Зачем так радостно расцвёл
Твой берег, милый Дун?
Зачем распелись, птички? – Мне
Покоя нет от дум!
Ах, пташка, замолчи скорей –
Мне сердце разобьёшь
Напоминанием любви,
Которой не вернёшь!
Я, как и ты, подруге пел, –
Уверен был: она
Мне всю оставшуюся жизнь
Останется верна.
Вот так же жимолость цвела,
И пели птицы в ней,
О, как же верил я тогда
Возлюбленной своей!
С кустов колючих розы рвал,
Ложь не держал в уме, –
Она все розы унесла,
Шипы оставив мне.
Примечание.
Дун: река в Шотландии, поблизости от места рождения Бернса
Текст оригинала:
Robert Burns
Bonnie Doon
Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care?
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days,
When my fause love was true.
Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.
Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon
To see the wood-bine twine,
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw my rose
But left the thorn wi' me.
Notes
Doon: the river in Ayrshire near which Burns was born.
ilka: every.
staw: stole.
Роберт Бёрнс. На берегу Дуна. Перевод
© Copyright: Вячеслав Чистяков, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121121403014
Свидетельство о публикации №121121403014
Рецензии
Какой напевный поэт!
Я знаю наизусть пару его творений и его бедную жизнь.
http://stihi.ru/2018/05/22/6410
Зус Вайман 20.12.2021 21:01 • Заявить о нарушении
Я знаю наизусть пару его творений и его бедную жизнь.
http://stihi.ru/2018/05/22/6410
Зус Вайман 20.12.2021 21:01 • Заявить о нарушении
Да, напевность и отличает хорошую поэзию (и хорошую прозу, кстати) от бесталанной писанины.
В шутке Джона О’Рейли скрывается правда:
Poets should not reason:
Let them sing!
Argument is treason --
Bells should ring.
Statements none, nor questions;
Gnomic words.
Spirit-cries, suggestions,
Like the birds.
He may use deduction
Who must preach;
He may praise instruction
Who must teach;
But the poet duly
Fills his part
When the song bursts truly
From his heart.
For no purpose springing;
For no pelf:
He must do the singing
For itself.
Not in lines austerely
Let him build;
Not the surface merely
Let him gild.
Fearless, uninvited,
Like a spring.
Opal-words, inlighted,
Let him sing.
As the leaf grows sunward
Song must grow;
As the stream flows onward
Song must flow.
Useless? Ay, -- for measure;
Roses die,
But their breath gives pleasure --
God knows why!
Почти в этом плане Мари Жуссе хорошо сравнила Браунинга с Бёрнсом:
There lived a poet once, a famous bard,
Whose muse, arrayed in robes of misty light,
Soared high above the common herd of men.
So high she soared, she almost passed from sight,
Even as the cold and brilliant stars of Heaven
That shine in chilly splendour from the skies
Withhold the radiance of their fairest beams
Beyond the naked sight of human eyes.
Still there are some pretentious ones who read
The mystic dreams and fancies of his brain,
Pedantic minds, who, understanding naught,
Would still have others think they grasp the strain,
Till, at some passage with strange meaning fraught,
Too subtle far for them to understand,
They pause perplexed, then as with one accord
Cry out in chorus: "How sublime and grand!"
O gifted bard! I would not try to pluck
One leaf from out thy laurel wreath of fame
Because I fail to grasp thy subtle thought:
'Tis not in thee, but me, where lies the blame.
Around his tomb the world has bowed in grief,
And strewed his grave with bay and laurel leaf.
There lived and died a poet, years ago--
A hardy, humble ploughman of the soil
Who sang his heartfelt songs in simplest words
And earned his daily bread by humble toil.
His songs brought gladness unto many hearts
And soothed men's sorrows as with magic spell.
His name was known in palace and in cot,
For king and peasant loved the poet well.
And why? Because he sang of human faith,
Of human love, of human joy and pain,
The grandest thoughts couched in the simplest words,
The lowliest mind could grasp the meaning plain.
O poet ploughmen! thine the laurel wreath,
Whose songs found answer in the hearts of men,
Thy name shall live on Fame's immortal scroll
After his name has passed from mortal ken,
Thine the true poet soul and master mind
Whose lyrics touched the hearts of all mankind.
