02-02-2011 13:07 Немного стихов
Со мной бывает...
The Magic Violin
Pretty boy,
you are so merry
and your smile's - so light, so sunny.
Don't you ask me for this passion
that is poison to the worlds.
You don't know, don't know how dreadful
is this Magic Violin, sonny,
And how gloomy is the horror
of the one who strikes the cords.
He who took it one fine morning
in his hands, so strong and speedy,
Lost for ever, lost for ever
tranquil light of his bright eyes.
Hades' spirits like to listen
to these regal sounds, kiddy.
Rabid wolves are wandering near
not to miss the violin cries.
You must keep these ever ringing
strings of Violin crying, singing
And the fiddle stick beating, twisting,
whipping, whirling, going mad...
When the summer Sun is shining,
when the snow is whirling, swinging,
When the West is burning crimson,
when the East is blushing red.
You'll get tired and slow dowm breaking singing
just to sense it
that you can't that very minute
breath or sigh -
you are all pangs
For at once the rabid monsters'll rush at you -
blood thirsty, frenzied,
Tramp your chest with their forefoes,
pierce your throat with their fangs.
Then you'll realize how foully
laughed at you
all that was singing.
Tardy, but all-mighty fear
will appear in your eyes.
Melancholy, dreary death cold'll
wrap your head,
your ears ringing...
And your bride will burst out crying,
friends will have a sad surmise.
Kiddy, further! Won't meet here
neither merriment nor riches!
But I see that you are smiling
and these gazes are two rays.
Take the Violin, see the abyss
in the eyes of beast-like creatures,
die the glorious and the horrid
Death
that crowns musicians' ways.
автор перевода Ольга Слободкина
The Magic Violin
Pretty boy,
you are so merry
and your smile's - so light, so sunny.
Don't you ask me for this passion
that is poison to the worlds.
You don't know, don't know how dreadful
is this Magic Violin, sonny,
And how gloomy is the horror
of the one who strikes the cords.
He who took it one fine morning
in his hands, so strong and speedy,
Lost for ever, lost for ever
tranquil light of his bright eyes.
Hades' spirits like to listen
to these regal sounds, kiddy.
Rabid wolves are wandering near
not to miss the violin cries.
You must keep these ever ringing
strings of Violin crying, singing
And the fiddle stick beating, twisting,
whipping, whirling, going mad...
When the summer Sun is shining,
when the snow is whirling, swinging,
When the West is burning crimson,
when the East is blushing red.
You'll get tired and slow dowm breaking singing
just to sense it
that you can't that very minute
breath or sigh -
you are all pangs
For at once the rabid monsters'll rush at you -
blood thirsty, frenzied,
Tramp your chest with their forefoes,
pierce your throat with their fangs.
Then you'll realize how foully
laughed at you
all that was singing.
Tardy, but all-mighty fear
will appear in your eyes.
Melancholy, dreary death cold'll
wrap your head,
your ears ringing...
And your bride will burst out crying,
friends will have a sad surmise.
Kiddy, further! Won't meet here
neither merriment nor riches!
But I see that you are smiling
and these gazes are two rays.
Take the Violin, see the abyss
in the eyes of beast-like creatures,
die the glorious and the horrid
Death
that crowns musicians' ways.
автор перевода Ольга Слободкина
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