Translation of Poem by Boris Pasternak, Борис Пастернак, "WINTER NIGHT," "Зимняя ночь"

 

Борис Пастернак

(1890-1960)

Зимняя ночь

Мело, мело по всей земле
Во все пределы.
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

 

Как летом роем мошкара
Летит на пламя,
Слетались хлопья со двора
К оконной раме.

 

Метель лепила на стекле
Кружки и стрелы.
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

 

На озаренный потолок
Ложились тени,
Скрещенья рук, скрещенья ног,
Судьбы скрещенья.

 

И падали два башмачка
Со стуком на пол.
И воск слезами с ночника
На платье капал.

 

И все терялось в снежной мгле
Седой и белой.
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

 

На свечку дуло из угла,
И жар соблазна
Вздымал, как ангел, два крыла
Крестообразно.

 

Мело весь месяц в феврале,
И то и дело
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

 

 

d

 

Translator’s Note

This poem was first composed in Dec., 1946, as part of the text of the novel Doctor Zhivago, first published in 1958. Set to music many times and much analyzed, it is one of those poems that practically any Russian seems familiar with.

 

 

 

d

 

Literal Translation

 

Winter Night

 

Snow swept all across the earth

From end of earth to end.

A candle on a table burned,

A candle burned.

 

As a swarm of midges in summer

Flies into a flame,

Clumps of snow from the courtyard

Flew up against the window frame.

 

The blizzard sculpted on the glass

Circles and arrows.

The candle burned on the table,

The candle burned.

 

On the brightly lit ceiling

Shadows coalesced,

Hands interlaced [crossed], legs interlaced,

Fates interlaced.

 

And with a clunk fell

Two shoes to the floor.

And wax in tears from the nightlight

Dripped on the dress.

 

And everything was lost in snowy murk,

Gray and white.

The candle burned on the table,

The candle burned.

 

A draught blew on the candle from a corner,

And a heat of temptation

Raised up, like an angel, two wings

In the shape of a cross.

 

The whole month of February was swept with snow,

And now and again

The candle burned on the table,

The candle burned.

 

d

 

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

Winter Night

 

O’er all the earth a snowstorm swirling,

Yearning snowflakes, endless whirling.

A candle on a table burning,

A candle burned.

 

As mayflies in a summer swarming

Fly toward a flamelet seeking warming,

Snowy floccules ascertain

How to paste a pane. 

 

Arrows, circles, frosted ferns

Blizzard-sculpted on cold glass.

The candle on the table burned,

The candle burned.

 

On the ceiling brightly lit

Shades and shadows blend and flit,

Legs and arms sheer interlacings,

Fates all interlaced.

 

Two shoes fall, one low, one hightop,

Clunk and flop, void of finesse.

Nightlight lamp in drips like teardrops

Dribbling wax on dress.

 

And all was lost in snowmist blurred,

Gray-white, unconcerned.

The candle on the table burned,

The candle burned.

 

A draught on candleflame, one waft,

In fever’s fervid firestorm,

Raised up two angel’s wings aloft,

To stand in trembling cruciform.

 

February whirled in snow,

While on and on through yearning,

A candle on the table burned,

The candle went on burning.

 

d

 

 

 

 

Читает Сергей Бехтерев:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOS80KyYMuY&ab_channel=%D0%A1%D1%82%D1%83%D0%B4%D0%B8%D1%8F%22%D0%A6%D0%B2%D0%B5%D1%82%22%D0%BC%D0%B5%D0%B4%D0%B8%D0%B0%D1%86%D0%B5%D0%BD%D1%82%D1%80%D0%B0%D0%A1%D0%9F%D0%B1%D0%90%D0%9F%D0%9F%D0%9E

 

On Semelparity (One and Done)

                                                                         Ant Head (Closeup)

One And Done

The reproductive style of breeding only once and then dying is called “semelparity.” Examples: Pacific salmon, Monarch butterflies. The only mammal that dies after reproducing is the Australian marsupial mouse, who weighs one to three ounces and looks like a rat, but is not a rodent. After breeding the male goes into a state of senility, his thick fur falls out and bald patches appear. He is usually dead by the time the female gives birth to 3-5 young a month later.

