Translation of Poem by A.A. Fet, "Буря на небе вечернем," "Storm in the sky of the gloaming"

                                                      Mark Stevenson, "Twilight Storm"

Afanasy Fet

(1820-1892)

Буря на небе вечернем,
Моря сердитого шум —
Буря на море и думы,
Много мучительных дум –
Буря на море и думы,
Хор возрастающих дум —
Черная туча за тучей,
Моря сердитого шум.

1842 

Literal Translation

Storm in evening sky,

Angry roar of the sea—

Storm on the sea and thoughts,

Many agonizing thoughts—

Storm on the sea and thoughts,

A choir of growing thoughts—

Black cloud following black cloud,

Angry roar of the sea.

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 Storm in the sky of the gloaming,

Roar of the ravening sea;

Storm on the sea, ruminations,

Raw thoughts that throb painfully.  

Storm on the sea, ruminations,

Brain waves’ perplexed potpourri;

Black cloud, one more, then another,

Roar of the ravening sea.

 

d

Анализ стихотворения «Буря на небе вечернем» Фета

(from website RuStikh)

 Ранняя лирика Афанасия Афанасьевича Фета полна экспериментов с формой и звукописью стихов.

Стихотворение написано в 1842 году. Его автору в эту пору исполнилось 22 года, он студент университета (сперва учился на юриста, затем на филолога), с помощью друга А. Григорьева уже опубликовал дебютный сборник стихов, несколько раз печатался в солидных журналах. По жанру — пейзажная зарисовка, по размеру – дактиль со сложной рифмовкой (местами гиперхолостая), деления на строфы нет. Лирический герой явно себя не выражает, однако без него произведение не состоялось бы. Чувствуется желание молодого поэта создать звуками вихрь, смерч, ненастье. Именно звукопись превалирует здесь над содержанием. Анафора: буря, моря (они непрестанно чередуются). Эпифора: думы, шум, дум. Круговерть лексических повторов, царство тавтологии нарастают к финалу, у читателя создается ощущение уходящей из-под ног палубы какого-нибудь корабля. Стихии разбушевались не только в небе и на воде, а и в сердце созерцающего их героя. О чем же размышляет герой? Это остается неизвестным, однако понятно, что настроение его весьма мрачно. Возможно, его целью было создать стихотворение в романтическом духе – с обязательно возвышающемся над толпой героем, легко сносящем порывы ветра и волн. Это произведение получило нелестные оценки литературных критиков того времени. Не оценив игру слов с аллитерацией и попытку создать особый ритм, они сосредоточились на скудном, по их мнению, содержании. Может быть, стихотворению и стоило бы остаться упражнением в стихосложении в творческой лаборатории начинающего поэта, однако сам он решил иначе и представил его на суд понимающего читателя. Вообще, это произведение уже содержит основные приметы оригинального стиля А. Фета, включая музыкальность и выбор тем. Его задачей было передать не краски, а музыку стихии, а заодно метафорически показать, как тяжелые мысли накатывают на сердце, словно яростные волны. Интонация со сдерживаемым напряжением, потому и нет восклицаний и даже многоточий. Интересно, что нет и глаголов. Такой прием создания динамизма без присутствия глаголов поэт выбрал сознательно. Эпитеты: сердитого, мучительных, возрастающих. Идентичная инверсия 2 и 8 строк.

                                                          Fet as Young Military Officer

Translation of Poem by Aleksandr Pushkin, "Remembrance," "Воспоминание"

 

Александр Пушкин

(1799-1837)

 

Воспоминание

 

Когда для смертного умолкнет шумный день,
И на немые стогны града
Полупрозрачная наляжет ночи тень
И сон, дневных трудов награда,
В то время для меня влачатся в тишине
Часы томительного бденья:
В бездействии ночном живей горят во мне
Змеи сердечной угрызенья;
Мечты кипят; в уме, подавленном тоской,
Теснится тяжких дум избыток;
Воспоминание безмолвно предо мной
Свой длинный развивает свиток;
И с отвращением читая жизнь мою,
Я трепещу и проклинаю,
И горько жалуюсь, и горько слезы лью,
Но строк печальных не смываю.

