[Lika_k]

Мацуо Басё
Трехстишия
Кончился в доме рис…
Поставлю в тыкву из-под зерна
"Женской красы"* цветок.

("По тропинкам севера: стихи из путевого дневника", 2017)

Пер. В. Маркова

* "Женская краса" - валериана, осенний цветок

@темы: б, japanese, 17, eastern, basho, matsuo

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[Lika_k]

Siegfried Sassoon
War Poems
The Dug-Out
Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled,
And one arm bent across your sullen, cold,
Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you,
Deep-shadowed from the candle's guttering gold;
And you wonder why I shake you by the shoulder;
Drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head...
You are too young to fall asleep for ever;
And when you sleep you remind me of the dead.

St. Venant, July 1918

@темы: s, 20, english-british, sassoon, siegfried

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[Lika_k]

Мацуо Басё
Трехстишия
Листья плюща…
Отчего-то их дымный пурпур
О былом говорит.

("По тропинкам севера: стихи из путевого дневника", 2017)

Пер. В. Маркова

@темы: б, japanese, 17, eastern, basho, matsuo

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[Lika_k]

Siegfried Sassoon
War Poems
Suicide in the Trenches
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go.

@темы: s, 20, english-british, sassoon, siegfried

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[Lika_k]

Мацуо Басё
Трехстишия
Бабочкой никогда
Он уж не станет… Напрасно дрожит
Червяк на осеннем ветру.

("По тропинкам севера: стихи из путевого дневника", 2017)

Пер. В. Маркова

@темы: б, japanese, 17, eastern, basho, matsuo

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[Lika_k]

Siegfried Sassoon
War Poems
Memory
When I was young my heart and head were light,
And I was gay and feckless as a colt
Out in the fields, with morning in the may,
Wind on the grass, wings in the orchard bloom.
O thrilling sweet, my joy, when life was free
And all the paths led on from hawthorn-time
Across the carolling meadows into June.

But now my heart is heavy-laden. I sit
Burning my dreams away beside the fire:
For death has made me wise and bitter and strong;
And I am rich in all that I have lost.
O starshine on the fields of long-ago,
Bring me the darkness and the nightingale;
Dim wealds of vanished summer, peace of home,
And silence; and the faces of my friends.

Limerick, 1 February 1918

@темы: s, 20, english-british, sassoon, siegfried

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[Lika_k]

Мацуо Басё
Трехстишия
И осенью хочется жить
Этой бабочке: пьет торопливо
С хризантемы росу.

("По тропинкам севера: стихи из путевого дневника", 2017)

Пер. В. Маркова

@темы: б, japanese, 17, eastern, basho, matsuo

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[Lika_k]

Siegfried Sassoon
War Poems
Invocation
Come down from heaven to meet me when my breath
Chokes, and through drumming shafts of stifling death
I stumble toward escape, to find the door
Opening on morn where I may breathe once more
Clear cock-crow airs across some valley dim
With whispering trees. While dawn along the rim
Of night’s horizon flows in lakes of fire,
Come down from heaven’s bright hill, my song’s desire.

Belov’d and faithful, teach my soul to wake
In glades deep-ranked with flowers that gleam and shake
And flock your paths with wonder. In your gaze
Show me the vanquished vigil of my days.
Mute in that golden silence hung with green,
Come down from heaven and bring me in your eyes
Remembrance of all beauty that has been,
And stillness from the pools of Paradise.

Limerick, January 1918

@темы: s, 20, english-british, sassoon, siegfried

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[Lika_k]

Мацуо Басё
Трехстишия
К утренним вьюнкам
Летит с печальным звоном
Слабеющий москит.

("По тропинкам севера: стихи из путевого дневника", 2017)

Пер. В. Маркова

@темы: б, japanese, 17, eastern, basho, matsuo

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[Lika_k]

Siegfried Sassoon
War Poems
Together
Splashing along the boggy woods all day,
And over brambled hedge and holding clay,
I shall not think of him:
But when the watery fields grow brown and dim,
And hounds have lost their fox, and horses tire,
I know that he’ll be with me on my way
Home through the darkness to the evening fire.
He’s jumped each stile along the glistening lanes;
His hand will be upon the mud-soaked reins;
Hearing the saddle creak,
He’ll wonder if the frost will come next week.
I shall forget him in the morning light;
And while we gallop on he will not speak:
But at the stable-door he’ll say good-night.

Limerick, 30 January 1918

@темы: s, 20, english-british, sassoon, siegfried

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[Lika_k]

Мацуо Басё
Трехстишия
Верно, эта цикада
Пеньем вся изошла? —
Одна скорлупка осталась.

("По тропинкам севера: стихи из путевого дневника", 2017)

Пер. В. Маркова

@темы: б, japanese, 17, eastern, basho, matsuo

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[Lika_k]

Siegfried Sassoon
War Poems
Dead Musicians
I
From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart,
The substance of my dreams took fire.
You built cathedrals in my heart,
And lit my pinnacled desire.
You were the ardour and the bright
Procession of my thoughts toward prayer.
You were the wrath of storm, the light
On distant citadels aflare.

II
Great names, I cannot find you now
In these loud years of youth that strives
Through doom toward peace: upon my brow
I wear a wreath of banished lives.
You have no part with lads who fought
And laughed and suffered at my side.
Your fugues and symphonies have brought
No memory of my friends who died.

