Russian poetry in translation

Thread: Russian poetry in translation

Tags: None
  1. Guest said:

    Default

    Anna Akhmatova's Lot's Wife, written in 1924 in an autobiographical mood as all of her friends had abandoned or were abandoning the Russia that had turned into the Soviet Union, while she herself, one of very few, chose to remain behind.

    I'm not sure what the technical term for the scansion would be, but the lines alternate as follows (stressed syllables in CAPITALS):

    the RIGHteous SAGE went beHIND god's ANgel (˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯ ˘)
    eNORmous and BRIGHT on the DARK, high HILL (˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ˘ ¯ ˘ ¯)

    ...and so forth, alternating line by line.

    As for the last stanza,

    WHO shall beMOAN the FATE of this LAdy,
    WHAT, but a FAded FAble, her TRANCE?
    MY heart aLONE shall preSERVE her BRAvery,
    HER, who was SLAIN for a ONE last GLANCE.


    The righteous sage went behind God's angel,
    enormous and bright on the dark, high hill,
    his wife ill at ease, her worry spoke gravely:
    It isn't yet late - if you turn, you will
    be able to see the red spires of Sodom
    the square where you sang and the hall where you danced,
    the abandoned windows, the house that was home, where
    children you bore to the man in your heart.
    She looked - and with death her eyes were frozen,
    translucent whiteness where once she stood;
    a statue of salt was the path she had chosen,
    one with the ground her once quick foot.

    Who shall bemoan the fate of this lady?
    What, but a faded fable, her trance?
    My heart alone shall preserve her bravery,
    her, who was slain for a one last glance.


    http://yourlisten.com/channel/conten...8/lotova_zhena
    Last edited by Guest; 01-14-2013 at 02:32 PM.
     
  2. Guest said:

    Default

    Nikolay Alexeyevich Nekrasov (1821 - 1878) was a poet, writer, critic and publisher, whose deeply compassionate poems about peasant Russia won him Fyodor Dostoyevsky's admiration and made him the hero of liberal and radical circles of Russian intelligentsia. He is credited with introducing into Russian poetry ternary meters and the technique of dramatic monologue.

    The Railway (Железная дорога) is one of his best-known poems, depicting the journey of an affluent gentleman and his son, Vanya, by train on the newly constructed St. Petersburg - Moscow railway. Vanya asks his dad who built the railway, whereupon his father launches into a gruesome monologue on seeing the serfs suffer and die from the arduous task of building the railway. Nekrasov depicts with great compassion (albeit from the point of view of affluent nobility) the pains and suffering the Russian people have to go through, working hard. Russia still had serfs at this time (1851).

    Dostoyevsky held Nekrasov to be the greatest Russian poet after Pushkin and Lermontov.

    Below follows a tiny excerpt from Railway in my translation; my favourite bit, I’ll admit. Only two verses out of a total of 37 – the task of translating the lot too much for me at this time.

    This particular part is the gentleman speaking to Vanya of how the people will endure and be victorious in the end; I personally love the more existential notion of the second verse, and I do think that Nekrasov did intend it to carry the idea that ”there will be a beautiful tomorrow, but none of us will see it” – a fleeting dream, as it were, one we will always work hard to attain but never shall.


    Do not feel shame for your beautiful country...
    The people of Russia have endured it all,
    The people of Russia endured this railway,
    Endure they shall, whatever befall!

    Endure they shall - and a road through sorrow
    carve with their sweat they shall and they do.
    Alas! that the day of our joyful tomorrow
    I shall not witness - and neither shall you.


    Original:

    Да не робЕй за отчИзну любЕзную...
    ВЫнес достАточно рУсский нарОд,
    ВЫнес и Эту дорОгу желЕзную —
    ВЫнесёт всЁ, что госпОдь ни пошлЁт!

    ВЫнесёт всЁ — и ширОкую, Ясную
    ГрУдью дорОгу пролОжит себЕ.
    Жаль тОлько — жить в Эту пОру прекрАсную
    Уж не придЁтся — ни мне, ни тебЕ.


    ...and my reading of the original:
    http://soundcloud.com/orchestrainside/railway
     
  3. Guest said:

    Default

    Here is another favourite of mine by that favourite of mine, Anna Akhmatova. This particular piece was penned by her in 1917 when, at the age of 27, she chose to remain behind as her friends and acquaintances were fleeing Russia for safety abroad. Her choice brought her great misery and suffering, but also a greatness not seen before (or after, if you ask me): along with Russia, her poetry was transformed from light and romantic to dark and pained, culminating in her masterpiece, Requiem (which I hope to translate one day - it is one of my all-time top 3 poems).

    Translation:

    When we waited, in suicidal
    thoughts, for our German guests,
    when the cold, Byzantine idol
    filled the Church with greed and pest

    when the capital of Peter
    stood forlorn, bereft of will,
    like a drunken slvt, she teetered,
    there for all to have their fill,

    I heard a voice. A soothing call,
    it said: "Come here, live with me.
    Abandon Russia. Leave it all
    forever! Let that madness be."

    "I'll wash your bloody hands and purge
    your chest from all the dreadful shame;
    I'll bury your demeaning scourge
    beneath a new and brighter name."

    I calmly covered with my hands
    my ears so I'd not befoul
    with shameful, unbecoming plans
    my weeping, pained, mourning soul.

    Original:

    Когда в тоске самоубийства
    Народ гостей немецких ждал,
    И дух суровый византийства
    От русской церкви отлетал,

    Когда приневская столица,
    Забыв величие свое,
    Как опьяневшая блудница,
    Не знала, кто берет ее,-

    Мне голос был. Он звал утешно,
    Он говорил: "Иди сюда,
    Оставь свой край глухой и грешный,
    Оставь Россию навсегда.