 

Bamboos Go One and Done

At least 137 species of bamboo are semelparous. Each plant in a huge bamboo forest may live more than a century before reproducing. Then somebody gives the sign, and, in an awesome display of semelparity, all the plants flower at once, drop their seeds, and die.

 

Death After Breeding in the Insect World

Black widow spiders finish off the act of mating by eating the male copulator. How was it for you, was it (GLOMP). Male honey bees who are lucky enough to mate with the queen in flight die straightaway—the genitalia literally explode. Wow, that was great sex, that was (KA-BOOM). The male praying mantis often has his head bitten off (CHUNK) in the act of copulation, but he goes chugging on, headless, until he gets his business done. Hmm, this might be a whole lot more fun if I still had a head.

[Excerpted from book by U.R. Bowie, Here We Be. Where Be We?]

                                                           Contented Tree Frog

Translation of poem by Boris Pasternak, Борис Пастернак, "Земля," THE EARTH

 

Борис Пастернак

(1890-1960)

Земля

В московские особняки
Врывается весна нахрапом.
Выпархивает моль за шкапом
И ползает по летним шляпам,
И прячут шубы в сундуки.

По деревянным антресолям
Стоят цветочные горшки
С левкоем и желтофиолем,
И дышат комнаты привольем,
И пахнут пылью чердаки.

И улица запанибрата
С оконницей подслеповатой,
И белой ночи и закату
Не разминуться у реки.

И можно слышать в коридоре,
Что происходит на просторе,
О чем в случайном разговоре
С капелью говорит апрель.
Он знает тысячи историй
Про человеческое горе,
И по заборам стынут зори
И тянут эту канитель.

И та же смесь огня и жути
На воле и в жилом уюте,
И всюду воздух сам не свой.
И тех же верб сквозные прутья,
И тех же белых почек вздутья
И на окне, и на распутье,
На улице и в мастерской.

Зачем же плачет даль в тумане
И горько пахнет перегной?
На то ведь и мое призванье,
Чтоб не скучали расстоянья,
Чтобы за городскою гранью
Земле не тосковать одной.

Для этого весною ранней
Со мною сходятся друзья,
И наши вечера прощанья,
Пирушки наши завещанья,
Чтоб тайная струя страданья
Согрела холод бытия.

 

d

 

Literal Translation

 

The Earth

Into the Moscow domiciles

Bursts impudent spring.

Behind the wardrobes moths flutter

And crawl along summer hats,

And fur coats are hidden away in trunks.

 

In the wooden mezzanines

There are flower pots with

Wallflower and gillyflower,

And the rooms breathe free

And the attics smell of dust.

 

And the street is all buddy-buddy

With the purblind window pane,

And the white night and sunset

Won’t not meet by the riverside.

 

And in the passageway can be heard

What’s going on in the great outdoors,

[Or] what in a casual chitchat

April has to say to driblets of thawing snow.

He [April] knows a thousand stories

About human grief,

And along the fences the gloaming chills

And drags out that tedious old yarn.

 

And there’s the same blend of fire and trepidation

Both outside and in the comfort of the home,

And everywhere the air is beside itself.

And the same fretwork look of willow withes,

And the same tumescence of white buds

On the windowsill and at crossroads,

On the street and in the workshop.

 

So then why does the distance weep in fog

And give off a bitter smell of humus?

After all, it’s my calling

[To see that] distant expanses don’t pine,

And that beyond the city limits

The earth need not grieve alone.

 

For that reason in early spring

My friends and I get together,

And our evenings are partings,

Our little feasts are testaments,

So that the secret stream of suffering

Might warm the cold of existence.

 

d

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

The Earth

 

Into the Moscow domiciles

Comes bursting rude and loudmouthed spring.

The moths in flutter, on the wing,

Crawl on our hats and summer bling;

Fur coats heaped up in trunks form piles.

 

And in the wooden mezzanines

Pots hold gillyflowers and stock,

Could be carnations; by all means

The rooms breathe free unfettered dreams,

And attics smell of dust and rot.

 

The street’s all buddy-buddy now

With purblind blear of windowpane,

The white night and the sun somehow

Can’t fail to meet by creekside lane.

