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Клавка_Халявина
04-21-2004, 02:16 PM
I like Robert Burns a lot, expecially this poem. :P

Can anyone add something nice. :)


Coming Through The Rye
by Robert Burns

Coming thro' the rye, poor body,
Coming thro' the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie
Coming thro' the rye.

O, Jenny's a' wat, poor body;
Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie
Coming thro' the rye.

Gin a body meet a body
Coming thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body -
Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body
Coming thro' the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body -
Need the warld ken?

aprilneverends
04-21-2004, 02:25 PM
оч люблю, а вот и перевод Маршака:


Пробираясь до калитки
Полем вдоль межи,
Дженни вымокла до нитки
Вечером во ржи.

Очень холодно девчонке,
Бьет девчонку дрожь:
Замочила все юбчонки,
Идя через рожь.

Если кто-то звал кого-то
Сквозь густую рожь
И кого-то обнял кто-то,
Что с него возьмешь?

И какая нам забота,
Если у межи
Целовался с кем-то кто-то
Вечером во ржи!..

aprilneverends
04-21-2004, 02:35 PM
баллады очень люблю. хотела перепечатать сюда свою любимую- "Тэм Лин", но она ужасно длинная...

LAman
04-21-2004, 02:42 PM
У нас в школе целый этаж был отдан английским классам. На стенах висели портреты английских писателей и поэтов, а также цитаты и стихи. Из них надолго запомнился вот этот (пришлось искать по названию, а ведь когда-то знал наизусть... :( )

She Walks In Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Wich heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet elocuent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent

(c) Lord Byron

abc
04-21-2004, 02:49 PM
С Клавкой странная заявка,
Всегда пишет в темах с явкой,
Обсуждает значит чинно,
А теперь в другой стихии,
Стих ее достал в тихии :D

Verbatim
04-21-2004, 02:51 PM
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

Verbatim
04-21-2004, 02:55 PM
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where of late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset faideth in the West
Which by and by black night doth take away
Death's second self, which seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
As on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 73

LAman
04-21-2004, 02:55 PM
С Клавкой странная заявка,
Всегда пишет в темах с явкой,
Обсуждает значит чинно,
А теперь в другой стихии,
Стих ее достал в тихии :D
АВС, никак не вспомню, это Эмили Дикинсон или Оскар Уальд?

aprilneverends
04-21-2004, 02:56 PM
William Shakespeare.
154. Sonnets
x

THEN hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after loss:
Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come: so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might;
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so!

Verbatim
04-21-2004, 02:59 PM
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William E. Henley, "Invictus".

Nabludatel'
04-21-2004, 03:06 PM
С Клавкой странная заявка,
Всегда пишет в темах с явкой,
Обсуждает значит чинно,
А теперь в другой стихии,
Стих ее достал в тихии :D

Перевод...

Зер ис самсинг стренгь виз а вуман неим Клава
Ши раитс олвейз самсинг лайк фрик ДаЛай Лама
Ши лайкс то дискасс алл зе стафф вери слоули
Енд нау ши бин тачт бай зе райм вери болдли

Шутка
04-21-2004, 03:45 PM
И немножко разбавить французкой поэзией...

Pas le temps de vivre
Il est des heures, ou
Les ombres se dissipent
la douleur se fige
Il est des heures, ou
Quand l'être s'invincible
La lèpre s'incline
Mais
Si j'avais pu voir qu'un jour
Je serai qui tu hantes
Qu'il me faudrait la, ton souffle,
Pour vaincre l'incertitude
Ecrouer ma solitude

Il est des heures, ou
Les notes se deachent
Les larmes s'effacent
Il est des heures, ou
Quand la lune est si pale
L'tre se monacale
Mais
Je erre comme une lumire
Que le vent a éteinte
Mes nuits n'ont plus de paupires
Pour soulager une a une
Mes peurs de n'tre plus qu'une

Je n'ai pas le temps de vivre
Quand s'enfuit mon equilibre
Je n'ai pas le temps de vivre
Aime-moi, entre en moi
Dis-moi les mots qui rendent ivres
Dis-moi que la nuit se diguise
Tu vois, je suis
Comme la mer qui se retire, de
N'avoir pas su trouver tes pas...

Il est des heures, ou
Mes pensées sont si faibles
Un marbre sans veines
Il est des heures, ou
L'on est plus de ce monde
L'ombre de son ombre
Dis
De quelle clef ai-je besoin
Pour rencontrer ton astre
Il me faudrait la, ta main,
Pour étreindre une a une
Mes peurs de n'etre plus qu'une...

("Pas le temps de vivre" M-E. Gauthier aka M.Farmer)

Verbatim
04-21-2004, 04:05 PM
Les sanglot longues
Des violons
De l'automne
Percent mon coeur
Du longeur
Monotone.
Et je m'en vais
Au vent mavais
Qui m'emporte,
De si, de la
Pareille
A la feuille morte.

Paul Verlaine

Verbatim
04-21-2004, 04:06 PM
And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Dylan Thomas (опять).

Krakadil
04-21-2004, 04:10 PM
Послушайте, дорогие поли... эт как, глоты. Мы тоже любим поэзию, но по-французски ни бэ, ни мэ, даже в буримэ.
Дайте хоть переводик и мы с вами разделим радость восхищения.

Verbatim
04-21-2004, 04:17 PM
Послушайте, дорогие поли... эт как, глоты. Мы тоже любим поэзию, но по-французски ни бэ, ни мэ, даже в буримэ.
Дайте хоть переводик и мы с вами разделим радость восхищения.

