РОБЕРТ БЕРНС

    Стихотворения

 

 

Flowers

 

For all our life adornment,

Sensuous mother nature flowers,

Oh, how beautiful is the moment

Of feminine transient beauty ! 

 

In terrestrial dreams fragrant,

Are full of mute arts,

That in the breath flowering,

Might bring us a superior strength,

As a bird wings the sky !

 

Originally written by Vyacheslav Grishanov

Translated by Igor Starov

 

 

* * *

 

We're live in a long-standing cell,

By the overflowed waters. Hither in the prime a merriment seethes ant the flood's chants.

 

Thon in a presage of the joie de vivre,

On a day of the

vernal gales, shall be shed thru the cell doorway the beauteous azure.

 

Ant full of cherished trembling

Impatient for the yeer,

We shall tear along into the absence of roads

To an unspeakable world.

 

Originally written by Alexander Blok in 1902.

Translated by Igor Starov

 

 

* * *

 

As the spirit of despeir ant yvel

Mine thou herte embraced; Oh ! For whit thou ought ne

To stand seized of 't completely ?

 

Mine sole's thy everlasting temple; As divine being, thy icon in thon place;

Ne frae hevenes, anlic frae yon

For salvation Ich lang.

 

Originally written by M.Y. Lermontov in 1831.

 Translated by Igor Starov

 

***

 

As a gleme of reveille,

As the Lel's roses,

Her bonnie blosme caress;

Like Raphael's Madonna

Her silence speke.

With the peeple sche's

Prout, resigned to yin's

Fate, unostentaciouns,

Unpretenciouns, deliberately

- methought, sche's turned oute

For happiness ant luck.

But a cherished rest whit

Else con break the peace ?

Whit honourable be demolished,

Whichsoever soul be nat sank,

Whos amour propre

willnae be increased ?

Ant whos eyen willnae be held

In thrall with arrayed oon's ain mask ?

 

Originally written by M.Y. Lermontov in 1832.

Translated by Igor Starov

 

 

''The Domes."

 

In t' blew sky, thurgh-girt wyth steeples, copper bell, copper bell -

allegedly delighted u bein ha' i' werm blod... T' domes i' Rus' cope o' pur gold -

thon ne infrequently to hold oute hope

fo t' 'Louer' Godes' heal-all sores....

 

Originally written by V.S. Vysotsky in 1975.

Translated by Igor Starov