В июньском выпуске американского журнала Fogged Clarity два стихотворения вашего корреспондента в переводе на английский язык. Одно:
Round triangles are flying in the bluest of the skies.
The un-native speech ist speaking through the glitter of the Fall.
The unworldly peace and quiet are your villains in disguise;
Baby doves and rookie sparrows are their deputy patrol.
Will it never cease to linger – this unending eve-of-war,
Won’t it ever stop to pour – all the chirping and the flicks,
Could there be a little fewer of the cherubs of the Dark,
Of the heads without the arrows and the airborne whirligigs?
I’m the stiff inside your closet, I’m the noose up in your room,
I’m the fur coat in your wardrobe that is hanging never worn,
The unworldly peace and quiet won’t be taken for a ride,
The unworldly peace and quiet is a fizzing dynamite.
(Translation by Anton Tenser and Sasha Spektor)
И другое:
The night is swarming with the decaying Gypsies
The stench of rotten hides infects the road.
With ragged hooves like irons, the wasted horses
Drag up the hill their pestilential load.
The torches crackle as they light the wagons,
The squealing rooster wakes the dale below.
This road is wrong, and wrong again this rose
-It’s not from me. Not I. And not to me —
Past the narrow folds of twisted darkness,
Past the charcoaled backbones of the gates
The Gypsy and the dog propel the horses –
They go around, and up, and never straight.
Tobacco will not last me past the summer.
I do not wish to drink their sweetened wine.
Alphonse prostrates himself beneath the gallows—
This road is wrong – and wrong again this moon.
(Translated by Anton Tenser, Sasha Spektor and Danya Cherkasky)
Оригиналы, кому интересно, есть по ссылкам.
Хочу поблагодарить переводчиков за переводы, а поэта Алексея Порвина он знает за что.
