Перевод на английский стихов лермонтова

Содержание

Д. Смирнов-Садовский/Михаил Лермонтов. Стихи в английских переводах

From the translator

This little book of English translations of the selected poems by one of my favourite Russian poets is a dedication and the birthday present to Alexander Nikolaevich Knyazev, a man who is full of love to the poetry of Mikhail Lermontov. I have a great sympathy to this sort of obsession and this made us friends. I want to express my gratitude to the Russian Christian Humanitarian Academy for the pleasure to see this book published.

Эта книжица английских переводов стихотворений одного из моих любимейших русских поэтов посвящена и приурочена ко дню рождения Александра Николаевича Князева, человека охваченного подлинной любовью к поэзии Михаила Юрьевича Лермонтова. Эта его одержимость вызвала мою большую симпатию и сделала нас друзьями. Выражаю признательность Русской христианской гуманитарной академии за возможность увидеть этот труд напечатанным.

Once upon a time a Golden Cloud
On the bosom of a Cliff was sleeping
By sunrise it with a breeze was sweeping
Gaily playing with its azure shroud;

5 But some traces of the cloud were seeping
To the craggy wrinkles. In the desert
The Cliff stood and mused without comfort
Deeply thinking, desperately weeping.

Ночевала тучка золотая
На груди утёса-великана;
Утром в путь она умчалась рано,
По лазури весело играя.

5 Но остался влажный след в морщине
Старого утёса. Одиноко
Он стоит; задумался глубоко,
И тихонько плачет он в пустыне.

The mountain heights
Sleep in the darkness of night
The quiet valleys
Are filled with a dewy haze.
5 The road has no dust,
The leaves do not shake…
Wait awhile
And you will have rest.

Горные вершины
Спят во тьме ночной;
Тихие долины
Полны свежей мглой;
5 Не пылит дорога,
Не дрожат листы.
Подожди немного,
Отдохнёшь и ты.

The Moon’s face pours hazy gleam
In the sky’s surround —
Like a pancake with sour cream —
Misty, white and round.

5 Every night it passes by
Through the Milky Way,
Sure is endless in the sky —
Holy Pancake Day!

Посреди небесных тел
Лик луны туманный:
Как он кругл и как он бел,
Точно блин с сметаной.

5 Кажду ночь она в лучах.
Путь проходит млечный:
Видно, там, на небесах,
Масленица вечно!

Farewell, farewell, unwashed Russia,
The land of slaves, the land of lords,
And you, blue uniforms of gendarmes,
And you, obedient to them folks.

5 Perhaps beyond Caucasian mountains
I’ll hide myself from your pashas,
From their eyes that are all-seeing,
From their ever hearing ears.

Прощай, немытая Россия,
Страна рабов, страна господ,
И вы, мундиры голубые,
И ты, им преданный народ.

5 Быть может, за стеной Кавказа
Сокроюсь от твоих пашей,
От их всевидящего глаза,
От их всеслышащих ушей.

In the wild north a pine tree stands alone
On the bare top of a mountain.
It slumbers and sways, covered with
Powdery snow like a mantle.

5 And it dreams constantly: that in faraway wilds
In the land where the sun rises,
A cheerless and lovely palm stands alone,
Growing on a gloomy cliff.

На севере диком стоит одиноко
На голой вершине сосна
И дремлет качаясь, и снегом сыпучим
Одета как ризой она.

5 И снится ей всё, что в пустыне далекой —
В том крае, где солнца восход,
Одна и грустна на утесе горючем
Прекрасная пальма растет.

Источник

Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov

Afar—I fain, so much would tell thee!
List to thee o’er and o’er when near;
Yet passioned glances thou dost silence—. more »

With winged footsteps now I hasten
Unto the far cold North away,
Kasbek,—thou watchman of the East,
To thee, my farewell greetings say. more »

Palm branch of Palestine, oh tell me,
In that far distant home-land fair,
Wast rooted in the mountain gravel. more »

Clouds—ye eternal wanderers in hunting grounds of air,
High o’er the verdant Steppes, wide through the blue of heaven—. more »

Once ‘mid group of native mountains
Hot dispute arose,
Elbrus, angry, did with Kasbek
Argument propose. more »

A single sail is bleaching brightly
Upon the waves caressing bland,
What seeks it in a stranger country?
Why did it leave its native strand. more »

Through the rocks in wildest courses
Seethes the Terek grim of mood,
Tempest howling its bewailing,
Pearled with foam its tearful flood. more »

In noon’s heat, in a dale of Dagestan
With lead inside my breast, stirless I lay;
The deep wound still smoked on; my blood. more »

“. Cold and regretless shalt thou view this sphere,
Where crime’s inseparable from fate,
Where beauty only blossoms to grow sear. more »

With love of my own race I cling unto my country,
Whatever dubious reason may protesting cry;
The shame alone of all her blood bought glory. more »

When faints the heart for sorrow,
In life’s hard, darkened hour,
My spirit breathes a wondrous prayer
Full of love’s inward power. more »

A little oak leaf tore off from its branch
Was driven o’er the steppe by a cruel gale;
Dried up and withered from the cold, the heat and sorrow
It finally alit by the Black Sea shore. more »

By a cliff a golden cloud once lingered;
On his breast it slept, but, rising early,
Off it gently rushed across the pearly. more »

I feel I’d like to be alone
with you, friend, if you’ll stay:
my time on earth is nearly gone;
at least that’s what they say. more »

