Текст песни Philomel (Milton Babbitt) с переводом

Living, growing, changing, being in the hum always

Of pain! The pain of slow change blows in our faces

Like unfelt winds that the spinning world makes in its turning:

Life and feeling whirl on, below the threshold of burning

I burn in change

Far, far I flew

To this wailing place

And now I range

Thrashing, through

The woods of Thrace

If pain brush against the rushing wings of frightened change

Then feeling distills to a burning drop, and transformation

Becomes intolerable. I have been raped and had my tongue

Torn out: but more pain reigns in these woods I range among

I ache in change

Though once I grew

At a slower pace

And now I range

Thrashing, through

The woods of Thrace

Crammed into one fell moment, my ghastly transformation

Died like a fading scream: the ravisher and the chased

Turned into one at last: the voice Tereus shattered

Becomes the tiny voices of night that the God has scattered

I die in change

Pain tore in two

Love’s secret face

And now I range

Thrashing, through

The woods of Thrace

Love’s most hidden tongue throbbed in the barbarous daylight;

Then all became pain in one great scream of silence, fading

Finally, as all the voices of feeling died in the west

And pain alone remained with remembering in my breast

I screamed in change

Now all I can do

Is bewail that chase

For now I range

Thrashing, through

The woods of Thrace

Pain in the breast and the mind, fused into music! Change

Bruising hurt silence even further! Now, in this glade

Suffering is redeemed in song. Feeling takes wing:

High, high above, beyond the forests of horror I sing!

I sing in change

And am changed anew!

(0 strange, slow race

That I ran with grace!)

I sing in change

Now my song will range

Till the morning dew

Dampens its face;

Now my song will range

As once it flew

Thrashing, through

The woods of Thrace

Перевод песни Philomel