Okudzhava Bulat. Read and Compare. Different Versions of Translations

Okudzhava Bulat : другие произведения.

Read and Compare. Different Versions of Translations

Самиздат: [Регистрация] [Найти] [Рейтинги] [Обсуждения] [Новинки] [Обзоры] [Помощь|Техвопросы]

Ссылки:

Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками

Комментарии: 5, последний от 15/09/2023. © Copyright Okudzhava Bulat ( * See also: http://vagalecs.narod.ru/ http://zhurnal.lib.ru/editors/a/alec_v/ * vagalec@rambler.ru) Размещен: 13/08/2007, изменен: 27/01/2012. 53k. Статистика. Сборник стихов: Поэзия Скачать FB2		Ваша оценка:
Аннотация: Bulat Okudzhava' songs. Read and Compare. Different versions of translations done by different translators. Meant for analytical reading.

Булат Окуджава

Варианты переводов для литературного анализа

***

Ю.Трифонову

Давайте восклицать, друг другом восхищаться.

Высокопарных слов не стоит опасаться.

Давайте говорить друг другу комплименты -

ведь это все любви счастливые моменты.

Давайте горевать и плакать откровенно

то вместе, то поврозь, а то попеременно.

Не нужно придавать значения злословью -

поскольку грусть всегда соседствует с любовью.

Давайте понимать друг друга с полуслова,

чтоб, ошибившись раз, не ошибиться снова.

Давайте жить, во всем друг другу потакая, -

тем более что жизнь короткая такая.

1975

A WORD OF ADVICE TO MY FRIENDS

(translated by Murzin)

См. сайт Мурзина http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Coffeehouse/9003/index.htm

***

To Yury Trifonov

(translated by Alec Vagapov)

Let's exclaim, admire each other.
We don't have to fear high-flown words.

Let's compliment each other-
surely these are the happy moments of love.

Let's grieve and cry openly
now together, now separately, now in turn.

We don't have to pay attention to gossip-
since sadness always goes along with love.

Lets' catch each others's meaning at once,
so that having made one mistake, we won't make any more.

Let's live, indulging each other in everything-
especially since life is so short.

* * *

Опустите, пожалуйста, синие шторы.

Медсестра, всяких снадобий мне не готовь.

Вот стоят у постели моей кредиторы

молчаливые: Вера, Надежда, Любовь.

Раскошелиться б сыну недолгого века,

да пусты кошельки упадают с руки...

Не грусти, не печалуйся, о моя Вера, -

остаются еще у тебя должники!

И еще я скажу и бессильно и нежно,

две руки виновато губами ловя:

- Не грусти, не печалуйся, матерь Надежда, -

есть еще на земле у тебя сыновья!

Протяну я Любови ладони пустые,

покаянный услышу я голос ее:

- Не грусти, не печалуйся, память не стынет,

я себя раздарила во имя твое.

Но какие бы руки тебя ни ласкали,

как бы пламень тебя ни сжигал неземной,

в троекратном размере болтливость людская

за тебя расплатилась... Ты чист предо мной!

Чистый-чистый лежу я в наплывах рассветных,

перед самым рождением нового дня...

Три сестры, три жены, три судьи милосердных

открывают последний кредит для меня.

1959

THREE SISTERS

(translated by Murzin)

Please lower the blue blinds,
and, nurse, don't prepare drugs for me.
My creditors stand by my bed,
silent Faith, Hope, and Love.

It's time for the son of a short century to pay off his debts,
but my empty purse falls from my hand.
"Don't be sad, don't be sorry, dear Faith,
there are still many debtors on earth."

Then I'll say, powerlessly and tenderly,
guiltily seeking two hands with my lips,
"Don't be sad, don't be sorry, Mother Hope,
you still have sons on earth."

I'll offer my empty hands to Love,
I will hear her penitent voice:
"Don't be sad, don't be sorry, I haven't forgotten you,
I gave you all freely for you own sake.

Whatever hands have caressed you,
however love's heavenly flame burned in you,
because people's gossip payed your debts threefold,
your are clear in my sight."

