Я пою балладу древнюю
На забытом языке.
Нет, не страшно быть отвергнутой
И непонятой никем.
Загрустило утро раннее,
Заклубилось, как туман.
Не найти в тумане радости,
Всюду царствует обман.
Слава – штука скоротечная,
Время путает следы.
Затерялись звезды в вечности:
Безупречны и чисты.
Голос крови необузданной
Мне кричит, что вышел срок.
Карты брошены, что бусины,
И огнем горит восток.
Мне звездою путеводною
Жизни нить хранит судьба,
Огибая топи, сложности,
Вьется узкая тропа.
Я пою балладу древнюю,
На забытом языке.
Ветер шепчется с деревьями,
Дремлет лодка на реке…
***
К-о
Автор перевода Ш.Какабадзе открыл мне грань работы с английской поэзией, до этого перевода я считала, что лучше всего - подстрочник
Hear me sing an ancient ballad
In a long-forgotten tongue.
I don't fear to be rejected,
To be understood by none.
Early morrow fell to sadness,
Into fog itself has rolled,
And in fog no joy is found -
Fibs and lies are reigning bold.
Earthly glory - fleeting matter,
Time will scramble every trace.
In eternity are hiding
Stars their pure and shining face.
Voice of blood uninterrupted
Calls to me: 'tis time to go!'
Cards are cast like colored marbles
And the East is all aglow.
For my guiding star so brilliant
Thread of life shall keep my fate.
Through the swamps and over hurdles
Still is clear my narrow way.
Hear me sing the ancient ballad
In the long-forgotten tongue.
Wind is whispering in treetops,
Boat is moored by river's long…
Мой скромный подстрочник:
I'm singing an ancient ballad
In the forgotten language.
No! It is not a hard thing
To be refused and understood by no one.
The early morning has grown sad,
Has eddyed like a mist.
It's impossible to seek any joy among the fog -
Deception is reigns everywhere.
The glory is a fleeting thing,
The time is tangling traces.
The stars that are impeccable and pure
Have vanished in the eternity.
The voice of my vehement blood
Is screaming that the period had expired:
Cards were thrown like the beads
And the East is burning with fire.
My fate is securing the thread of my life
By the guiding star.
My narrow trail winds
Going round morasses and intricacies.
I'm singing the ancient ballad
In the forgotten language.
The wind is wispering with trees,
The boat is napping on the river.
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