 

What’s going on in great outdoors

Resounds through indoor two-by-fours,

And April has a brief chitchat

With snow-thaw drips from eaves and doors,

For April knows a thousand stories,

Of human sorrows, griefs and glories,

While gloaming keeps repositories

Of old wives’ tales and crude backchat.

 

And warmth with trepidation merges

Inside the home, on snowy verges,

The vernal air feels out of sorts.

Most everywhere the willow withes,

The white buds swollen lie surprised

On windowsills, where authorized,

On streets, in workshops, even courts.

 

So why then does the far haze weep

And why does humus smell so bitter?

It’s my job, after all, to keep

The distances well-pleased, asleep,

To see that out past city streets

The earth need not lament or witter.

 

That’s why when times reach early springs

My friends and I throw convocations;

Our soirees bid farewell to things,

At revelries we pledge heartstrings

To float our pain on water wings,

And take the chill off life’s privations.

Ave Imperator, morituri te salutant, Translations of Untitled Poem by Fyodor TYUTCHEV, Written in French, "Vous, dont on voit briller"

                                  Jean-Léon Gérôme “Ave Caesar! Morituri te salutant”

 

Ave Imperator, morituri te salutant

 

Translations of Untitled Poem by Fyodor Tyutchev Written in French

 

Vous, dont on voit briller, dans les nuits azurées, L’éclat immaculé, le divin élément, Etoiles, gloire à vous! Splendeurs toujours sacrées! Gloire à vous, qui durez incorruptiblement! L’homme, race éphémère et qui vit sous la nue, Qu’un seul et même instant voit naître et défleurir, Passe, les yeux au ciel. – II passe et vous salue! C’est l’immortel salut de ceux qui vont mourir. 1850 Фёдор Тютчев Exact date of poem (Tyutchev note on original text): “August 23, 1850. Night walk with Nesti.” Nesti was his nickname for his second wife Ernestine F. Tyutchev.

Translation into Russian by M.P. Kudinov Вам, изливающим из глубины ночной Свой непорочный свет, чья сущность неизменна, – О звезды, слава вам! Сияя красотой, Не ведаете вы ни дряхлости, ни тлена. А люди призрачны… Топча земную твердь, В один и тот же миг живя и умирая, На вас глядят они, идущие нa смерть, Бессмертный свой привет вам, звезды, посылая. d Translation from the Russian Translation into English Literal Translation To you, who pour out from the depths of night Your chaste light, whose existence is unchangeable, O stars, glory unto you! Shining with beauty, You know neither decrepitude, nor decay.   But people are transparent . . . Tramping the ground of earth, Living and dying in one and the same instant, They gaze at you, while walking toward death, Sending their immortal greeting to you, o stars.   d   Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie   O stars who pour your benefaction From depths of night, e’er fixed and static, Immune to rot and putrefaction, We praise your chaste light charismatic!   A human life, a flip of dice, Is past in what’s but one brief trice,    We walk toward death and gaze on high, And send our best to nebulae!   d

Translation into Russian by V.A. Kostrov

Когда в ночной тиши лазурью дышит воздух,
Сиянием стихий волнуются сердца,
Вовеки слава вам, божественные звезды.
Священный ваш огонь да длится без конца!

И человечий род, страдающий и тленный,
Рожденный лишь на миг и гибнущий тотчас
Проходит, устремив глаза к огням вселенной:
– Идущие на смерть приветствуют вас!

 

Translation from the Russian Translation into English

Literal Translation

When in the hush of night the air breathes with blueness,

Hearts are stirred by the glitter of nature’s elements,

Glory to you for all time, o divine stars.

May your sacred flames live on without end!

 

 

And the human race, suffering and transient,

Born for but a moment and immediately perishing,

Passes on, training its eyes on the flames of the universe:

“We who are about to die salute you!”

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

Ave Imperator, morituri te salutant

 

When midst the hush of night the very air breathes cobalt blue,

Our hearts are stirred by heaven’s grand décor,

O stars divine, we glorify your scope and vast purview,

May your flame blessed and sanctified burn on forevermore!

 

All mortal creatures writhe on earth in transience and shame,

Our lives are but begun and then are through,

We pass along to nowhere bound, our eyes fixed on the flame,

And say, “We who are about to die salute you!”