Sinless and clear I am laying in down's floods of light,
like a white flag the sheet streams on to the floor.
Three judges, three wives, three sisters of charity,
open limitless credit for me...

***

Тьмою здесь все занавешено

и тишина, как на дне...

Ваше величество женщина,

да неужели -- ко мне?

Тусклое здесь электричество,

с крыши сочится вода.

Женщина, ваше величество,

как вы решились сюда?

О, ваш приход -- как пожарище.

Дымно, и трудно дышать...

Ну, заходите, пожалуйста.

Что ж на пороге стоять?

Кто вы такая? Откуда вы?!

Ах, я смешной человек...

Просто вы дверь перепутали,

улицу, город и век.

1960

YOUR MAJESTY, WOMAN

(translated by Murzin)

Here all has been curtained in darkness
and it's as silent as the bottom of the sea...
Your majesty, woman,
are you really coming to me?

Here the light is feeble,
and water drips from the roof.
Woman, your majesty,
how can you bear to come here?

Oh, your coming is a fire in my heart;
It's smoky and hard to breathe...
Well, come in, please, come in--
why stand in the doorway?

Who are you? Where did you come from?
Of course, how silly I am...
You've simply mistaken the door,
the street, the city, the age.

***

О. Б.

Мне нужно на кого-нибудь молиться.

Подумайте, простому муравью

вдруг захотелось в ноженьки валиться,

поверить в очарованность свою!

И муравья тогда покой покинул,

все показалось будничным ему,

и муравей создал себе богиню

по образу и духу своему.

И в день седьмой, в какое-то мгновенье,

она возникла из ночных огней

без всякого небесного знаменья...

Пальтишко было легкое на ней.

Все позабыв -- и радости и муки,

он двери распахнул в свое жилье

и целовал обветренные руки

и старенькие туфельки ее.

И тени их качались на пороге.

Безмолвный разговор они вели,

красивые и мудрые, как боги,

и грустные, как жители земли.

1959

I NEED SOMEONE TO ADORE

(translated by Murzin)

I need someone to adore.
Imagine, an ordinary ant
suddenly wanted to fall at someone's feet,
believing he had been enchanted!

Then peace deserted him,
and everything seemed dull,
and he created a goddess for himself
in his own image and spirit.

And on the seventh day,
without any heavenly sign...
she arose from the fires of night--
her ragged coat light upon her.

Forgetting everything - both joy and torment,
the ant threw open his door
and kissed her weather-beaten hands
and her little old shoes.

And their shadows swung on the threshold.
They spoke in silence,
they were beautiful and wise, like gods,
and sad, like those who dwell on earth.

БУМАЖНЫЙ СОЛДАТИК

Один солдат на свете жил,

красивый и отважный,

но он игрушкой детской был:

ведь был солдат бумажный.

Он переделать мир хотел,

чтоб был счастливым каждый,

а сам на ниточке висел:

ведь был солдат бумажный.

Он был бы рад -- в огонь и в дым,

за вас погибнуть дважды,

но потешались вы над ним:

ведь был солдат бумажный.

Не доверяли вы ему

своих секретов важных,

а почему?

А потому,

что был солдат бумажный.

В огонь? Ну что ж, иди! Идешь?

И он шагнул однажды,

и там сгорел он ни за грош:

ведь был солдат бумажный.

1959

A PAPER SOLDIER

(translated by Murzin)

Once upon a time there lived
a brave and handsome soldier,
but he was just a children's toy,
for he was just a paper soldier.

He would have liked to change the world
so everyone would be happy,
but he always hung on a thread,
for he was just a paper soldier.

He would have been glad in fire and smoke
to die for you twice over,
but you could only laugh at him,
for he was just a paper soldier.

You never did confide in him
your most important secrets.
But why? Just because
he was a paper soldier.

Into the fire? OK then, go! You're going?
And he took one step forward;
and there he perished all for naught,
for he was just a paper solder...

