Владимирский центр культуры и поддержки творчества "Звенящие кедры России" Владимирский центр культуры и поддержки творчества "Звенящие кедры России"
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Зарегистрирован: 09.04.2003
Сообщения: 38

Населённый пункт: Ырашпулых, РаДуГа

326456СообщениеДобавлено: Пт 28 Апр 2006, 16:20 | Ответить с цитатойВернуться к началу

Русскую культуру - Миру!

Предлагается тема:

!!-! RUSSIAN VERSES IN ENGLISH !-!! // РУССКИЕ СТИХИ НА АНГЛИЙСКОМ ЯЗЫКЕ

а также сказки, рассказы, романы, поэмы, песни!!!


Принимаются:

1. Оригинальные (авторские, профессиональные) переводы - ценятся больше всего.
2. Самостоятельные переводы - это тоже большой плюс
3. Забавные переводы сделанные программными переводчиками (с русского на английский; с русского на английский, а затем заного на русский)
4. Еще варианты...


    Добавлено пользователем cпустя 2 мин., 39 сек.:
№1

I loved you in my heart there is an ember of love
Not wholly faded it may be.
But do not let it hurt you to remember
I would not have you suffer pain for me.

I loved you in a hopeless silent fashion
Racked now by shyness, now by jelaous fear.
I loved you with such pure and tender passion
God grant another loved you so, my dear.



№2

Cold frost and sunshine: day of wonder!
But you, my friend, are still in slumber--
Wake up, my beauty, time belies:
You dormant eyes, I beg you, broaden
Toward the northerly Aurora,
As though a northern star arise!

Recall last night, the snow was whirling,
Across the sky, the haze was twirling,
The moon, as though a pale dye,
Emerged with yellow through faint clouds.
And there you sat, immersed in doubts,
And now, - just take a look outside:

The snow below the bluish skies,
Like a majestic carpet lies,
And in the light of day it shimmers.
The woods are dusky. Through the frost
The greenish fir-trees are exposed;
And under ice, a river glitters.

The room is lit with amber light.
And bursting, popping in delight
Hot stove still rattles in a fray.
While it is nice to hear its clatter,
Perhaps, we should command to saddle
A fervent mare into the sleight?

And sliding on the morning snow
Dear friend, we`ll let our worries go,
And with the zealous mare we`ll flee.
We`ll visit empty ranges, thence,
The woods, which used to be so dense
And then the shore, so dear to me.

угадываем...


    Добавлено пользователем cпустя 5 мин., 17 сек.:
Аленький цветочек (THE SCARLET FLOWER)
Жар-птица (THE FIRE BIRD)
Златовласка (THE GOLDEN HAIR GIRL)
Золотая рыбка (THE GOLDEN FISH)
Илья Муромец (ILYA MUROMETZ)
Крошечка-Хаврошечка (WEE LITTLE HAVROSHECHKA)
Садко (SADKO)
Сестрица Алёнушка и братец Иванушка (ALYONUSHKA)
Сказка о спящей красавице (SLEEPING BEAUTY)
Снегурочка (SNOWMAIDEN)
Финист - ясный сокол (FENIST THE BRIGHT FALCON)
Царевна-лягушка (THE FROG PPINCESS)
Царь Салтан (TSAR SALTAN))

Скачать (самораспаковывающийся архив)

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attention




Зарегистрирован: 09.04.2003
Сообщения: 38

Населённый пункт: Ырашпулых, РаДуГа

329360СообщениеДобавлено: Чт 04 Май 2006, 11:05 | Ответить с цитатойВернуться к началу

Борис Пастернак стихотворения/ Boris Pasternak Poems/ Verses

Winter night

The blizzards covered up the earth
And roamed uncurbed
The candle burned upon the desk
The candle burned

As in the summer, moths are drawn
Towards the flame
The pale snowflakes flown
Unto the pane

Upon the glass, bright snowy rings
And streaks were churned
The candle burned upon the desk
The candle burned

On the illumined ceiling
Shadows swayed
A cross of arms, a cross of legs
A cross of fate

Two boots fell down on the floor
With crashing sound
And from the crown tears of wax
Dripped on the gown

And nothing in the snowy haze
Could be discerned
The candle burned upon the desk
The candle burned

A gentle draft blew from the corner
Flame in temptation,
Would raise two wings into a cross
As if an angel

It snowed a lot all through the month
This frequently occurred
The candle burned upon the desk
The candle burned

Hamlet

The clamor ceased. I walked onto the stage.
While leaning on a jamb, through cheers,
I'm grasping in the echo's distant range
What will occur during my years.
The twilight of the night has gathered
Like thousands of binoculars on me.
If so you're willing, Father,
I beg you, take this cup from me.
I love your plan, so firm and stubborn
And I agree to play this role.
But as of now, there's another drama.
This time, expel me, I implore.
But, the predestined plot proceeds.
I cannot alter the direction of my path.
I am alone, all sinks in phariseeism.
To live a life--is not an easy task.

Easter

There's still a twilight of the night.
The world's so young in its proceeding,
That countless stars in sky abide,
And each one, like the day, is bright,
And if the Earth contained that might,
She'd sleep through Easter in delight,
Under the Psalter reading.

There's still a twilight of the night.
It's far too early; it appears,
That fields eternally subside,
Right from crossroad to the side,
And 'til the sunrise and the light,
There is a thousand years.

The Mother Earth, of clothes deprived,
Has nothing else to wear,
To strikes the church bell through night
Or echo choirs in the air.

And from the Maundy Thursday night
Right 'til the Easter Eve,
The water bores the coastal side
And whirlpools heave.

The forest, in exposed expanse,
To celebrate Christ's Holy times,
As though in prayer, calmly stands,
In gathered stems and trunks of pines.

And in the city, in one place,
As if a mob commenced,
The naked trees sincerely gaze
Upon the Church's fence.

Their eyes are fully filled with rage.
And their concern is heard.
The gardens slowly leave their cage,
The Earth shakes wildly in its range,
They're burying the Lord.

A light is seen that dimly glows,
Black kerchiefs and the candle rows,
By weeping eyes--
And suddenly, there's a procession,
With holy shroud of the Christ
And every birch, with a concession,
Along the entrance subsides.

They walk around the royal square,
Along the sidewalk's edge.
Into the vestibule with care,
They bring the spring and springtime flair,
A scent of Eucharist in the air
And vernal rage.

And March is tossing snow around
To beggars gathered on Church ground,
As though a person just walked out,
Opened the shrine, took what he found
And gave it all away.

The singing lasts throughout the night,
Those who have wept enough, they lastly,
Calmly and gently stroll outside,
Onto the land under the light,
To read the Psalter or Apostles.

But after midnight, all will quiet,
Hearing the vernal lecture,
That if we wait just for a while,
We'll cast His death into exile
With holy resurrection.

February

Oh February, to get ink and weep!
And write about it mourning,
While the uproaring, raging sleet,
Like in the spring, is burning.

Go rent a buggy. For six grivnas,
Race through the blare of bells and wheels,
To where the shower often drizzles
Much louder than ink and tears.

Where, like the charcoal pears, the crows
From trees, by thousands, will rise,
Crash into puddles, and then toss
Dry sadness deep into your eyes.

Below, thawed patch is showing through,
With loud cries, the wind is grubbed.
The more haphazard the more true--
The poems are composed and sobbed.

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