Пастернак февраль перевод на английский

Boris Pasternak
February

Oh February. To get ink and weep!
To write of February, sob it out,
While slush is blazing through the deep,
Black spring and spreading on the ground.

To rent a buggy. For six grivnas,
Amidst the church-bells, clanking wheels,
To steer it where a shower drizzles
Still louder than ink and tears.

Where thousands of rooks fall fast,
Like charcoaled pears to their demise
And as they hit the puddles, cast
Dry sadness to the depths of eyes.

Beneath it, patches shine, exposed,
The wind is furrowed by the yelling.
In tears, new poems are composed, —
The more unplanned, the more compelling.

Translated by Andrey Kneller

Борис Пастернак
Февраль

Февраль. Достать чернил и плакать!
Писать о феврале навзрыд,
Пока грохочащая слякоть
Весною черною горит.

Достать пролетку. За шесть гривен
Чрез благовест, чрез клик колес
Перенестись туда, где ливень
Еще шумней чернил и слез.

Где, как обугленные груши,
С деревьев тысячи грачей
Сорвутся в лужи и обрушат
Сухую грусть на дно очей.

Под ней проталины чернеют,
И ветер криками изрыт,
И чем случайней, тем вернее
Слагаются стихи навзрыд.

  • «Verses about Petersburg»

    Anna Akhmatova

    «I St. Isaac’s Cathedral is clothed in / The robes of cast silver again. / The horse of Peter stands frozen, / Impatient, fierce and intent. The harsh stifling wind will not cease, / Sweeping chimneys and hovering. / The new capital does not please / The sovereign. II The heart be. »

    «The Concert at the Station»

    Osip Mandelshtam

    «Breathing is forbidden, heaven teems / with worms — and not a star to testify — / but God sees, there is music overhead, / the station shivers, the Aonides are singing, / once again, the violins — their air fused — merging / with explosions of the locomotives’ whistles. An enorm. »

    «Don`t fall, my little star, keep shining. »

    Sergey Esenin

    «Don’t fall, my little star, keep shining, / Keep dropping chilly beams of light. / There is no living heart abiding / Up there beyond the grave-yard site. / / And from you beam you bring us summer / And fill the fields with rye and hay / And with a thrilling wistful clamour / Of cra. »

    Vladimir Mayakovsky

    «Upon the cobbles / of my foot-clobbered soul, / the steps of loonies / twine their grinding rhymes. / Where the towns / are hung / and in the nooses of clouds / the crooked necks of towers / are wrung, / I start to cry / because / by the crossroads / the cops are crucified.»

    Источник

    Boris Pasternak
    February

    February. Get ink. Weep.
    Write the heart out about it. Sing
    Another song of February
    While raucous slush burns black with spring.

    Six grivnas* for a buggy ride
    Past booming bells, on screaming gears,
    Out to a place where rain pours down
    Louder than any ink or tears

    Where like a flock of charcoal pears,
    A thousand blackbirds, ripped awry
    From trees to puddles, knock dry grief
    Into the deep end of the eye.

    A thaw patch blackens underfoot.
    The wind is gutted with a scream.
    True verses are the most haphazard,
    Rhyming the heart out on a theme.

    *Grivna: a unit of currency.

    Translated by A. Z. Foreman

    Борис Пастернак
    Февраль

    Февраль. Достать чернил и плакать!
    Писать о феврале навзрыд,
    Пока грохочащая слякоть
    Весною черною горит.

    Достать пролетку. За шесть гривен
    Чрез благовест, чрез клик колес
    Перенестись туда, где ливень
    Еще шумней чернил и слез.

    Где, как обугленные груши,
    С деревьев тысячи грачей
    Сорвутся в лужи и обрушат
    Сухую грусть на дно очей.

    Под ней проталины чернеют,
    И ветер криками изрыт,
    И чем случайней, тем вернее
    Слагаются стихи навзрыд.