Dry leaf trembling on the branches
Before the blast,
Poor heart quaking in the bosom
For woe thou hast;. more »

I like you well, O trusty dagger mine,
My comrade wrought of cool Damascus steel!
Forged were you by the Georgian with revenge in the mind. more »

Like an evil spirit hast thou
Shocked my heart from out its rest,
If thou’lt take it quite away now—
Thou wilt win my healing blest. more »

In high noon’s heat in a Caucasian valley
I lay quite still, a bullet in my breast;
The smoke still rose from my deep wound,
As drop by drop my blood flowed out. more »

Forever you, the unwashed Russia!
The land of slaves, the land of lords:
And you, the blue-uniformed ushers. more »

At life’s most testing moment, when
the grieving heart’s replete,
a prayer that is most potent then
I call up and repeat. more »

Slumber sweet, my fairest baby,
Slumber calmly, sleep—
Peaceful moonbeams light thy chamber,
In thy cradle creep;. more »

By gates of an abode, blessed,
A man stood, asking for donation,
A beggar, cruelly oppressed
By hunger, thirst and deprivation. more »

Clouds in the skies above, heavenly wanderers,
Long strings of snowy pearls stretched over azure plains. more »

Sailless and without a rudder,
On the ocean of the air—
Float the choirs of stars harmonious,
‘Mid the mists eternal there;. more »

I love my native land with such perverse affection!
My better judgement has no standing here.
Not glory, won in bloody action. more »

With sadness I survey our present generation!
Their future seems so empty, dark, and cold,
Weighed down beneath a load of knowing hesitation. more »

Brilliant heavens of evening,
Distant stars clearly shining,
Bright as the rapture of childhood,
O why dare I send you nevermore greeting—. more »

Farewell my hateful Russian country!
People of lord and serf you are—
Farewell, salute, bent knee and hand-kiss. more »

Faithful before thee, Mother of God, now kneeling,
Image miraculous and merciful—of thee
Not for my soul’s health nor battles waged, beseeching. more »

Cold hears thy soul the praise or cursing of posterity.
Quit of the human race, thou man of destiny. more »

He fell, a slave of tinsel-honour,
A sacrifice to slander’s lust;
The haughty Poet’s head, the noblest,
Bowed on his wounded breast in dust. more »

Where waves of the Terek are waltzing
In Dariel’s wickedest pass,
There rises from bleakest of storm crags
An ancient grey towering mass. more »

At midnight an angel was crossing the sky,
And quietly he sang;
The moon and the stars and the concourse of clouds
Paid heed to his heavenly song. more »

A lonely sail is flashing white
Amdist the blue mist of the sea.
What does it seek in foreign lands?
What did it leave behind at home. more »

Alone I set out on the road;
The flinty path is sparkling in the mist;
The night is still. The desert harks to God,
And star with star converses. more »

Comments about Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov

Bored And Sad

The Leaf

A little oak leaf tore off from its branch
Was driven o’er the steppe by a cruel gale;
Dried up and withered from the cold, the heat and sorrow
It finally alit by the Black Sea shore.

A young plane tree stands by the Black Sea shore;
A whispering wind strokes her green boughs;
On her green boughs sway heavenly birds
Singing the praises and fame of the queen of the sea.

Источник

Tania-Soleil Journal

Параллельные переводы. Фоторепортажи. Статьи об изучении иностранных языков.

Стихотворение М. Ю. Лермонтова «Парус» на английском языке

Парус

Белеет парус одинокой
В тумане моря голубом. —
Что ищет он в стране далекой?
Что кинул он в краю родном?

Играют волны, ветер свищет,
И мачта гнется и скрыпит;
Увы! — он счастия не ищет
И не от счастия бежит! —

Под ним струя светлей лазури,
Над ним луч солнца золотой: —
А он, мятежный, просит бури,
Как будто в бурях есть покой!

Михаил Лермонтов
1832г.

The Sail

The lonely sail is showing white
Among the haze of the blue sea.
What does it search in foreign part?
What left it in the native land.

The waves are playing, wind is whistling,
And bending mast is creaking loud,
Alas, – it does not hunt for pleasure
And nor from pleasure does it run!

Below – a bright stream of azure,
Above – a golden beam of sun,
But it, rebellious, asks for tempests
As if the tempests give a rest!

by Mikhail Lermontov,
translated by Dmitri Smirnov

A Sail

Afar sail shimmers, white and lonely,
Through the blue haze above the foam.
What does it seek in foreign harbours?
What has it left behind at home?

The billows romp, and the wind whistles.
The rigging swings, and the tall mast creaks.
Alas, it is not joy, he flees from,
Nor is it happiness he seeks.

Below, the seas like blue light flowing,
Above, the sun’s gold streams increase,
But it is storm the rebel asks for,
As though in storms were peace.

Mikhail Lermontov
Translated by Babette Deutsch and Avrahm Yarmolinsky

The Sail

A lone white sail shows for an instant
Where gleams the sea, an azure streak.
What left it in its homeland distant?
In alien parts what does it seek?

The billow play, the mast bends creaking,
The wind, impatient, moans and sighs…
It is not joy that it is seeking,
Nor is it happiness it flies.

The blue wave dance, they dance and tremble,
The sun’s bright ray caress the seas.
And yet for storm it begs, the rebel,
As if in storm lurked calm and peace.

Mikhail Lermontov
Translated by Irina Zheleznova

Стихотворение на русском языке читает А. Злищев:

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