1828 г.

 

 

Literal Translation

                                                                    Remembrance

 When the noisy day is stilled for mortal man,

And onto the mute streets and squares

The translucent shadow of night descends,

Along with sleep, the reward for daily toil,

Then hours of languorous wakefulness

Drag on for me in silence.

During night’s inactivity remorseful pangs

Of serpent bites burn more fiercely in my heart.

Reveries seethe; in my mind, weighed down by anguish,

A throng of depressing thoughts crowd in;

Silently remembrance unfolds

Its long scroll before me.

And as I read about my life with loathing,

I tremble and curse,

And bitterly complain, and bitter tears shed,

But the sad lines I do not wash away.

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 Remembrance

 When strident day is stilled for mortal life,

And on the streets gone mute, on quiet squares,

The shade of night descends, assuaging strife,

And sleep glides in, reward for daylight’s cares,

 

Oppressive silence seeps into my soul,

I sit awake for hours in languor’s throes,

While shame and grim remorse imbued with dole

Exacerbate my guilt and reckonings impose.

 

I writhe in seething reveries, in guilt, anxiety,

While, elbows out, oppressive thoughts crowd in;

Remembrance stands and looks askance at me,

Un-scrolling his account of mortal sin.  

 

And loathing, cursing, grasping at my head,

Sickened and aghast I read the tale;

I bitterly repine and bitter teardrops shed,

But tears cannot the dread words countervail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Translation of Poem by Afanasy Fet Афанасий Фет, "Я пришёл к тебе с приветом," "I come to you at break of day,"

 

Altman, "Landscape in Blue"

One of Fet’s early lyric poems; written when he was twenty-three. This charming, exuberant poem remains among his most popular to this very day.

 

Афанасий Фет

(1820-1892)

 

Я пришёл к тебе с приветом,
Рассказать, что солнце встало,
Что оно горячим светом
По листам затрепетало;

Рассказать, что лес проснулся,
Весь проснулся, веткой каждой,
Каждой птицей встрепенулся
И весенней полон жаждой;

Рассказать, что с той же страстью,
Как вчера, пришёл я снова,
Что душа всё так же счастью
И тебе служить готова;

Рассказать, что отовсюду
На меня весельем веет,
Что не знаю сам, что́ буду
Петь — но только песня зреет.

 

1843

---

 

 

Literal Translation

I have come to you with a greeting,

To tell of how the sun has risen,

That how with its ardent light

It has begun flickering over the leaves;

 

To tell you that the forest has awakened,

All of it, each twig has awakened,

And has with every flitter of bird begun fluttering,

And is full of vernal craving;

 

To tell you that, just as yesterday,

With the same passion I have come [to you] again,

That my soul still is just as happy,

Ready to serve you anew;

 

To tell you that from everywhere

Joy wafts out over me,

That I myself don’t know what I’ll sing,

But song within me already ripens.

 

d

Literary Translations/Adaptations by U.R. Bowie

Variant One (Best)

 I come to you at break of day,

To greet you with the news: life’s up!

Her fervent sunlight flickers gay

O’er leaf and fresh spring buttercup.

 

To tell you that the woods have woke,

On every branch and twig they sing,

Each bird’s flit-feather, tweets convoke

Assemblages that thirst for spring.

 

To say that, just as yesterday,

As ardor’s slave I come to you,

That steeped in happiness at play,

I’ll serve you, palliate your rue;

 

To tell you that from God knows where

Ecstatic joy wafts through my veins;

I know not yet what song I’ll air,

But deep inside I nurse refrains.

 

Variant Two (Second Best)

 

I come to you with daybreak greeting,

To tell you of the risen sun,

Of how its rays, with shade competing,

Across the glints of foliage run;  

 

To tell you that the woods have woken,

With every branch and twig that sing,

Each feather-flit of bird a token

Of nature’s yearning thirst for spring; 

 

To say that, just as yesterday,

With fervidness I come to you,

That steeped in glee and bliss at play,

My soul will palliate your rue;

 

To tell you that from God knows where

Contentment wafts through all my veins,

I know not yet what song I’ll air,

But deep inside I nurse refrains.