ГЛАВНАЯ ПЕСЕНКА

Наверное, самую лучшую

на этой земной стороне

хожу я и песенку слушаю --

она шевельнулась во мне.

Она еще очень неспетая.

Она зелена как трава.

Но чудится музыка светлая,

и строго ложатся слова.

Сквозь время, что мною не пройдено,

сквозь смех наш короткий и плач

я слышу: выводит мелодию

какой-то грядущий трубач.

Легко, необычно и весело

кружит над скрещеньем дорог

та самая главная песенка,

которую спеть я не смог.

1962

THE MOST IMPORTANT SONG

(translated by Murzin)

I walk along and listen
to the most wonderful song on earth--
it has come to life
within me.

It's still a very new song,
green, like spring grass.
But I seem to hear its airy music
and crisply falling words.

Through time I have not yet lived,
through our brief laughter and tears,
I hear some guture trumpeter
playing the melody through.

So special, so light, so merry,
that most important song,
that song I could not sing,
whirls above the crossing of the roads.

Let's shout and rejoice, admire one another.

About high-flown words we do not need to bother.

Let's live in mutual praise, make complimentary comments

For these are, after all, love's great and happy moments.

Let's grieve and cry without concealing feelings, whether

We're by ourselves or whether we're together.

About vicious tongues we do not have to bother

For love and sorrow always accompany each other.

Let mutual understanding attend us at conferring

So that we prevent our old mistakes recurring.

Let's get along indulging and pleasing one another

For life is very short, there won't be any other.

1975

* * *

( translated by Alec Vagapov)

Will you please be so kind as to pull down the blinds, and,

Nurse, you needn't prepare for me any dope.

Here they are, right in front of my bed, keeping silent,

My old creditors: Love and Belief, and great Hope.

Now the short age's son has to settle accounts,

But the light empty purses drop out of my hand...

Please don't worry, Belief, don't be sad, and don't frown

For you still have a lot of your debtors around.

In a helpless and delicate way, feeling sorry,

And touching its hands with my lips, I will say:

`Please do not be upset, mother Hope, do not worry,

for you still have your sons that are here to stay.'

Open-handed, to Love empty palms I'll extend, and

I will hear its soft penitential voice:

`Don't be sad for the memory hasn't yet faded,

I have given myself all away for your cause.

But no matter whose hands may have ever caressed you,

And no matter how ardent your passions have been,

People's gossip has trebly paid off all your debts, so

You are even with me ... You are upright and clean!'

I am lounging, clean, in the fade-in of sunrise,

Right before the emergence of forthcoming day...

Three benign fair judges, three sisters, three spouses

For the last time they trust me till I can repay.

***

(translated by Alec Vagapov)

Darkness has covered the room an'

it's quiet and still as can be.

Good heavens! Your Majesty Woman,

you really want to see me?

Lighting is muddy in here,

the walls have a leakage trace...

Your Majesty Woman! Oh dear!

How did you get to this place?

My goodness! You came like a fire.

Smoke makes me gasp, I can't breathe...

Now do come in, I desire.

Don't stand in the doorway, please.

Where do you come from, my pretty?

How funny! I must be on edge...

You have mistaken the city,

the door, and the street and the age.

***

To O.B.

translated by Alec Vagapov)

I need someone to worship and admire.

Just think, a simple ordinary ant

got suddenly possessed with the desire

to bow the knee in fascination, charmed !

The ant lost quietness and peace of mind,

life seemed so tedious to him. Meanwhile,

he made itself an idol of a kind,

a goddess in his own image and style.

And on the seventh day, at a sudden moment,

she sprang up, in a flash, from midnight lights,

without any sign and any omen...

dressed in a coat, she made a perfect sight.

Forgetting joys and sorrows, bad sensations,

he opened wide the doors to let her in

and kissed her weather-beaten hands, in adoration,

'n the little old shoes that she was wearing.

Their shadows were swaying in the doorway.

They quietly conversed, without saying a word,

like gods, they were beautiful, adoring,

like people, they were wistful and disturbed.

