking paper
bags and sands were telling the truth) - But I remember seeing a mess of
leaves suddenly go skittering in the wind and into the creek, then floating
rapidly down the creek toward the sea, making me feel a nameless horror even
then of "Oh my God, we're all being swept away to sea no matter what we know
or say or do" - And a bird who was on a crooked branch is suddenly gone
without my even hearing him.

8

But there's moonlit fognight, the blossoms of the fire flames in the
stove - There's giving an apple to the mule, the big lips taking hold...
There's the bluejay drinking my canned milk by throwing his head back with a
miffle of milk on his beak - There's the scratching of the raccoon or of
the rat out there, at night - There's the poor little mouse eating her
nightly supper in the humble corner where I've put out a little
delight-plate full of cheese and chocolate candy (for my days of killing
mice are over) - There's the raccoon in his fog, there the man to his
fireside, and both are lonesome for God - There's me coming back from
seaside night sittings like a muttering old Bhikku stumbling down the path
- There's me throwing my spotlight on a sudden raccoon who clambers up a
tree his little heart beating with fear but I yell in French "Hello there
little man" (allo ti bon-homme) - There's the bottle of olives, 4gc,
imported, pimentos, I eat them one by one wondering about the late afternoon