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Maijs 15., 2005
![[info]](http://klab.lv/img/userinfo.gif) honeybee | 20:01
Un vēl mazliet literatūras, šoreiz Lorenss Darels, kurš, ja viss notiks, kā nākas, man būs jātulko. Skudriņas skrien pār kauliem, izbaudot šo valodu. Un vēlreiz pārskrien (acīmredzot atpakaļ), domājot par to, vai vispār ir iespējams to kaut cik adekvāti atveidot latviski.
22.5.37.
At evening the blue waters of the lagoon invent moonlight and play it back in fountains of crystal on the white rocks and the deep balcony; into the high-ceilinged room where N.'s lazy pleasant paintings stare down from the walls. And invisibly the air (cool as the breath from the heart of a melon) pours over the window-sills and mingles with the scent of the exhausted lamps. It is so still that the voice of a man up there in the dusk under the olives disturbs and quickens one like the voice of conscience itself. Under the glacid surface of the sea fishes are moving like the suggestion of fishes - influences of curiosity and terror. And now the stars are shining down frostblown and taut upon this pure Euclidian surface. It is so still that we have dinner under the cypress tree to the light of a candle. And after it, while we are drinking coffee and eating grapes on the edge of the mirror a wind comes: and the whole of heaven stirs and trembles - a great branch of blossoms melting and swaying. Then as the candle draws breath and steadies everything hardens slowly back into the image of a world in water, so that Theodore can point into the water at our feet and show us the Pleiades burning.
Lawrence Durrell: Prospero's Cell
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