    Я кровь от рук твоих отмою,
    Из сердца выну черный стыд,
    Я новым именем покрою
    Боль поражений и обид".

    Но равнодушно и спокойно
    Руками я замкнула слух,
    Чтоб этой речью недостойной
    Не осквернился скорбный дух.

    Translitteration:

    Kogda v toske samoubiistva
    narod gostei nemetskih zhdal
    i duh surovyi vizantiistva
    ot russkoi tserkvi otletal

    kogda prinevskaya stolitsa
    zabyv velichie svayo
    kak opyanevshaya bludnitsa,
    ne znala, kto beryot yeyo

    mne goloz byl. on zval uteshno,
    on govoril: "Idi syuda.
    Ostav' svoi krai gluhoi i greshnyi,
    ostav' Rossiy navsegda.

    Ya krov' ot ruk tvoih otmoyu
    is serdtsa vyinu chornyi styd,
    Ya novym imenem pokroyu
    bol' porazhenii i obid."

    No ravnodushno i spokoino
    rukami ya zamknula sluh,
    chtob etoi rechyu nedostoinoi
    ne oskvernilsya skorbnyi duh.

    Recitation:
    (Sorry for the poor quality, I currently don't have a decent microphone.)

    http://soundcloud.com/orchestrainside/kogda-v-toske
     
  4. Guest said:

    Default

    Another translation, this time of a poem by Bulat Okudzhava. Simple but profound. War (WWII) found him when he was 17, and he was wounded in battle several times.

    Translation:

    Somehow, I just can't believe
    that I have fought a war.
    Maybe someone painted me -
    rifle, boots and all:
    waving arms and kicking legs,
    a helmet and a scar;
    a will to make it back again
    from battlefields afar.

    Somehow, I just can't believe
    that I have killed men.
    Maybe I just went to see
    a movie with Helène?
    The gun that fired was not mine,
    the lives not lost through me;
    my hands are clean, my conscience fine,
    my soul in perfect peace.

    Somehow, I just can't believe
    I made it back alive.
    Maybe not? I may have been
    in Eden all this time.
    The trees are lush, the rivers blue,
    the mountains shining white;
    this life is beautiful and true
    in dreams I have at night.

    Original:

    Ах, что-то мне не верится,
    что я, брат, воевал.
    А может, это школьник
    меня нарисовал:
    Я ручками размахиваю,
    я ножками сучу,
    И уцелеть рассчитываю,
    и победить хочу.

    Ах, что-то мне не верится,
    что я, брат, убивал.
    А может, просто вечером
    в кино я побывал?
    И не хватал оружия,
    чужую жизнь круша,
    И руки мои чистые,
    и праведна душа.

    Ах, что-то мне не верится,
    что я не пал в бою.
    А может, сквозь простреленный,
    давно живу в раю,
    И кущи там, и рощи там,
    и кудри по плечам...
    А эта жизнь прекрасная
    лишь снится по ночам.

    Translitteration:

    Ah, chto-to mne ne veritsya,
    chto ya, brat, voeval.
    Mozhet, eto shkol'nik
    menya narisoval?
    Ya rushkami razmahivayu,
    ya nozhkami suchu,
    i pobedet' raschitivayu
    i utselet' hochu.

    Ah, chto-to mne ne veritsya,
    chto ya, brat, ubival.
    A mozhet, prosto vecherom
    v kino ja pobyval?
    I ne hvatal oruzhiya,
    chuzhuyu zhizn' krusha,
    i ruki moi chistye
    i pravedna dusha.

    Ah, chto-to mne ne veritsya
    chto ya ne pal v boyu.
    A mozhet, skvoz' prostrelennyi,
    davno zhivu r rayu?
    I kushi tam, i roshi tam,
    i kudri po plecham,
    a eta zhizn' prekrasnaya
    lish' snitsya po nocham.
     
  5. Victor Sklyarov's Avatar

    Victor Sklyarov said:

    Default

    I express estimation to participants. If I were not ill I'd participate too.
     
  6. Frankie Jasmine's Avatar

    Frankie Jasmine said:

    Default

    Just came across this thread again--and found it even more interesting the second time around!!

    And Victor--please come back to comment when you are well!
     
  7. Victor Sklyarov's Avatar

    Victor Sklyarov said:

    Default

    I mean I have much to say (I also translate from Russian, etc.) but I am paralyzed [right part of the body for about a year] and using screen pad js tiresome {though I am training daily}. The doctors say patience is needed and I might recover... But when? I can read with loop on, translate a little and compose short messages [this is long]. but it takes time.
     
  8. Frankie Jasmine's Avatar

    Frankie Jasmine said:

    Default

    Oh, Victor! Thank you for sharing the troubles you're experiencing. Through diligent effort and therapy, may you have continued improvement! It is a difficult road no one can understand unless they have been through such a trying time themselves. Now I know why you get around on ATL but you keep your comments concise! Any time I see a "like" or comment you've made, I will appreciate it ten-times over, knowing the effort you are expending!
     
  9. Olga K said:

    Default

    Russia, beggarly Russia

    your grey hovels,

    your wind-borne songs

    are to me like the first tears of love.

    I know not how to pity you

    but tenderly I carry my cross;

    you may abandon your brigandish beauty

    to any wizard you choose.

    Let him entice you and deceive you;

    perish you will not, nor disappear. Written by A. Block. Translated by V. Nabokov. And also, you should read Nabokov's poetry. I think he has what you are looking for. he is certainly more Russian than Mayakovsky or even Pasternak who both were disfigured by the soviets.