Vladimir Nabokov. K perevodu "Evgeniya Onegina"
* Vladimir Nabokov. On translating "Eugene Onegin" *
What is translation? On a platter
A poets pale and glaring head,
A parrot's screech, a monkey's chatter,
And profanation of the dead.
The parasits you were so hard on
Are pardoned if I have your pardon,
O, Pushkin, for my stratagem:
I travelled down your secret stem,
And reached the root, and fed upon it;
Then, in a language newly learned,
I grew another stalk and turned
Your stanza patterned on a sonnet,
Into my honest roadside prose--
All thorn, but cousin to your rose.
Reflected words can only shiver
Like elongated lights that twist
In the black mirror of a river
Between the city and the mist.
Elusive Pushkin! Persevering,
I still pick up Tatiana's earring,
Still travel with your sullen rake.
I find another man's mistake,
I analize alliterations
That grace your feasts and haunt the great
Fourth stanza of your Canto Eight.
This is my task -- a poet's patience
And scholiastic passion blent:
Dove-dropping on your monument.
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(perevel Mihail Blyumin)
http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Atrium/5307
E-mail: mishel@a-teleport.com
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CHto perevod? Prikrytyj kryshkoj
Blistatel'nyj poeta bred,
Krik popugaya, trep martyshki
I grubo poprannyj sekret.
O Pushkin, strogost' k parazitam
Priberegi,-- iz nih mastityj
Put' neprostitel'nyj nashel;
Tainstvennyj ispolzav stvol,
Dostig ya kornya, napitalsya;
YAzyk tvoj znaya nazubok,
Vzrastil zatem ya svoj rostok,
Kotoryj ros i prevrashchalsya
V socvetie ternistyh proz--
Sester tvoih sonetov-roz.
Slova drozhat lish', otrazhayas',--
Kak gorodskie ogon'ki,
CHto plyashut, pryachas' i yavlyayas',
Na chernom zerkale reki.
Poet! Tvoj sputnik neustannyj,
Noshus' ya vse s ser'goj Tat'yany,
I vse so mnoyu tvoj chudak.
Ishchu kolleg nevernyj shag
I nahozhus' v plenu sozvuchij,
CHto tak ukrasili soboj
CHetvertyj stih Glavy Os'moj.
Pokoj poetov, pyl nauchnyj
YA sovmestil -- i lyapnul ih
Na pamyatnik, chto ty vozdvig.
Last-modified: Wed, 06 Jan 1999 21:16:17 GMT