Записи с темой: 19 (список заголовков)
07:02 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Rabindranath Tagore
I wonder if I know him
In whose speech is my voice,
In whose movement is my being,
Whose skill is in my lines,
Whose melody is in my songs
In joy and sorrow.
I thought he was chained within me,
Contained by tears and laughter,
Work and play.
I thought he was my very self
Coming to an end with my death.
Why then in a flood of joy do I feel him
In the sight and touch of my beloved?
This ‘I’ beyond self I found
On the shores of the shining sea.
Therefore I know
This ‘I’ is not imprisoned within my bounds.
Losing myself, I find him
Beyond the borders of time and space.
Through the Ages
I come to know his Shining Self
In the life of the seeker,
In the voice of the poet.
From the dark clouds pour the rains.
I sit and think:
Bearing so many forms, so many names,
I come down, crossing the threshold
Of countless births and deaths.
The Supreme undivided, complete in himself,
Embracing past and present,
Dwells in Man.
Within Him I shall find myself –
The ‘I’ that reaches everywhere.

@темы: 19, 20, indian, t, tagore, rabindranath

08:44 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Rabindranath Tagore
The Borderland 9

I saw, in the twilight of flagging consciousness,
My body floating down an ink-black stream
With its mass of feelings, with its varied emotion,
With its many-coloured life-long store of memories,
With its flutesong. And as it drifted on and on
Its outlines dimmed; and among familiar tree-shaded
Villages on the banks, the sounds of evening
Worship grew faint, doors were closed, lamps
Were covered, boats were moored to the ghats. Crossings
From either side of the stream stopped; night thickened;
From the forest-branches fading birdsong offered
Self-sacrifice to a huge silence.

Dark formlessness settled over all diversity
Of land and water. As shadow, as particles, my body
Fused with endless night. I came to rest
At the altar of the stars. Alone, amazed, I stared
Upwards with hands clasped and said: ‘Sun, you have removed
Your rays: show now your loveliest, kindliest form
That I may see the Person who dwells in me as in you.’

Transl. by William Radice

@темы: 19, 20, indian, t, tagore, rabindranath

06:38 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Михаил Кузмин
Фузий в блюдечке

Сквозь чайный пар я вижу гору Фузий,
На желтом небе золотой вулкан.
Как блюдечко природу странно узит!
Но новый трепет мелкой рябью дан.
Как облаков продольных паутинки
Пронзает солнце с муравьиный глаз,
А птицы-рыбы, черные чаинки,
Чертят лазури зыблемый топаз!

Весенний мир вместится в малом мире:
Запахнут миндали, затрубит рог,
И весь залив, хоть будь он вдвое шире,
фарфоровый обнимет ободок.
Но ветка неожиданной мимозы,
Рассекши небеса, легла на них, -
Так на страницах философской прозы
Порою заблестит влюбленный стих.

Katsushika Hokusai Mt. Fuji in the sunset


(с)

@темы: russian, japanese, illustrations, h, art, 20, 19, 18, к (rus)

06:48 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
John Rollin Ridge
False, but Beautiful

Dark as a demon’s dream is one I love—
In soul—but oh, how beautiful in form!
She glows like Venus throned in joy above,
Or on the crimson couch of Evening warm
Reposing her sweet limbs, her heaving breast
Unveiled to him who lights the golden west!
Ah, me, to be by that soft hand carest,
To feel the twining of that snowy arm,
To drink that sigh with richest love opprest,
To bathe within that sunny sea of smiles,
To wander in that wilderness of wiles
And blissful blandishments—it is to thrill
With subtle poison, and to feel the will
Grow weak in that which all the veins doth fill.
Fair sorceress! I know she spreads a net
The strong, the just, the brave to snare; and yet
My soul cannot, for its own sake, forget
The fascinating glance which flings its chain
Around my quivering heart and throbbing brain,
And binds me to my painful destiny,
As bird, that soars no more on high,
Hangs trembling on the serpent’s doomful eye.

(c)

@темы: r, english-american, 19

07:22 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
John Keats
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

Джон Китс
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пер. Шломо Крол (sentjao)

@темы: к (rus), krol, shlomo (sentjao), k, english-british, 19

06:42 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
John Keats
To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel,—an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.

Джон Китс
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пер. Шломо Крол (sentjao)

@темы: 19, english-british, k, krol, shlomo (sentjao), к (rus)

07:06 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
John Keats
On First Looking into Chapman's Homer

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

Джон Китс
После первого прочтения Гомера в переводе Чапмена

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@темы: 19, english-british, k, krol, shlomo (sentjao), к (rus)

06:33 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
The Crocuses

They heard the South wind sighing
A murmur of the rain;
And they knew that Earth was longing
To see them all again.

While the snow-drops still were sleeping
Beneath the silent sod;
They felt their new life pulsing
Within the dark, cold clod.

Not a daffodil nor daisy
Had dared to raise its head;
Not a fairhaired dandelion
Peeped timid from its bed;

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@темы: w, h, english-american, 19

06:32 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Emily Brontë
R. Alcona to J. Brenzaida

Cold in the earth, and the deep snow piled above thee!
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my Only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time’s all-wearing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains on Angora’s shore;
Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover
That noble heart for ever, ever more?