                                                               Levitan, "Birch Grove"

 Declamation of the poem on YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7Kcli0z9sg&ab_channel=ruslovoruslovo

 

 

 

 

 

 

Questions and Answers (In the Dead of the Night); From the Series “Country Music Lyrics”

 

From the Series “Country Music Lyrics”

 

Questions and Answers

(In the Dead of the Night)

 

Can I live with all this low-down

Lonesome heartache, pain and blues?

You can if you got to,

And you know that you got to,

And if you know that you got to, then

You know that you can.

 

Can I live through one more hour

Of February snow and ice and

Dismal days and still worse nights

And reams of alcoholic haze?

You can if you know that

You ain’t got no choice, son;

If you know that you got to, then

You know that you can.

 

Will the sunlit times come soon,

And burn off all this aching pain,

And dry up all the booze inside,

And send me solace, daylight warmth,

With sweet and dreamless sleep at night,

And help me make it through this life?

They may come right soon, son,

And they may not come, ever,

Life makes no promises,

That ain’t life’s job.

Your job’s to live, son,

To load years, transport ’em,

You just walk on now, you hear?

 

I can if I got to,

And I know that I got to;

If you know that you got to, then

You know that you can.

 

Note

Lyrics from the notebook of Bobby Lee Goosey, written in the 1980s. Song originally intended for George Jones, but George never got around to recording it.

Lenten Prayer of St. Ephrem of Syria, Translation of Poem by Aleksandr Pushkin, "Отцы пустынники и жены непорочны," "The anchorites in deserts and the women pious, chaste,"

 

 

 

Lenten Prayer of St. Ephrem of Syria

(from Wikipedia)

 Kievan version of 1639, in Old Church Slavonic and in English Translation

 Господи и владыко живота моегω, духъ оунынїѧ, небрежεнїѧ, любоначалїѧ и празднословїѧ ѿжεни ѿ мεнε.

Духъ же цѣломѹдрїѧ, смиреномѹдрїѧ, терпѣнїѧ и любве, дарѹй ми рабѹ твоемѹ.

Ей Господи Царю, даждь ми зрѣти моѧ согрѣшенїѧ, и не ωсуждати брата моегω, якω благословенъ еси во вѣки вѣковъ. Аминь.

 O Lord and Master of my life, take from me a spirit of despondency, sloth, love of power, and idle talk.

But give to me, your servant, a spirit of sober-mindedness, humility, patience, and love.

Yes, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own sins and not to judge my brother, since you are blessed to the ages of ages. Amen.

 

Nikonian version of 1656, in Old Church Slavonic and English

 Господи и владыко живота моегω, духъ праздности, оунынїѧ, любоначалїѧ и празднословїѧ не даждь ми.

Духъ же цѣломѹдрїѧ, смиренномѹдрїѧ, терпѣнїѧ и любве, дарѹй ми рабѹ твоемѹ.

Ей Господи Царю, даруй ми зрѣти моѧ прегрѣшенїѧ, и не ωсуждати брата моегω, якω благословенъ еси во вѣки вѣковъ. Аминь.

 

O Lord and Master of my life, grant me not a spirit of sloth, despondency, love of power, and idle talk.

But give to me, your servant, a spirit of sober-mindedness, humility, patience, and love.

Yes, O Lord and King, grant me to see my own faults and not to judge my brother, since you are blessed to the ages of ages. Amen.

