The Willow Akhmatova-revised
Posted: Wed Jan 04, 2017 1:42 pm
Ива
И дряхлый пук дерев.
Пушкин
А я росла в урожной тишине
В прохладной децкой молодного века.
И не был мил мне голос человека,
А голос ветра был понятен мне.
Я лопухи любила и крапиву,
Но больше всех серебряную иву.
И благодарная, она жила
Со мной всю жизнь, плакучими ветрями
Бессонницу овейвала снами.
И-- странно-- я её пережила.
Там пень торчит, чужими голосами.
Другие ивы что-то говорят
Под нашими, под теми небесами.
И я молчу...как будто умер брат.
Ленинград
18 Янвая 1940
Literally
Willow
And a decrepit clump of trees.
Pushkin
But I grew up in patterned silence
in cool nursery of young century.
And not was dear to me voice of person,
but voice of wind was clear to me.
I burdocks loved and nettles,
but greatest of all silver willow.
And obligingly, she lived
with me all her life, with weeping branches
sleeplessness she fanned with dreams.
And-- strangely-- I her outlived.
There stump sticks up, with alien voices
other willows speak
under our, under dark skies.
And I am silent...as if had died brother.
Leningrad
18 January 1940
Freely
The Willow
And a decrepit clump of trees.
Pushkin
I grew up in patterned silence
in the young century's cool nursery.
The human voice meant nothing to me,
but the wind's clear voice was full of sense.
I loved the burdocks and the nettles,
but I loved a silver willow best of all.
All his life my kind companion
obliged me, as his weeping limbs
fanned my sleeplessness with dreams.
Curiously, he died while I live on.
A stump still stands, there other willows
with strange voices now confide
under our skies, our dark skies,
and I am silent...as if a brother had died.
Leningrad
18 January 1940
Revision
The Willow
And a decrepit clump of trees
Pushkin
I grew up in patterned silence
in the young century's cool nursery.
The human voice meant nothing to me,
but the wind's clear voice was full of sense.
I loved the burdocks and nettles,
but I loved a siver willow best of all.
Kindly, he lived with me all his life. In the wind
obligingly, his weeping limbs
fanned my sleeplessness with dreams.
Oddly, I outlived my friend.
A stump still stands. There other willows
with alien voices now confide
under our skies, our dark skies,
and I am silent...as if a brother had died.
Leningrad
18 January 1940
И дряхлый пук дерев.
Пушкин
А я росла в урожной тишине
В прохладной децкой молодного века.
И не был мил мне голос человека,
А голос ветра был понятен мне.
Я лопухи любила и крапиву,
Но больше всех серебряную иву.
И благодарная, она жила
Со мной всю жизнь, плакучими ветрями
Бессонницу овейвала снами.
И-- странно-- я её пережила.
Там пень торчит, чужими голосами.
Другие ивы что-то говорят
Под нашими, под теми небесами.
И я молчу...как будто умер брат.
Ленинград
18 Янвая 1940
Literally
Willow
And a decrepit clump of trees.
Pushkin
But I grew up in patterned silence
in cool nursery of young century.
And not was dear to me voice of person,
but voice of wind was clear to me.
I burdocks loved and nettles,
but greatest of all silver willow.
And obligingly, she lived
with me all her life, with weeping branches
sleeplessness she fanned with dreams.
And-- strangely-- I her outlived.
There stump sticks up, with alien voices
other willows speak
under our, under dark skies.
And I am silent...as if had died brother.
Leningrad
18 January 1940
Freely
The Willow
And a decrepit clump of trees.
Pushkin
I grew up in patterned silence
in the young century's cool nursery.
The human voice meant nothing to me,
but the wind's clear voice was full of sense.
I loved the burdocks and the nettles,
but I loved a silver willow best of all.
All his life my kind companion
obliged me, as his weeping limbs
fanned my sleeplessness with dreams.
Curiously, he died while I live on.
A stump still stands, there other willows
with strange voices now confide
under our skies, our dark skies,
and I am silent...as if a brother had died.
Leningrad
18 January 1940
Revision
The Willow
And a decrepit clump of trees
Pushkin
I grew up in patterned silence
in the young century's cool nursery.
The human voice meant nothing to me,
but the wind's clear voice was full of sense.
I loved the burdocks and nettles,
but I loved a siver willow best of all.
Kindly, he lived with me all his life. In the wind
obligingly, his weeping limbs
fanned my sleeplessness with dreams.
Oddly, I outlived my friend.
A stump still stands. There other willows
with alien voices now confide
under our skies, our dark skies,
and I am silent...as if a brother had died.
Leningrad
18 January 1940