THE PAPER SOLDIER

(translated by Alec Vagapov)

Once there lived a soldier-boy,

quite brave, one can't be braver,

but he was merely a toy

for he was made of paper.

He wished to alter everything,

and be the whole world's helper,

but he was puppet on a string,

a soldier made of paper.

He'd bravely go through fire and smoke,

he'd die for you. No vapour.

But he was just a laughing-stock,

a soldier made of paper.

You would mistrust him and deny

your secrets and your favour.

Why should you do it, really, why?

`cause he was made of paper.

He dreads the fire? Not at all!

One day he cut a caper

and died for nothing; after all,

he was a piece of was paper.

THE MAIN SONG

(translated by Alec Vagapov)

Wherever I go I can hear

the song that has turned me on,

the best one I heard over here,

I listen again to the song.

The singing requires more effort,

it's raw and unripe, in fact.

However, the music is perfect,

the lyric precise and exact.

Through times yet unseen and unknown

through transient tears and smiles

I hear a trumpeter blowing

the tune in the best of styles.

Unusual, light and so pleasant,

it whirls over roads in a spin,

this main song which up to the present

I haven't been able to sing.

Молитва Фpансуа Вийона

Пока земля еще вертится, пока еще ярок свет,
Господи, дай же ты каждому, чего у него нет.
Умному дай голову, трусливому дай коня,
дай счастливому денег, и не забудь про меня.

Пока земля еще вертится, господи, твоя власть,
дай рвущемуся к власти навластвоваться всласть.
Дай передышку щедрому хоть до исхода дня,
Каину дай раскаяние, и не забудь про меня.

Я знаю, ты все умеешь, я верую в мудрость твою,
как верит солдат убитый, что он проживает в раю!
Как верит каждое ухо тихим речам твоим,
Как веруем и мы сами, не ведая, что творим.

Господи мой, Боже, зеленоглазый мой!
Пока земля еще вертится, и это ей странно самой,
пока ей еще хватает времени и огня,
дай же ты всем понемногу, и не забудь про меня!

THE PRAYER OF FRANCOIS VILLON

( Translated by Maya Jouravel)

FRANCOIS VILLON'S PRAYER

(translated by Alec Vagapov)

As long, as the earth keeps turning,

As long, as the light is bright,

Almighty, please give to all of us

The things that are not in our sight:

Grant a mind to the wise man,

The coward, grant him a horse,

The happy, let him have money,

And don't forget truly yours.

So far, as the earth keeps turning,

Almighty, it's in your wont,

Grant to the striving for power

To rule as much as he wants.

Grant a break to the generous

At least till the start of dusk.

Grant repentance to Cain

And don't forget truly yours.

I know that you have the power

I've faith in the wisdom of yours,

As one of your shot dead soldiers

Believes toward heaven he goes.

As truly believes every being:

All that you say is true,

As we go on believing

Not knowing what we do.

O Lord of mine, the Almighty,

The green eyed Creator of mine,

So far as the earth keeps turning

Although she still wonders, "why?",

So far, as she still has left some

Time, fire to keep her course,

Grant something to everybody

And don't forget truly yours.

While the world is still turning,

while the daylight is broad,
Oh Lord, pray, give everyone

what he or she hasn't got.

Give the timid a horse to ride,

give the wise a bright head,
Give the fortunate money

and about me don't forget.

While the world is still turning,

Lord, You are omnipotent,
Let those striving for power

wield it to their heart's content.

Give a break to the generous,

at least for a day or two,
Pray, give Cain repentance,

and remember me, too.

I know You are almighty,

and I believe You are wise
Like a soldier killed in a battle

believes he's in paradise.

Like every eared creature

believes, oh, my Lord, in You,
Like we believe, doing something,

not knowing what we do.

Oh Lord, oh my Lord, God Almighty

Green-eyed one, You're so good!
While the world is still turning,

fearing, why it should,

While it has got sufficient

fire and time, as You see,
Give each a little of something

and remember about me!

Веселый барабанщик

Встань пораньше, встань пораньше,

встань пораньше,

Когда дворники маячат у ворот.

