The shades of night were falling fast
Я ўжо не магу больш марыць калі-небудзь перакласці самы фэйспалмаўскі верш Лангфэла, адзіна каб зноў жа перакласці пародыю на яго Хаўсмэна, ведаючы якую на памяць, не магу перастаць ізініце ржаць. Бо яна афігенная. Таму я яе тут павешу.
Цікава, падчас перакладу трэба ўводзіць нейкія алюзіі на фэйспалмы роднай літаратуры ці і так будзе смешна... Мне вось смешна, але тым, хто вучыў Лангфэлу ў школе, мабыць, яшчэ смяшней.
Шкада толькі, што вот гэта: "There in the twilight cold and gray, // Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay" не знайшло адлюстравання ў пародыі, бо гэта варта ўсіх паэтычных антыпрэміяў і ўсіх чучалаў савы ў свеце :)
Alfred Edward Housman
Excelsior
The shades of night were falling fast
And the rain was falling faster,
When through an Alpine village passed
An Alpine village pastor;
A youth who bore mid snow and ice
A bird that wouldn't chirrup,
And a banner, with the strange device -
'Mrs. Winslow's soothing syrup.
''Beware the pass,' the old man said,
'My bold and desperate fellah;
Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
And you'll want your umberella;
And the roaring torrent is deep and wide -
You may hear how it washes.'
But still that clarion voice replied:
'I've got my old goloshes.'
'Oh stay,' the maiden said, 'and rest
(For the wind blows from the nor'ward)
Thy weary head upon my breast -
And please don't think me forward.'
A tear stood in his bright blue eye
And gladly he would have tarried;
But still he answered with a sigh:
'Unhappily I'm married.'
А вось Лангфэла, каб потым не шукаць.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said:
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!
Цікава, падчас перакладу трэба ўводзіць нейкія алюзіі на фэйспалмы роднай літаратуры ці і так будзе смешна... Мне вось смешна, але тым, хто вучыў Лангфэлу ў школе, мабыць, яшчэ смяшней.
Шкада толькі, што вот гэта: "There in the twilight cold and gray, // Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay" не знайшло адлюстравання ў пародыі, бо гэта варта ўсіх паэтычных антыпрэміяў і ўсіх чучалаў савы ў свеце :)
Alfred Edward Housman
Excelsior
The shades of night were falling fast
And the rain was falling faster,
When through an Alpine village passed
An Alpine village pastor;
A youth who bore mid snow and ice
A bird that wouldn't chirrup,
And a banner, with the strange device -
'Mrs. Winslow's soothing syrup.
''Beware the pass,' the old man said,
'My bold and desperate fellah;
Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
And you'll want your umberella;
And the roaring torrent is deep and wide -
You may hear how it washes.'
But still that clarion voice replied:
'I've got my old goloshes.'
'Oh stay,' the maiden said, 'and rest
(For the wind blows from the nor'ward)
Thy weary head upon my breast -
And please don't think me forward.'
A tear stood in his bright blue eye
And gladly he would have tarried;
But still he answered with a sigh:
'Unhappily I'm married.'
А вось Лангфэла, каб потым не шукаць.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said:
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!
And loud that clarion voice replied,
Excelsior!
"Oh stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!"
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"
This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!
At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,
Excelsior!
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!