Перевод стиха Анны Ахматовой Творчество на англ

Anna Akhmatova — Creativity

1
It happens, that there's some languor;
The clock keeps striking in my ears;
Far off, the thunder stills its clangor.
I seem to hear moans, fears
Of captive and unknown voices,
Some secret circle's minimizing,
But in this abyss of swish noises
One triumphal sound's rising.
It’s quiet so and heard how
The wood grass grows and grief plods
With its sack on the ground, now…
There appears to be heard the words
And signal rings of easy rhymes, —
And I begin to comprehend,
How simply the dictated lines
Fall on a snow-white list then.

2
I do not need neither the armies of odes
Nor the elegiacal parades' charms,
For me, the verses should be all of odd odds,
Not like people' ones.

3
If only you have known, how the poems grow:
Out of what kind of trash, without a shame,
Like yellow dandelions by the fence row,
Like burdocks and quinoa, the same.

Here are an angry shout, fresh smell of the tar,
The wall mystic mold, and the verse sounds, see…
How fervent and gentle its rhymes and lines are,
To the delight of you and me.

May 23 - 25, 2024

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Портрет Анны Ахматовой, К. Петров-Водкин Источник: Википедия