Ты увидишь, ты увидишь

как веселый барабанщик

в руки палочки кленовые берет.

Будет полдень, суматохою пропахший,

звон трамваев и людской водоворот,

но прислушайся -- услышишь,

как веселый барабанщик

с барабаном вдоль по улице идет.

Будет вечер -- заговорщик и обманщик,

темнота на мостовые упадет,

но вглядись - и ты увидишь,

как веселый барабанщик

с барабаном вдоль по улице идет.

Грохот палочек... то ближе он, то дальше.

Сквозь сумятицу, и полночь, и туман...

Неужели ты не слышишь,

как веселый барабанщик

вдоль по улице проносит барабан?!

1957

The Little Joyful Drummer

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, May, 2001

The Happy Drummer

(Translated By Alec Vagapov)

Get up early, get up early in the summer,

When a dvornik's looming up before your gates,

You will see then, you will see then, that the little joyful drummer

Takes the easy maple drum-sticks with his hands.

It'll be noon, that's full of common bustle and humming,

Rings of trams and people's flood of awful speed,

But just hark, and you will hear, that the little joyful drummer

Goes with his drum along the town's street.

It'll be eve, which is the plotter and sly charmer,

And the dark will fall on stones by your feet,

But just look, and you will see then, that the little joyful drummer

Goes with his drum along the town's street.

The drum-sticks tell tales without stop and stammer

Through a middle of night, and smoke, and bedlam...

Do you, really, not hear that the little joyful drummer

Does convey along the streets his timeless drum?

1957

Get up early

when the birds begin to clamour,

when the caretakers turn up in the yards.

You will see the happy drummer

yes, you'll see the happy drummer

take his drum and maple drumsticks in his hands.

There will be another day of fuss and tumult,

streams of people and the rambling of a tram,

you just listen, you will hear,

and you'll see the happy drummer

walking lively down the pavement with his drum

Night will come, -- the wicked plotter and the shammer,

streets will sink into the darkness, growing calm;

take a good look you will see, yes,

you will see the happy drummer,

walking lively down the pavement with his drum.

Roll of drum... now fading in, now fading out,

coming through the midnight, bustle, fog and hum...

Can't you hear the happy drummer,

make the loud rhythmic sound

can't you see him carry proudly his drum?!

FRANCOIS VILLON'S PRAYER

Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, May, 2001

FRANCOIS VILLON'S PRAYER

(translated by Alec Vagapov)

While Earth is still turning around,

While light is still warming and bright,

I pray you, my Lord, give just everyone,

What everyone hasn't on his side:

A head - give him who's always clever,

A horse - give a coward - to flee,

Give money him, who's now happy...

And don't be forgetful of me.

While Earth is still turning around,

-- My Lord, it's for you to decide! -

Let him, who is craving for power,

Enjoy it until his is glut.

Give breather a man, open-handed,

At least, his day's evening to see.

Let Cain have his utter repentance...

And don't be forgetful of me.

I know that you are almighty,

Believe to that wisdom of yours,

As solders believe - those killed ones -

That they live the Eden indoors,

As always believes every ear

Your quiet admonishes to,

As all we believe to our actions,

Not knowing ev'n what we do.

Oh, God! Oh, my Master, almighty!

Oh, You of the evergreen eyes!

While Earth is still turning around -

That's strange and to her and to us, -

While she has enough of the fire

And time for us farther to be,

Give everyone even a little...

And don't be forgetful of me.

While the world is still turning,

while the daylight is broad,
Oh Lord, pray, give everyone

what he or she hasn't got.

Give the timid a horse to ride,

give the wise a bright head,
Give the fortunate money

and about me don't forget.

While the world is still turning,

Lord, You are omnipotent,
Let those striving for power

wield it to their heart's content.

Give a break to the generous,

at least for a day or two,
Pray, give Cain repentance,

and remember me, too.

I know You are almighty,

and I believe You are wise
Like a soldier killed in a battle

believes he's in paradise.

