Перевод А.Калужского, предисловие А.Верникова.
Murka3
Опубликовано в журнале Урал, номер 6, 2001
Перевод Александр Калужский
MIKHAIL LERMONTOV
Verses
Александр Калужский, нынешний гражданин США и бывший свердловчанин—екатеринбуржец, в журнальном формате дебютировал в знаменитом теперь экспериментальном выпуске “Урала” №1 за 1988 г. едва ли не лучшими в том номере столбцами.
Однако он всегда тяготел к практике переводной поэзии, причем с русского на английский. Иосиф Бродский (с подачи Вадима Месяца, весьма явно ходившего в Нью-Йорке под луной русской поэзии) в высшей степени похвально отозвался, практически благословил, сходя буквально в гроб, действительно лучшие в мире на данный момент переводы Лермонтова на английский, выполненные к оному сроку А.Калужским в объеме 50 хрестоматийных стихов.
Но в США великолепный Лермонтов, даже доступный во всех своих силе и блеске, никому не нужен, так что пусть сияет опять на родной земле, где теперь масса знающих и активно изучающих “язык Байрона”.
А. Верников
Clouds
Clouds of the air, ye perennial wanderers!
High in the steppe of blue, stretched like a string of pearls,
You scud away from the North over yonder, as
Though you are exiles like me whom the grimness hurls.Who keeps you flitting: a verdict of destiny?
Secretive envy? Or naked malignancy?
Or you’re tormented so hard by a felony?
Or by your friends’ poisoned slander and flippancy?Nay, barren fields are what made you undoting…
Nothing to you ever passion or anguish meant;
Frigid forever, for always free-floating,
You have no motherland, you have no banishment.
Testament
I want to take you to one side,
If you don’t mind, my friend;
They say there’s not much time to bide
Until I meet my end!
You’re going home to see your wife,
So, look… But why? about my life,
To tell the truth, not many
Would give a straw, if any.And if some have an interest…
No matter who they are,
Say I’d been shot right through my chest
Defending here our tsar,
And died for him the way one should,
And that our leeches are no good,
And that I bow in honour
Before my native corner.It’s quite unlikely that you’ll find
My folks alive up there…
And frankly, it’d have been unkind
To drive them to despair;
But then if either’s still all right,
Just say that I’m too lax to write,
That the platoon keeps raiding;
So let them stop awaiting.There used to live a girl next door…
How far it was from now!..
About me she won’t ask… it’s more
Than certain, anyhow;
So go and tell her all the truth;
An empty heart deserves no ruth;
Just let her weep a little…
She doesn’t care a tittle!
A Cossack Lullaby
Sleep, my baby, sleep, my dear,
Hush-a-hushaby.
In your crib the full moon peers
Softly from the sky.
I will tell you some good stories,
Sing a lullaby;
Close your eyes, it’s time for snories,
Hush-a-hushaby.In the rocks, there streams the Terek;
Muddy billows bang;
Chechen whets his knife Tartaric,
Crawling up the bank;
But your father is a warrior
With an eagle eye —
Sleep, my baby, do not worry,
Hush-a-hushaby.Time will come; you’ll know the battle
Life, my little one;
I’ll embroider then your saddle;
You will take your gun.
Many enemies you’ll hit hard
As the time goes by…
Sleep, my darling, sleep, my sweetheart,
Hush-a-hushaby.You will grow a stalwart cossack
Looking brave and grand;
When I see you off — from horseback
You’ll just wave your hand…
On that night, God knows, how many
Bitter tears I’ll cry!..
Sleep, my angel, sleep, my honey,
Hush-a-hushaby.I’ll be waiting through despair’s
Never-ending blight;
I’ll repeat my heartfelt prayers
Through the day and night;
I will dread that you do languish
Far from homeland, ay…
Sleep before you are in anguish,
Hush-a-hushaby.To remind you of the bygone
Happy days at home,
I will give the holy icon —
Keep it when you roam;
Think of me before severe
Fighting flames up high…
Sleep, my baby, sleep, my dear,
Hush-a-hushaby.
The Crag
Once upon a night, a golden cloudlet
Snuggled to the chest of crag the giant;
In the morn, she left her rest behind
Frolicking against the azure proudly;But a dew mark lingered in a weathered
Furrow of the crag. In desolation,
He is standing, deep in contemplation,
And he’s softly weeping in the desert.
Prayer
Heavenly Mother, it’s me, and this time I pray
Before thy icon, thy luminous radiance,
Not for salvation, and not “fore a tighter fray,
Not with thanksgiving, and not out of penitence;Not for my ravaged soul prayers to thee I send,
That of a wanderer, humble and commonplace;
But I commend a young maid e’er so innocent
Into thy soothing hands and to thy saving grace.Lavish thy bliss on the soul filled with purity;
Give her companions, all paying her great regard;
Unclouded youth and untroubled maturity;
Light myriad hopes up in front of the gracious heart.Whether the time tolls its final and fatal bell,
Be it a noisy morn, be it a solemn night —
Send to the bed of the last tearful farewell
Thy sweetest angel to take up the soul benign.