 

Note

This Nikonian variant is the form of the prayer that has been in use in the Russian Orthodox Church and most Slavic Orthodox churches since the time of the Nikonian reforms. It is, presumably, the variant Aleksandr Pushkin would have heard in Russian churches in his time. His version in the poem—written not in the Old Church Slavonic of the Russian Orthodox service, but in the Russian of his day—differs only slightly from the original. For one thing, instead of listing two vices, despondency (melancholy) and idleness (sloth), he combines the two into one image of “despondent idleness.” One word, tselomudrie, has the meaning “chastity” in modern Russian, but in OCS is more often translated as “wisdom” (the “sober-mindedness” in the translation above). Not sure whether in the Russian of Pushkin’s time (early 19^th Century) the word would have yet taken on its modern meaning.

 

d

 

Aleksandr Pushkin

(1799-1837)

 

Отцы пустынники и жены непорочны,
Чтоб сердцем возлетать во области заочны,
Чтоб укреплять его средь дольних бурь и битв,
Сложили множество божественных молитв;
Но ни одна из них меня не умиляет,
Как та, которую священник повторяет
Во дни печальные Великого поста;
Всех чаще мне она приходит на уста
И падшего крепит неведомою силой:
Владыко дней моих! дух праздности унылой,
Любоначалия, змеи сокрытой сей,
И празднословия не дай душе моей.
Но дай мне зреть мои, о боже, прегрешенья,
Да брат мой от меня не примет осужденья,
И дух смирения, терпения, любви
И целомудрия мне в сердце оживи.

 1836

 

                                    Pushkin’s Variant on the Lenten Prayer of St. Ephrem of Syria

(Prose Translation by U.R. Bowie)

 The desert fathers, the women chaste of spirit, so that their hearts might soar in realms of the ineffable, so that they might find strength midst storms and strife terrestrial, composed a multitude of prayers unto their God. But none of them so touches me as that which the priest intones in the sorrowful days of the Great Lenten Fast. More than any other it comes to my lips, and with its untold force, it lifts me when I fall:

 O Lord of all my days! Send not into my soul one whiff of idleness despondent, send not the hidden serpent that is lust for power, and still the idle babble of the tongue. Grant, rather, unto me to see, O God, my trespasses; to let my brother man be free of all my judgments. Revive within my heart the spirit of meek humility, of patience, love and chastity.

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation of the Poem by U.R. Bowie

 

The anchorites in deserts and the women pious, chaste,

So that their hearts might soar on high to realms with virtue laced,

So that they might find strength midst storms and sempiternal strife,

A plenitude of prayers composed, of words with reverence rife;

 

But no one prayer so soothes my soul

As that which in the time of dole,

Of Lenten Fast the priest intones;

My lips it strokes in soothing tones,

And when I fall it lifts me high:

 

O Lord of all my days, be nigh!

Wipe clean my inner being of all sloth and lethargy,

The hidden snake of power-lust let rendered powerless be,

And when my tongue wags overmuch please help me rein it in,

But grant to me to see my faults, the trespasses and sin,

And stifle all my tendencies to judge my sister-brother;

Please permeate my soul, O God, with patience from above;

Send unpretentiousness as well, send chastity and love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GOD BLESS, from Bobby Goosey's Nonsense Verse for Kids

 

Translation of Poem by Fedor Tyutchev, Федор Тютчев, "Песок сыпучий по колени…" "Up to our axles in crumbly sand . . . "

 

Федор Тютчев

(1803-1873)

 

Песок сыпучий по колени…
Мы едем — поздно — меркнет день,
И сосен, по дороге, тени
Уже в одну слилися тень.

Черней и чаще бор глубокий —
Какие грустные места!
Ночь хмурая, как зверь стоокий,
Глядит из каждого куста!

1830

 

Literal Translation

Friable sand up to the knees . . .

We drive—it’s late—the day grows dark,

And by the roadside the shadows of pines

Have now merged into one shadow.

 

Ever darker and denser is the deep coniferous forest . . .

How sombre these regions are! . . .

The sullen night, like a hundred-eyed beast,

Peers out from every bush.

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 Up to our axles in crumbly sand . . .

We push on—late now—gloamings fade, 

And roadside pine-tree shadows stand,

All melded now in one vast shade.

 

The tree-line grove grows dark, bedight

With dismalness, such gloom and haze!