III
For when my brain is on their track,
In slangy speech I call them back.
With fox-trot tunes their ghosts I charm.
‘Another little drink won’t do us any harm.’
I think of rag-time; a bit of rag-time;
And see their faces crowding round
To the sound of the syncopated beat.
They’ve got such jolly things to tell,
Home from hell with a Blighty wound so neat...
. . . .
And so the song breaks off; and I’m alone.
They’re dead ... For God’s sake stop that gramophone.

Limerick, 19 January 1918

@темы: s, 20, english-british, sassoon, siegfried

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[Lika_k]

Мацуо Басё
Трехстишия
Падает с листком…
Нет, смотри! На полдороге
Светлячок вспорхнул.

("По тропинкам севера: стихи из путевого дневника", 2017)

Пер. В. Маркова

@темы: б, japanese, 17, eastern, basho, matsuo

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[Lika_k]

Siegfried Sassoon
War Poems
Autumn
October's bellowing anger breaks and cleaves
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves
For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud
Of outraged men. Their lives are like the leaves
Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown
Along the westering furnace flaring red.
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,
The burden of your wrongs is on my head.

Craiglockhart, 1917

@темы: s, 20, english-british, sassoon, siegfried

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[Lika_k]

Мацуо Басё
Трехстишия
Глубокою стариной
Повеяло… Сад возле храма
Засыпан палым листом.

("По тропинкам севера: стихи из путевого дневника", 2017)

Пер. В. Маркова

@темы: б, japanese, 17, eastern, basho, matsuo

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[Lika_k]

Siegfried Sassoon
War Poems
Glory of Women
You love us when we're heroes, home on leave,

Or wounded in a mentionable place.

You worship decorations; you believe

That chivalry redeems the war's disgrace.

You make us shells. You listen with delight,

By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.

You crown our distant ardours while we fight,

And mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.

You can't believe that British troops “retire”

When hell's last horror breaks them, and they run,

Trampling the terrible corpses—blind with blood.

O German mother dreaming by the fire,

While you are knitting socks to send your son

His face is trodden deeper in the mud.

Craiglockhart, 1917

@темы: s, 20, english-british, sassoon, siegfried

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[Lika_k]

Антеру де Кентал (1842-1891)
Один! - но и к отшельнику в пустыне...
Один! - но и к отшельнику в пустыне
От Господа нисходит свет небесный;
Рыбак в жестокий шторм в лодчонке тесной
Средь волн о Божьей молит благостыне.

Один! - Но и забытый на чужбине
Хранит воспоминаний дар чудесный;
Надеждой жив он на скале отвесной,
Рыдая горько ночью в горной сини.

Один! - Не тот, кто выстрадав немало,
Еще привязан к жизни, столь жестокой,
Желанием душа его согрета...

Но руки уронив, брести устало, Чужим в толпе скитаться одиноко -
Оставленности подлинной примета...

пер. Ир. Фещенко-Скворцова

@темы: portuguese, sonnet, 19, к (rus)

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[Lika_k]

Lawrence Durrell
Feria: Nimes
Feria; cloaked trigonometry of hooves
The plane trees know, shiver with apprehension;
They plead as the archons of the blue steel must
These prayers, refining murder by a breath,
Turn self-deception to an absolution —
Two coloured pawns uniting in the rites of death.

Brocade still stiff with bloody hair he kneels
While the mithraic sun sinks in a surf
Of bloody bubbles; leads from the huge pizzle
The holy urine smoking in the dust.
He reels into a darkness which he dazzles.

Tall doors fall as the axes must,
And the great sideboard of the bull is there,
A landslide in the ordinary heart
A feast for gods within a coat of hair,
His thunder like a belfry and his roars
The minotaur of man's perfected lust,
His birth-pangs offered to the steel's applause.

(from "Caesars Vast Ghost: Aspects of Provence", 1990)

@темы: d, 20, english-british, durrell, lawrence

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[Lika_k]

Николай Заболоцкий
Сентябрь
Сыплет дождик большие горошины,
Рвется ветер, и даль нечиста.
Закрывается тополь взъерошенный
Серебристой изнанкой листа.

Но взгляни: сквозь отверстие облака,
Как сквозь арку из каменных плит,
В это царство тумана и морока
Первый луч, пробиваясь, летит.

Значит, даль не навек занавешена
Облаками, и, значит, не зря,
Словно девушка, вспыхнув, орешина
Засияла в конце сентября.

Вот теперь, живописец, выхватывай
Кисть за кистью, и на полотне
Золотой, как огонь, и гранатовой
Нарисуй эту девушку мне.

Нарисуй, словно деревце, зыбкую
Молодую царевну в венце
С беспокойно скользящей улыбкою
На заплаканном юном лице.

@темы: з, 20, russian

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[Lika_k]

Lawrence Durrell
What a mysterious business.
Wound up one day like a clockwork toy
Set down upon the dusty road
I have walked ticking for so many years.
While with the same sort of gait
And fully wound up like me
At times I meet other toys
With the same sort of idea of being
Tick tock, we nod stiffly as we pass.
They do not seem as real to me as I do;
We do not believe that one day it will end
Somewhere on a mountain of rusting
Automobiles in a rusty siding far from life.
Pitted with age like a colander
Part of the iron vegetation of tomorrow.

(from "The Avignon Quintet")

@темы: d, 20, english-british, durrell, lawrence