Третий сборник автора написан полностью на английском языке. Свои первые произведения автор писала именно на языке туманного Альбиона, вдохновляясь известными поэтами-песенниками Великобритании и США. В сборнике представлены песни и стихи с 2020 по 2024 гг. Кроме личных работ, поэтесса представила своего лирического героя — Нортона Уэллса, от лица которого написана добрая половина стихотворений сборника. Рукой вымышленной рок-звезды написаны самые тяжелые и проникновенные песни о любви и темной стороне славы. "Malady", "Love and Loathe", "News Bulletin" и другие песни определили концепцию сборника, сделав книгу и мрачной, и грустной, и саркастической одновременно. Дерзкое, но печальное в своем постимпрессионистском настроении амплуа сменило предыдущий образ Влады Иванц, представив читателям ранимую, но серьезную новую работу. Автор обложки — Влада Иванц.
Автор обложки Влада Иванц
Foreword
Do you understand me?
Well, Impressionism was a wonderful work. So naive, so young and funny in its vision of the world through the prism of other people's opinions. However, almost no one understood it. Unfortunately, they saw in it an insignificant and uninteresting work. But Impressionism just reflected the light that shone on it from those who read it. You may ask, what makes me think that? Well, I have many examples and many new haters. Once I published a poem from the book with the meaning that sounds like people always get punished for their ignorant words and deeds. How did people react to this? They called me a wretched scribbler throwing pathetic words. Are they right? I don't know. But now I realize that the things I put my whole soul into are worthless. They are not needed or understood by anyone. It doesn't matter what language I write in, I still seem like a stranger to them. The concept of a new collection of my lyrics manifests itself. It's about misunderstanding.
Yes, I'm offended, sad, scared, and ridiculously confused by their misunderstanding. They judge a book by its cover, but even a beautiful cover is a reason for them to hate it. However, if you read this, then you probably understand me. You, those who will definitely read this collection, in whatever language it would be written. You are the ones I love and respect for your sincere support and love. I know for sure that my declaration of love will reach you, because you are here, in my broken and sad heart. Only thanks to YOU it's still beating.
Oh, for such a long time I was afraid to be completely sincere with you, because it seemed to me that I would betray someone's expectations about me and thereby destroy the reputation of myself and my beloved ones. So, I hid my real rage in gentle and non-cruel words. I hoped it would save me. Well, it didn't, because people are really crazy. However, having dared to say a little more than necessary, even in a foreign language, I realized that you are still here anyway. Because you understand me. But I'm just learning to understand YOU.
By the way, please, don't think that it's going to be another sad and depressed work. There're a lot of fun things, I promise. Even a thunderstorm can be quite positive. But it's going to rain anyway.
So, take an umbrella, despite the cloudless sky, because it's the beginning of The Blue Days Of Mine.
Mental flue
mental flue
poem
When the heavens are silent,
I think about what I need to do.
I guess I'm just a little tired.
It's some kind of mental flu.
The geometry is quite simple:
The parallels do not intersect.
You and I are parallel people:
We don't fight, we don't protect.
The world is wonderful, can't you see?
The clouds are white, the sky is blue.
But you're not who you used to be.
I guess, you've caught my mental flu.
April 27, 2024
Malady
song
[Verse 1]
There are no good lyricists left in our century
And no right medicines have been invented.
There were holy people next to me while I was sick.
I wonder where I would be now if they didn't help me.
[Chorus]
I was left alone, as a typical hero of post-apocalyptic.
Me, my demons, my maladies are the perfect triptych.
It's impossible to cure the one who revels in his illness.
You know, my maladies have replaced all my feelings.
[Verse 2]
All the best lyricists died due to shock therapy.
During bad trips, any artist praises his malady.
But when the fever starts, he curses his great insight.
Then he dies knowing that he has performed his rite right.
[Chorus]
I was left alone, as a typical hero of post-apocalyptic.
Me, my demons, my maladies are the perfect triptych.
It's impossible to cure the one who revels in his illness.
You know, my maladies have replaced all my feelings.
[Bridge]
And my insight brought me only harsh contempt.
I couldn't score а hundred, but it was a great attempt.
Run, Forest, run if you don't want to wallow in the mud.
I don't need anything divine, I'm tired of this fight.
Holy people turn away, 'cause they cannot pray for me.
And now there is only me and my favourite malady.
[Chorus]
I was left alone, as a typical hero of post-apocalyptic.