воскресенье, 28 февраля 2010
Мэтью Макфейден: "Когда, состарясь", В.Б.Йетс
When you are old (by W.B Yeats)
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
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Перевод В.Савина
Когда, состарясь (В.Б.Йетс)
Когда, состарясь, и клонясь ко сну,
Ты сядешь с этой книгой у огня,
То вспомни взор свой на закате дня
И глаз тенистых блеск, и глубину.
Сколь многие, кто истинно, кто нет,
Любили красоту твою, но был
Один, кто душу чистую любил,
В изменчивом лице печальный свет.
И, с грустью угли шевеля в золе,
Шепни любви, как быстро по горам
Она взошла на небеса, и там
Лицо укрыла в звездной полумгле.
Мэтью Макфейден: "Просто сказать это", Уильям Карлос Уильямс
This is just to say (by William Carlos Williams)
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
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Перевод М. Гунина
Просто сказать это (Уильям Карлос Уильямс)
Я съел
тот изюм
из нашего
холодильника
должно быть
ты собиралась
его оставить
на завтрак
Прости меня
он был так вкусен
так сладок
и прохладен
Мэтью Макфейден: "Сонет 29", Уильям Шекспир
Sonnet 29 (by William Shakespeare)
When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
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Перевод Самуила Яковлевича Маршака
Сонет 29 (Уильям Шекспир)
Когда в раздоре с миром и судьбой,
Припомнив годы, полные невзгод,
Тревожу я бесплодною мольбой
Глухой и равнодушный небосвод
И, жалуясь на горестный удел,
Готов меняться жребием своим
С тем, кто в искусстве больше преуспел,
Богат надеждой и людьми любим, -
Тогда, внезапно вспомнив о тебе,
Я малодушье жалкое кляну,
И жаворонком, вопреки судьбе,
Моя душа несется в вышину.
С твоей любовью, с памятью о ней
Всех королей на свете я сильней.
Дэмиан Льюис: "To His Coy Mistress", Эндрю Марвел
To His Coy Mistress (by Andrew Marvell)
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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