Иннокентий Анненский
(1855-1909)
Decrescendo
Из тучи с тучей в
безумном споре
Родится шквал, —
Под ним зыбучий в пустынном море
Вскипает вал.
Он полон страсти,
он мчится гневный,
Грозя брегам.
А вслед из пастей за ним стозевный
И рев и гам…
То, как железный,
он канет в бездны
И роет муть,
То, бык могучий, нацелит тучи
Хвостом хлестнуть…
Но ближе…
ближе, и вал уж ниже,
Не стало сил,
К ладье воздушной хребет послушный
Он наклонил…
И вот чуть
плещет, кружа осадок,
А гнев иссяк…
Песок так мягок, припек так гладок:
Плесни — и ляг!
А гнев иссяк…
Песок так мягок, припек так гладок:
Плесни — и ляг!
Decrescendo: Ослабевая
(ит.) – музыкальный термин, означающий постепенное убывание звучности.
d
Literal Translation
Decrescendo
From storm cloud to
storm cloud in a frenetic squabble
A squall is born.
Beneath it, rippling on the empty sea,
A billow surges up.
Full of passion, it
hurtles on angrily,
Threatening the shores.
Following after it come, gaping in the hundreds,
Maws of dins and roars.
Now, as if made of iron,
it slices into the abysses
And churns up the muck,
Now, a mighty bull, it takes aim at the storm clouds,
To lash [them] with its tail.
But nearer and nearer, and
the billow is lower now,
Its energies expended.
Toward an airy [buoyant] sea vessel it bows
Its obedient crag. . .
And now it barely makes
splashes, swirling sediment about,
Its fury has waned. . .
The sand is so soft, blazing sunspots so smooth:
Just one last splash and lie down!
d
Literary
Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie
Decrescendo
Cloud crashes storm cloud, O my, what a
clamor,
A squall is born.
From empty sea rippling, with clangorous clangor,
A billow is torn.
The
billow’s all fervor-crazed, hurtles frenetically,
Threatens the shores.
Foaming maws gaping in hundreds splenetically,
Bellows and roars.
Billow
like steel blade slashes abysses,
Churns up the muck.
Like a bull snorting, its tail all twitches
To lash clouds amuck.
But
nearer now, nearer, the billow’s much slower,
Its forces are sapped.
The crag of the billow bows down ever lower,
The tumult is barely intact.
And
now things are splashy and sediment swirly,
The fury has waned . . .
The beach sand is soft and the sunspots all twirly,
Last splash . . . and squall’s drained!
A squall is born.
Beneath it, rippling on the empty sea,
A billow surges up.
Threatening the shores.
Following after it come, gaping in the hundreds,
Maws of dins and roars.
And churns up the muck,
Now, a mighty bull, it takes aim at the storm clouds,
To lash [them] with its tail.
Its energies expended.
Toward an airy [buoyant] sea vessel it bows
Its obedient crag. . .
Its fury has waned. . .
The sand is so soft, blazing sunspots so smooth:
Just one last splash and lie down!
A squall is born.
From empty sea rippling, with clangorous clangor,
A billow is torn.
Threatens the shores.
Foaming maws gaping in hundreds splenetically,
Bellows and roars.
Churns up the muck.
Like a bull snorting, its tail all twitches
To lash clouds amuck.
Its forces are sapped.
The crag of the billow bows down ever lower,
The tumult is barely intact.
The fury has waned . . .
The beach sand is soft and the sunspots all twirly,
Last splash . . . and squall’s drained!
No comments:
Post a Comment