В touching of hearts всё и дело.
Вячеслав Чистяков 21.12.2021 10:36 Заявить о нарушении
В шутке Джона О’Рейли скрывается правда:
Poets should not reason:
Let them sing!
Argument is treason --
Bells should ring.
Statements none, nor questions;
Gnomic words.
Spirit-cries, suggestions,
Like the birds.
He may use deduction
Who must preach;
He may praise instruction
Who must teach;
But the poet duly
Fills his part
When the song bursts truly
From his heart.
For no purpose springing;
For no pelf:
He must do the singing
For itself.
Not in lines austerely
Let him build;
Not the surface merely
Let him gild.
Fearless, uninvited,
Like a spring.
Opal-words, inlighted,
Let him sing.
As the leaf grows sunward
Song must grow;
As the stream flows onward
Song must flow.
Useless? Ay, -- for measure;
Roses die,
But their breath gives pleasure --
God knows why!
Почти в этом плане Мари Жуссе хорошо сравнила Браунинга с Бёрнсом:
There lived a poet once, a famous bard,
Whose muse, arrayed in robes of misty light,
Soared high above the common herd of men.
So high she soared, she almost passed from sight,
Even as the cold and brilliant stars of Heaven
That shine in chilly splendour from the skies
Withhold the radiance of their fairest beams
Beyond the naked sight of human eyes.
Still there are some pretentious ones who read
The mystic dreams and fancies of his brain,
Pedantic minds, who, understanding naught,
Would still have others think they grasp the strain,
Till, at some passage with strange meaning fraught,
Too subtle far for them to understand,
They pause perplexed, then as with one accord
Cry out in chorus: "How sublime and grand!"
O gifted bard! I would not try to pluck
One leaf from out thy laurel wreath of fame
Because I fail to grasp thy subtle thought:
'Tis not in thee, but me, where lies the blame.
Around his tomb the world has bowed in grief,
And strewed his grave with bay and laurel leaf.
There lived and died a poet, years ago--
A hardy, humble ploughman of the soil
Who sang his heartfelt songs in simplest words
And earned his daily bread by humble toil.
His songs brought gladness unto many hearts
And soothed men's sorrows as with magic spell.
His name was known in palace and in cot,
For king and peasant loved the poet well.
And why? Because he sang of human faith,
Of human love, of human joy and pain,
The grandest thoughts couched in the simplest words,
The lowliest mind could grasp the meaning plain.
O poet ploughmen! thine the laurel wreath,
Whose songs found answer in the hearts of men,
Thy name shall live on Fame's immortal scroll
After his name has passed from mortal ken,
Thine the true poet soul and master mind
Whose lyrics touched the hearts of all mankind.
В touching of hearts всё и дело.
Вячеслав Чистяков 21.12.2021 10:36 Заявить о нарушении
touching hearts - чтобы не было вопросов (не стоит перемешивать)
Вячеслав Чистяков 21.12.2021 10:52 Заявить о нарушении
Вячеслав Чистяков 21.12.2021 10:52 Заявить о нарушении
А не врёшь, Зус? Что "знаешь наизусть"?
Брехни-то здесь, на сайте, как воздуху в сарае.
Владимир Сачков 16.01.2022 23:30 Заявить о нарушении
Брехни-то здесь, на сайте, как воздуху в сарае.
Владимир Сачков 16.01.2022 23:30 Заявить о нарушении
А вот вас, Чистяков, я что-то не вижу у ранее обожаемого вами Яропольского.
Знаете, кто такие еуды? Обычно это те, кто крутится возле высоких поэтов, набивая этим цену себе - мол, смотрите, с кем я дружбу вожу, кому я пишу и кто мне пишет, а потом успешно забывают своих кумиров после их смерти, как в объявлении "продам за ненадобностью".
Владимир Сачков 16.01.2022 23:34 Заявить о нарушении
Знаете, кто такие еуды? Обычно это те, кто крутится возле высоких поэтов, набивая этим цену себе - мол, смотрите, с кем я дружбу вожу, кому я пишу и кто мне пишет, а потом успешно забывают своих кумиров после их смерти, как в объявлении "продам за ненадобностью".
Владимир Сачков 16.01.2022 23:34 Заявить о нарушении