Like every eared creature

believes, oh, my Lord, in You,
Like we believe, doing something,

not knowing what we do.

Oh Lord, oh my Lord, God Almighty

Green-eyed one, You're so good!
While the world is still turning,

fearing, why it should,

While it has got sufficient

fire and time, as You see,
Give each a little of something

and remember about me!

The Midnight Trolley Bus

(Translated by Yevgeny Bonver,

May, 2001)

The Last Trolleybus

(Translated by Alec Vagapov)

When I am besieged with despair and reprove,

Because can't stop fatal disaster,

I enter a blue trolley bus at his move -

That's here by chance and the last one.

Oh, bus of midnight, speed along sleeping streets,

Fill them with your endless rotation

To pick up all people whose lives, like poor ships,

Were wrecked by the fatal occasions.

Oh, bus of midnight, open your noiseless doors,

I know: in changeable darkness,

Your passengers, silent, - the sailors of yours -

Come always to help in unluckiness.

With them I'd leave often my woes behind,

I used to touch them with my shoulders,

Imagine, how much of the goodness and kind -

In silence which over them hovers.

Our bus sails through Moscow, sunk in midnight,

Like rivers - it loses its fires,

This pain-starling, striking my whiskeys inside, -

It slowly tires - it tires.

When I'm in trouble and totally done

and when all my hope I abandon

I get on the blue trolley bus on the run,

the last one,

at random.

Night trolley, roll on sliding down the street,

around the boulevards keep moving

to pick up all those who are wrecked and in need

of rescue

from ruin.

Night trolley bus will you please open your doors !

On wretched cold nights, I can instance,

your sailors would come, as a matter of course,

to render

assistance.

So many a time they have lent me a hand

to help me get out of grievance...

Imagine, there is so much kindness behind

this silence

and stillness.

Last trolley rolls round the greenery belt

and Moscow, like river, dies down...

the hammering blood in my temples I felt

calms down

calms down.

APRIL DUTY

(translated by Tanya Jean Wolfson)

THE NIGHT DUTY IN APRIL

to Zh. B.

(translated by Alec Vagapov)

But the nights are really absolutely stunning.

Only mother's restless worrying has grown:

Why must you go wandering, my honey,

On your own? On your own?

I run from one end of April to the other.

Stars above me mellowed down, grew big as apples.

Nothing's wrong: I am on duty, mother.

I'm responsible for April.

But my baby, things have changed since you've been roaming.

But my child, your eyes are sad, I don't believe you.

Has there been some trouble with a woman?

Did she leave you? Did she leave you?

I run from one end of April to the other.

Stars above me mellowed down, grew big as apples.

Please don't worry: I am on duty, mother.

I'm responsible for April.

What a wonderful and lovely night we're having!

But my mother is alarmed and worried strongly.

-- Why do you stay out at these hours, darling,

on your own and so lonely?

-- I'm on my way towards the end of April, dear,

I should say, the stars have grown kind and round...

Mother, I'm just on duty here,

It's my April

Nightly round

-- Sonny, dear, I remember all your story;

now you're sad, your eyes are filled with grievance...

Maybe, she's forgotten you, and isn't sorry,

and she doesn't

seek forgiveness?

-- I'm on my way towards the end of April, dear,

I should say, the stars have grown kind and round...

Mother, I'm just on duty here,

It's my April nightly round...

Комментарии: 5, последний от 15/09/2023.
© Copyright Okudzhava Bulat ( *** See also: http://vagalecs.narod.ru/ http://zhurnal.lib.ru/editors/a/alec_v/ *** vagalec@rambler.ru)
Размещен: 13/08/2007, изменен: 27/01/2012. 53k. Статистика.
Сборник стихов: Поэзия

Связаться с программистом сайта.
Новые книги авторов СИ, вышедшие из печати:
О.Болдырева "Крадуш. Чужие души" М.Николаев "Вторжение на Землю"
Как попасть в этoт список

Кожевенное мастерство | Сайт "Художники" | Доска об'явлений "Книги"