Хорошо, сейчас найду перевод:

Puisque j'ai mis ma lèvre à ta coupe encor pleine;
Puisque j'ai dans tes mains posé mon front pâli;
Puisque j'ai respiré parfois la douce haleine
De ton âme, parfum dans l'ombre enseveli;

Puisqu'il me fut donné de t'entendre me dire
Les mots où se répand le coeur mystérieux;
Puisque j'ai vu pleurer, puisque j'ai vu sourire
Ta bouche sur ma bouche et tes yeux sur mes yeux;

Puisque j'ai vu briller sur ma tête ravie
Un rayon de ton astre, hélas! voilé toujours;
Puisque j'ai vu tomber dans l'onde de ma vie
Une feuille de rose arrachée à tes jours;

Je puis maintenant dire aux rapides années:
-Passez! passez toujours! je n'ai plus à vieillir;
Allez-vous-en avec vos fleurs toutes fanées;
J'ai dans l'âme une fleur que nul ne peut cueillir!

Votre aile en le heurtant ne fera rien répandre
Du vase où je m'abreuve et que j'ai bien rempli.
Mon âme a plus de feu que vous n'avez de cendre!
Mon coeur a plus d'amour que vous n'avez d'oubli!

----------------------------------------------------

Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

Since it was given to me to hear one happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;

Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;

I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you have frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.

Victor Hugo, "Chants du crepuscule".

Verbatim
04-21-2004, 04:19 PM
Перевод Верлэна:

With long sobs
the violin-throbs
of autumn wound
my heart with languorous
and montonous
sound.

and I let me go
where ill winds blow
now here, now there,
harried and sped,
even as a dead
leaf, anywhere.

Шутка
04-21-2004, 04:31 PM
No time to live ("Pas le temps de vivre")

There are hours, where
The shadows dissipate
The pain freezes
there are hours, where
When being makes itself invincible
Leprosy bows
But
If I could have seen only one day
I would be the one you haunt
I would need now, your breath,
To defeat the incertitude
To commit/imprison my solitude
there are hours, where
The notes come undone
The tears fade
there are hours, where
When the moon is so pale
Being becomes monastic
But
I wander like a light
That the wind extinguishes
My nights have no more eyelids
To relieve one on one
My fears of being only one
I have not the time to live
When my balance escapes
I have not the time to live
Love me, enter inside of me
Tell me the words that drunken
Tell me that the night disguises itself
You see, I am
Like the sea that withdraws, that
Hasn’t known how to find your footsteps...
there are hours, where
My thoughts are so weak
A marble without veins
there are hours, where
The one is no more of this world
The shadow of its shadow
Do tell
Of what key do I need
To meet your star
I would need now, your hand
To clasp one to one
My fears of being only one...

(translated by Cynthia Morisette)

Olezhik
04-21-2004, 04:49 PM
Roses are red
violets are blue
sugar is sweet
and so are you (c)

Nabludatel'
04-21-2004, 05:09 PM
И канешна для любителей вьетнамской лирики:

Sáng tác: Trúc Hồ

Bao nhiêu em bé thơ như nụ hoa dưới mặt trời
Cười hồn nhiên tung tăng hát vang mừng nắng tươi
Bao nhiêu em bé thơ như nụ hoa dưới mặt trời
Rời lòng nôi trong đêm gió mưa ra biển khơi

Mẹ yêu em thiết tha hơn mùa xuân trong cuộc đời
Chờ nhìn con theo hoa hướng dương tìm nắng soi
Cha yêu em thiết tha mang gởi con cho tình người
Mặc đại dương mênh mông khoác lên thân nhỏ nhoi

Bên em đang có ta hát về em tương lai xót xa
Hát về em cơn mơ thiết tha giấc mơ tuổi hoa
Bên em đang có ta thắm thiết
kêu vang lương tâm thế gian
Cứu vớt em rời khỏi ngày u ám giữa khung trại giam
Khóc trong lầm than
Khóc trong trại giam

Khi con tim thế nhân chưa thờ ơ chưa lạnh lùng
Thì cùng nhau đêm nay hát lên lời hát chung
Cho em tôi héo hon đang ngửa tay xin tình người
Dòng lệ rơi trên đôi má khô trong lẻ loi...

Шутка
04-21-2004, 05:13 PM
И канешна для любителей вьетнамской лирики:



А теперь перевод, пожалста (можно по-русски) :wink:

Шутка
04-21-2004, 05:14 PM
Roses are red
violets are blue
sugar is sweet
and so are you (c)

Люблю тебя мой друг бесценный,
Как любит партию военный.(c)

Olezhik
04-21-2004, 05:22 PM
И канешна для любителей вьетнамской лирики:

Sáng tác: Trúc Hồ...

Похоже про горячию ветнамскую любовь.

Nabludatel'
04-21-2004, 06:19 PM
И канешна для любителей вьетнамской лирики:



А теперь перевод, пожалста (можно по-русски) :wink:

Вкратце: В балладе идёт речь о нелёгкой любви простой вьетнамской пастушки к принцу соседнего государства и что из етого получилось.

Verbatim
04-21-2004, 09:29 PM
Именно об этом поется во вьетнамской попсе?

Anonymous
04-21-2004, 10:37 PM
This is my favorite :wink:


Pissing in Pittsburgh or Prague

I too have defaced public lavatories,
Scribbled obscene pictograms,
And Initialed furtive theologies
Amid the forlorn porn of washrooms:
Panoplies of God and sex.

And once in San Francisco,
Standing some three floors below Montgomery Street,
I stood holding my jake
Imagining the seventy stories overhead
And the final apocalyptic quake,
Thinking, too, that this is where they'd find me:

An anonymous bog man,
Some fossilized brick,
Surrounded by silenced cries
For love,
Or dick.