    • «Poem To an Ill Person»

      Sasha Chorny

      «We’ve got the hot Sun, and naive, little children, / And joy of prized melodies, books that intrigue, / If not, how could on this round planet have lived then / Beethoven and Pushkin, and Heine, and Grieg? Invisible arts live in every small instant, / In thoughtful, strong words, smiles and. »

      Sasha Chorny

      «“Come, Children! / Who is the bravest in the world?” / They knew—and answered in one singing voice: / “The lion!” / “The lion? Ha ha. It’s easy to be brave / If your paws are as wide as mops. / No, it’s neither the lion, nor the elephant, / But the littlest one—The m. »

      «Green Verses»

      Sasha Chorny

      «The woods have turned green, / The pond has turned green. / And green frogs / Croak their songs. / / A fir-tree—a sheaf of green candles, / Moss—a green carpet. / And a green grasshopper / Conducts the song. / / Above a house’s green roof / A green oak sleeps, / And two. »

      «Farewell, dirty, unwashed Russia. »

      Mikhail Lermontov

      «Farewell, dirty, unwashed Russia, / Country of masters, land of slaves, / And you, you sky-blue uniforms, / And you, people by them betrayed. Perhaps beyond the Caucasus’ wall / I’ll be hidden from your overlords, / Shielded from their all-seeing eyes, / Screened from their all-hearing. »

      Источник

      Boris Pasternak
      February

      February. Get ink, shed tears.
      Write of it, sob your heart out, sing,
      While torrential slush that roars
      Burns in the blackness of the spring.

      Go hire a buggy. For six grivnas,
      Race through the noice of bells and wheels
      To where the ink and all you grieving
      Are muffled when the rainshower falls.

      To where, like pears burnt black as charcoal,
      A myriad rooks, plucked from the trees,
      Fall down into the puddles, hurl
      Dry sadness deep into the eyes.

      Below, the wet black earth shows through,
      With sudden cries the wind is pitted,
      The more haphazard, the more true
      The poetry that sobs its heart out.

      Translated by Alex Miller

      Борис Пастернак
      Февраль

      Февраль. Достать чернил и плакать!
      Писать о феврале навзрыд,
      Пока грохочащая слякоть
      Весною черною горит.

      Достать пролетку. За шесть гривен
      Чрез благовест, чрез клик колес
      Перенестись туда, где ливень
      Еще шумней чернил и слез.

      Где, как обугленные груши,
      С деревьев тысячи грачей
      Сорвутся в лужи и обрушат
      Сухую грусть на дно очей.

      Под ней проталины чернеют,
      И ветер криками изрыт,
      И чем случайней, тем вернее
      Слагаются стихи навзрыд.

      • «The Nobel Prize»

        Boris Pasternak

        «Lost, like beast incarcerated. / Somewhere – people, freedom, light; / Chase’s clamour – I’ve been baited, / I cannot escape my plight. Murky forest, stagnant water, / And a log of fallen fir, / No escape, it doesn’t matter. / What’s predestined will occur. Am I really so p. »

        «Hamlet»

        Boris Pasternak

        «The noise subsides. I walk onto the stage. / I listen closely to the echo of the hum / And leaning on the doorway, try to gauge / Just what will happen in the age to come. In gloom of night, the theater glasses gather / In thousands and focus on the play. / If only you are willing, Abba F. »

        «Spring floods»

        Boris Pasternak

        «The sunset’s lights were dying down. / Across the thickets of the copse, / Toward a distant Ural town, / A man was riding on his horse. The horse was trembling with spite / And echoing the noisy clatter, / The water ran along its side / And wildly splattered in the gutter. And when h. »

        «Confession»

        Boris Pasternak

        «Life has suddenly returned again, / Just as once it strangely went away. / On this ancient street, once more I stand, / Just as then, that distant summer day. Same old people and the same old worry / And the sunset’s fire is still warm, / Just as when, the evening in a hurry / Nailed . »

        Источник

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