(no subject)

[marta-mb.livejournal.com]

Dear lovers and learners of Russian, here is such an surprisingly wonderful poem that I would like you to take a look at it. It's by Aleksandr Blok. Enjoy:

Миры летят. Года летят. Пустая
Вселенная глядит в нас мраком глаз.
А ты, душа, усталая, глухая,
О счастии твердишь, - который раз?

Что' счастие? Вечерние прохлады
В темнеющем саду, в лесной глуши?
Иль мрачные, порочные услады
Вина, страстей, погибели души?

Что' счастие? Короткий миг и тесный,
Забвенье, сон и отдых от забот...
Очнешься - вновь безумный, неизвестный
И за' сердце хватающий полет...

Вздохнул, глядишь - опасность миновала...
Но в этот самый миг - опять толчок!
Запущенный куда-то, как попало,
Летит, жужжит, торопится волчок!

И, уцепясь за край скользящий, острый,
И слушая всегда жужжащий звон, -
Не сходим ли с ума мы в смене пестрой
Придуманных причин, пространств, времен...

Когда ж конец? Назойливому звуку
Не станет сил без отдыха внимать...
Как страшно всё! Как дико! - Дай мне руку,
Товарищ, друг! Забудемся опять.

 2 июля 1912

Comments

[alex-mashin.livejournal.com]

What do you mean by "surprisingly"? There's nothing surprising about the fact that a poem by Blok is wonderful, since he is a great poet.

[e-tolstoon.livejournal.com]

Ночь, улица, фонарь, аптека

[schlagen.livejournal.com]

That was my first Blok poem.
My current favourite is k muzem (transliteratin is woeful laziness on my part, I'm afraid).

[upthera44.livejournal.com]

The poem is great, thanks for posting it. I don't think I understand much of the second half. Here is my attempt at a translation. Please post corrections and improvements.


The world flies. Years fly. Empty
Space looks into our weary eyes.
And you, soul, tired, deaf,
How many times will you harp on about happiness?

What is happiness? The cool of the evening
In a dark garden, in a silent wood?
Or the dark vicious delights of
Wine, passions, corruption of the soul?

What is happiness? A short, narrow instant,
Oblivion, slumber and rest from cares...
You come back again - insane, unknown
and the heart is seized with flight. (?)

You breathed, and look - danger passed by
But in this very moment - again there is a shock!
A shabby top somewhere is haphazardly
Flying, hurrying, buzzing.

And hanging on to a sharp edge, sliding,
And always hearing the buzzing ring,
We will not lose our minds in the comfort
of invented causes, spaces, times...

When will it end? Without rest one begins
To hear loudly the pesky sound...
How strange everything is! How wild! Give me your hand,
Comrade, friend! Let's forget ourselves again.

[serialcondition.livejournal.com]

Worlds, years go by. The universe is bare.
Its eyes of gloom are staring at us.
And you, my soul, worn-out, unaware,
Hold forth that happiness will come to pass…

And what is happiness? The chilly evenings
In darkening gardens, god-forsaken wood?
Or vicious taste of wine, and wanton feelings,
Perdition of the soul, and jovial mood?

Is happiness a moment, brief and solid?
Is it oblivion, a dream, and peace and quiet?..
As you wake up - it’s flight again, so horrid,
Touching your heart, unknown crazy flight…

You take a breath - and see you’re out of danger…
That’s where you feel a sudden push again!
The spinning-top set going by some stranger
Flies buzzing in a hurry, like insane.

As we get hold of sharp and sliding border
And listen to the buzzing sound of chime,-
Don’t we go mad amidst the motley order
And change of made-up reasons, space and time?..

When will it stop? We won’t be able, really,
To listen to this din without end...
How terrible it is ! How wild ! Extremely! -
Give me a hand, forget it all, my friend!


http://vagalecs.narod.ru/blok-engl.htm

[upthera44.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the response. This translation from the website you linked seems pretty shaky though. For example, the phrase "like insane" doesn't ring well in English in this context. Does anyone care to weigh in and give their own attempt at translating this poem? This translation rhymes well, but at times sounds kind of bad and the meaning is unclear, particularly toward the end.

In particular, I'd like to see a variant of the paragraph below and any other parts of the poem they feel like doing (rhyming not necessary):

"As we get hold of sharp and sliding border
And listen to the buzzing sound of chime,-
Don’t we go mad amidst the motley order
And change of made-up reasons, space and time?"

[serialcondition.livejournal.com]

you are of course right about shakiness of the translation; Translating poetry, however, is a tricky business.

as to the stanza you have pointed out:

И, уцепясь за край скользящий, острый, И слушая всегда жужжащий звон, - Не сходим ли с ума мы в смене пестрой Придуманных причин, пространств, времен...

his translation is more correct than yours: the last two lines, literally "are we not losing our mind in the variegated succession of invented reasons, spaces and times" -- the point is that the comfort is precisely in the change not in stability