"...Что чувства добрые я лирой пробуждал..." .

[Gelia]

Если кто знает хороший перевод этого стихотворения, поделитесь пожалуйста, как , впрочем, и других русских стихов. Особенно, если это целые хорошие сборники.

[SVK]

Если кто знает хороший перевод этого стихотворения, поделитесь пожалуйста, как , впрочем, и других русских стихов. Особенно, если это целые хорошие сборники.

Exegi monumentum

Not made by human hand my pillar-like creation,
The people’s path thereto will never disappear,
Like Alexander’s shaft that rises over nation
My Monument is one unruly seer.

I will not wholly die — the soul in sacred lyre
Will outlive my dust and will escape decay —
And on the moonlit sphere my glory will not tire,
As long as poets still remain.

The rumor of my fame will march through vastly Russia,
In every tongue my name will be repeated soon
Alike by haughty Slav, by Finn and by compassioned
Tungus and Kalmuck — polder’s loon.

In coming aftertime the people still will read'em,
All sympathetic lines my poetry evolved,
Remembering the age I glorified the freedom,
For mercy to the fallen called.

Oh, Muse, poetic Muse, adhere to God’s commandments,
Of insult unafraid, not asking for the crown,
Indifferently take the praise and lie attendance,
Don’t contradict a clown.

А.С.Пушкин, «Памятник».
Перевел на английский А.Берлин

[SVK]

Translated by Genia Gurarie

The wondrous moment of our meeting...
I well remember you appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In hopeless ennui surrounding
The worldly bustle, to my ear
For long your tender voice kept sounding,
For long in dreams came features dear.

Time passed. Unruly storms confounded
Old dreams, and I from year to year
Forgot how tender you had sounded,
Your heavenly features once so dear.

My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet -
Dull fence around, dark vault above -
Devoid of God and uninspired,
Devoid of tears, of fire, of love.

Sleep from my soul began retreating,
And here you once again appear
Before me like a vision fleeting,
A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In ecstasy the heart is beating,
Old joys for it anew revive;
Inspired and God-filled, it is greeting
The fire, and tears, and love alive.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Translated by Mikhail Kneller

I still remember that amazing moment
You have appeared before my sight
As though a brief and fleeting omen,
Pure phantom in enchanting light.

Locked in depression's hopeless captive,
In haste of clamorous processions,
I heard your voice-- soft and attractive.
And dreamt of your beloved expressions.

Time passed. In gusts, rebellious and active,
A tempest scattered my affections
And I forgot your voice attractive,
Your sacred and divine expressions.

Detained in darkness, isolation,
My days would slowly drag in strife.
With lack of faith and inspiration,
With lack of tears, and love and life.

My soul attained its waking moment:
You re-appeared before my sight,
As though a brief and fleeting omen,
Pure phantom in enchanting light.

And now, my heart, in fascination
Beats rapidly and finds revived:
Devout faith and inspiration,
And tender tears and love and life.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Translated by Slobodyanik Lada

I recollect a wondrous minute
When you turned up in front of me,
As vision fleeting, nice and timid,
As genius of the Loveliness.

In every dream I saw your spectre,
Its voice was full of tenderness,
I heard it in the noisy centre
Of fuss, in joy, in hopelessness.

But years passed. The gust of tempests
Dispelled my former fantasies,
And in oblivion of the dark mist
Your voice and features slowly ceased.

My lonely days dragged on in calmness
Without life and tears and you,
Without muse, without fondness
In gloomy place, in solitude.

Awakening came to my feelings
When you turned up in front of me,
As vision fleeting, nice and thrilling,
As genius of the Loveliness.

And everything arose from darkness:
My life and tears, God and you,
My faithful muse, me tender fondness.
My heart is beating. Dream comes true.

* * * * * * * * * * *

[ESN]

1


My uncle, righteous in his way,
When toll to illness had to pay,
Coersed us all to pay respect, —
A number no one would expect!
His stunt was knowledge for the rest.
God, what a bore he's made that test:
To spend with him all night and day,
Denied to take a step away,
A wicked, evil ridicule
To entertain a half-living fool,
To fix his bedding, acting sad,
And sigh, «How soon will you drop dead?!»



