I lose my temper when I hear Tchaikovsky 5ямб

1
I lose my temper when I hear Tchaikovsky,
He is elusively and secretly so complex,
In every bar new and incomprehensible,
And always pleasant also unexpectedly.

He's unpredictable, also expected,
What I expect by ear - I find in him,
But everything - in unpredictable places,
And every turn gives birth to - ah?! - in me.

He's flying by - just like a lady's veil,
And what's behind it? - what exactly? Me?
And I read my emotions, so it seems,
But don't catch their connection - slips away.

Abruptly penetrates into the heights,
Into the depths, it is piercing aching,
And it's impossible - like an invasion,
Like violence and even a crime it makes.

That's why I'm so harsh speaking to him.
Infuriates me with his genius, always
Like Sphinx gapes with eternal mystery,
Without looking back, he beckons, draws me.

He draws me into each of his romances,
How does he write them? Where gets the supply
Of note turns, inexhaustible abundance,
That songs of others - seem like idiots staff,

Are hanging then, like ballast, so earthly,
Tchaikovsky! You are driving us mad, crazy,,
You simply brought us to utter amazement,
Up to the boiling our brais exhausting!

You will say: secret is in inspiration,
That everything came down like song of angels,
But everything in you amazes me,
And each bar - to the point of frenzy leads.

Bach is more understandable to me -
He's adequate, precise, predictable,
And in pursuit of you - soul's crying, groaning:
Well, how did you do it? - Wait a moment!

2
I lose my temper when I hear Tchaikovsky,
With hundred romances - fully delighted,
but I don't fully understand the process,
And like from heaven to earth - I am slapping.

Oh what a cloud - only Memory
of happiness that is gone, recreation
from memory - impossible to me,
and even humming - to return sensation,

all the joy of his polyphonic forces,
That he put into the romance - as truth -
Where all tonalities have exact burning,
In background - voice is only to incluse,

He's leading by the nose, to bliss, in general,
Tchaikovsky - the perfection of romances,
and it seems like a small piece, but still there are
no banal moves at all, like common practice,

As aphorisms - the power of their weight -
here it is clear - how genius he is!
when I feel like a fool, after his height,
while I'm experiencing ecstasy,

Here is - the Art, that stepped into my soul,
And spreading me on the earth on my back.
Fifth moves, and seventh steepness - high he goes,
Abyss failure elevates me up.

You walk along - Tchaikovsky in the corner
is playing to us his beautiful songs.
As he said: go to hell! - to evil forces,
Reality is cancelled at the spot.

Yes, he unnerves me with his own tension,
And he excites by titillating nerves,
But after - White ligh, purity progression,
As my soul as if newly is reborn.

This is the highest compliment to the Art!
Tchaikovsky twitches your nerve without rest,
He lowers the unneedful - like a hammer,
And lets you to unknown Happiness!

Оригинал http://stihi.ru/2025/01/20/157
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