Like a hundred-eyed beast the sullen night

From each bush glares and bodes malaise.

 

d

 

Translator’s Notes

From annotations in the two-volume collection of Tyutchev’s verse, Moscow (Nauka Publishers, 1965), p. 350.

 

This poem was written in 1830, apparently in October, while the poet was on his way back to Munich from St. Petersburg. The verses have been much appreciated by other writers. Nekrasov praised the last two lines, compared them to a passage in Lermontov and found them superior to Lermontov’s lines. According to the annotator, both the Lermontov passage—which describes “a million dark eyes peering out in the darkness through the branches of every bush”—and Tyutchev’s lines here have their origins in a poem by Goethe, in which he refers to “a hundred black eyes in the darkness, peering out of the bushes.” Tolstoy placed a letter K (for “красота—beauty”) on his copy of the poem.

 

d

 These Tyutchev verses apparently haunted Vladimir Nabokov the translator, as he made numerous attempts over the years to render the poem into English. This, of course, was before he gave up altogether on translating poetry, declaring true poetic translation impossible—after he tried it with Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin and failed. Here are three of his attempts with Tyutchev’s poem:

 

1

The Journey

Knee-deep, this powdery sand . . . We ride

                late in the murky day.

 

Shadows cast by the pines now merged to form

                one shadow across our way.

 

Blacker and denser the wildwood grows.

                What a comfortless neighborhood!

 

Moody night peers like a hundred-eyed beast

                out of every bush in the wood.

1941-1944

 

 

2

The Journey

Soft sand comes up to our horses’ shanks

                as we ride in the darkening day

and the shadows of pines have closed their ranks:

                all is shadow along our way.

 

In denser masses the black trees rise.

                What a comfortless neighborhood!

Grim night like a beast with a hundred eyes

                Peers out of the underwood.

1941-1944

 

 

3

(Untitled, As in Original)

The crumbly sand is knee-high.

We’re driving late. The day is darkening,

And on the road the shadows of the pines

Into one shadow have already fused.

 

Blacker and denser is the deep pine wood.

What melancholy country!

Grim night like a hundred-eyed beast

Looks out of every bush.

1951-1957

 

See Vladimir Nabokov, Verses and Versions, Edited by Brian Boyd and Stanislav Shvabrin (Harcourt, 2008), p. 244-47.

 

Commentary by U.R. Bowie

 

Nabokov had trouble deciding what kind of sand the poet—plus whoever was with him, probably the driver of the carriage—was struggling through knee-deep. He couldn’t find the perfect word in English: friable, powdery, soft, crumbly; maybe there is no perfect word for sypuchij.

 Between Variant One above and Variant Two, he apparently discovered a problem that Tyutchev’s description had created. The first line suggests walking, knee-deep in sand, but the second line says they were driving or riding—the Russian verb can refer to riding on horseback or riding in a vehicle, but not to walking. And a horse cannot be “knee-deep,” since a horse has no knees. So in Variant Two Nabokov gave up on knees and described the sand up to the horses’ shanks. Now that’s some really high sand. A translator has to make one of two choices: giving up on the knees or giving up on the riding. In my translation I measured the sand up to the axles of the carriage.

 Nabokov came up with some good lines in English. I like especially, “Grim night like a beast with a hundred eyes.” But it’s understandable why he never published these translations in his lifetime. Especially weak is the line—which shows up in two variants: “What a comfortless neighborhood!” Comfortless, indeed, and “neighborhood,” suggests the environment of a city, rather than somewhere in the country. He finally discarded this discomfort only in Variant Three, in which he seems to be approaching the totally literal method that he finally decided on with Eugene Onegin—giving up for the most part on artistic effects.

 

After mapping out the literal translation above, it took me roughly twenty minutes to come up with my  literary translation/adaptation, which of course—in thrall to meter and rhyme—departs somewhat from the original meanings of words. My aim is not to get the exact words, but to achieve at least an approximation of the gist and the lyrical tone of the original. And to create a good poem in English.