2


Those were the thoughts of a young spendthrift
While in the cab he flew, adrift.
By Zeus' will, his kinsmen dead,
He had their fortune, not regret.
Friends of Lyudmila and Ruslan!
I shall present you on the run
The worthy hero of this act:
His life all seemingly intact,
Onegin, my old dear friend,
Was born to Neva's dismal land
Where you and I could nicely shine,
But North afflicts the weal of mine.




3



Produced a service, noble and proper,
His father owed (the scarcest crime),
And at the end was broke, old pauper,
Balls giving yearly three times.
Eugene was saved by kind fate:
«Madame» assumed his care's freight,
«Monsieur» was next to take her place.
The child seemed agile but chaste.
Monsieur L'Abbe, a squalid French,
Tried not to overtire the youth.
He joked, his teaching was all loose, —
Spent time on Summer Garden's bench.
He hardly taught him moral lore,
Just marked punctilio rancor.



«Tatiana's Letter To Onegin»


I write to you — what else is there?
What else, what more may I attempt?
I know, now it's only fair
To keep my poor heart in contempt.
For the despondent fate of mine,
And saving empathy's warm tot,
You won't forsake me, you will not!
At first, I wanted to be mute;
Trust me that nothing of my shame
Would see the light of public fame,
If you would seldom, once a week,
Stop by the house of a lonely geek;
To only hear a familiar voice,
To say a word to you, rejoice,
Think more and more of still the same,
And hope that you will come again.
But people say that you're a loner,
that our village you can't bear,
And we don't shine, but for a scorner,
We're simply glad when you are there.
Why did you ever visit us?
In a cloister of a forgotten place
I'd never make that foolish fuss,
I'd never learn that bitter taste.
I would arrest in time (who knows?)
Disquiet of my naif soul,
Find a companion to my heart,
And bear well my spousal part,
Be a good mother, all in all.
Another! No, I can award
with love no one in universe!
It was imparted by the lords,
the will of Heaven: I am yours;
My life was nothing but a gage
Of our gathering ahead.
You will destroy my somber cage,
By a deific precept you've been lead..
In dreams I see, you never fade,
Unknown, already my sweetheart:
Your staring glance my soul would lade,
Your wondrous voice would cheer my heart.
All gone... no, that was not a dream!
I knew it when you stepped inside,
I couldn't move, I couldn't hide
My thoughts. My heart would scream: it's him!
Before I've heard you, haven't I?
Your voice did quell me from the still
When soothe the poor I may have tried,
Or in a pray have pacified
The stirred yearning that I feel.
And have you, in a second's split,
My dear ghost, my love's heartbeat,
Not sneaked in limpidness of night,
And angled stilly to my bed?
Then, led by love and by delight,
the words of promise have you said?
Who are you, my divine defender
Or my iniquitous pretender:
Absolve my doubts, all at once,
All that is maybe just in vain,
The vestal soul's enticed pain,
And for us, there's not a chance..
My lot is such! Away, my fears!
My fate is now in your hands,
In front of you I shed my tears:
In plea for your defense I'm bent
You just imagine, I'm alone,
Nobody understands me here,
My mind's unalterably drawn:
I'll calmly die and disappear.
I wait for you: in a single gleam
Revive the hopes of my heart,
Or break the ropes of a heavy dream
With a reproach in my regard!
I finish... fear to re-read...
With shame and dread I will retreat.
Your honor is my only bond, —
To it my fate I boldly fund...

[Gelia]

[
In coming aftertime the people still will read'em,
All sympathetic lines my poetry evolved,
Remembering the age I glorified the freedom,
For mercy to the fallen called.

А.С.Пушкин, «Памятник».
Перевел на английский А.Берлин

Спасибо тем, кто отозвался ныне ,
и славным людям тем, кто ссылки даст еще..

у А . Берлин родной язык какой?
Может быть кто-то знает сборник типа "Стихи русских поэтов " , где бы они были переведены английскими хорошими поэтами.

[SVK]

у А . Берлин родной язык какой?

Анатолий Берлин.
http://www.interlit2001.com/kr-berlin.htm