Cold in the earth, and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring –
Faithful indeed is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!

Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the World’s tide is bearing me along:
Sterner desires and darker hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong.

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@темы: 19, b, english-british, links, victorian

06:33 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
John Clare
Fragment

The cataract whirling down the precipice,
Elbows down rocks and, shouldering, thunders through.
Roars, howls, and stifled murmurs never cease;
Hell and its agonies seem hide below.
Thick rolls the mist, that smokes and falls in dew;
The trees and greenwood wear the deepest green.
Horrible mysteries in the gulph stare through,
Roars of a million tongues, and none knows what they mean.

@темы: 19, c, english-british

06:55 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Paul Verlaine
Il pleure dans mon cœur

Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville ;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur?

Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits!
Pour un coeur qui s’ennuie,
Ô le chant de la pluie!

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s’écoeure.
Quoi ! nulle trahison?…
Ce deuil est sans raison.

C’est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon coeur a tant de peine!

Поль Верлен
Песня без слов

Плачет в сердце моём,
Как над городом дождь.
Что же ночью и днём
Плачет в сердце моём?

Сладкий ропот дождя
По земле, по домам!
С сердцем речи ведя,
Сладок ропот дождя.

Отчего ж без причин
Плачет сердце в груди?
Нет измен — я один.
Эта скорбь без причин.

Нет печали сильней,
Как не знать, почему
Без любви, без страстей
Сердца боль всё сильней.

Пер. Д. М. Ратгауз

Мне вообще ни один перевод не нравится, но этот привожу потому что обычно стараюсь всегда привести хоть какой-то перевод, а этот хотя бы технически ближе к оригиналу

@темы: в, v, francaise, 19

06:21 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
George Gordon Byron
Darkness

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash—and all was black.
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@темы: english-british, b, 19

06:03 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
36. Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

@темы: y, yeats, w. b., english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, 19

06:02 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
35. Aedh wishes his Beloved were dead

Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of the wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would beloved that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground,
While lights were paling one by one.

@темы: y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, yeats, w. b., 19

07:07 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
30. Hanrahan laments because of his Wanderings

O where is our Mother of Peace
Nodding her purple hood?
For the winds that awakened the stars
Are blowing through my blood.
I would that the death-pale deer
Had come through the mountain side,
And trampled the mountain away,
And drunk up the murmuring tide;
For the winds that awakened the stars
Are blowing through my blood,
And our Mother of Peace has forgot me
Under her purple hood.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, 19

06:49 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
9. The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

@темы: yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes, 19

06:14 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
6. Breasal* the Fisherman

Although you hide in the ebb and flow
Of the pale tide when the moon has set,
The people of coming days will know
About the casting out of my net,
And how you have leaped times out of mind
Over the little silver cords,
And think that you were hard and unkind,
And blame you with many bitter words.

* Breasal the Fisherman - Yeats seems to have employed the name "Breasal" as a generic term for the genus "fisherman". In the 1903 North American Review version of his play The Hour Glass, the Fool tells the wise man: "Bresal the Fisherman lets me sleep among the nets in his loft in the winter-time because he says I bring him luck... (VPI, 584). But his poem may be inspired by Echtra Bhresail or "Bresal's adventure" recorded in The Book of Leinster and referred to in O'Grady's Silva Gadelica. "On adventure bent, "Bresal "dived down into Loch Laoigh, under which he abode for fifty years."
Wherever Yeats found the name, Breasal is a man on a quest and the object of the quest is a mysterious fish. Grossman makes much of the fact that Yeats later shifted the emphasis of the poem from the persona to the object by retitling it "The Fish", thus calling attention to the fish as the alchemical symbol for "the prima materia, the lapis philosophorum, the ultimate identuty of the self..." Th fish is also a Celtic symbol of perpetuity or reincarnation as recorded in "The Wisdom of the King" (SR, 21; VSR, 31), a symbols for Christianity.
(c)

@темы: ...logy, 19, celtic themes, e'ireann, links, y, yeats, w. b.

06:14 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
5. The Host of the Air

O’driscoll drove with a song,
The wild duck and the drake,
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.

He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.

And he saw young men and young girls
Who danced on a level place
And Bridget his bride among them,
With a sad and a gay face.

The dancers crowded about him,
And many a sweet thing said,
And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.

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@темы: 19, yeats, w. b., y, english-british, e'ireann, celtic themes

07:21 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
William Butler Yeats
The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899
2. The Everlasting Voices

O sweet everlasting Voices be still;
Go to the guards of the heavenly fold
And bid them wander obeying your will
Flame under flame, till Time be no more;
Have you not heard that our hearts are old,
That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,
In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?
O sweet everlasting Voices be still.

@темы: 19, celtic themes, e'ireann, english-british, y, yeats, w. b.

08:00 

Lika_k
Искусствоед
Ernest Dowson
Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae*
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

*Non sum qualis eram bonae
sub regno Cinarae.
Horace's Odes, Book 4, 1. ("I am not as I was in the reign of good Cinara.")

@темы: h, english-british, d, antiquity, 19

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