Afanasy Fet
(1820-1892)
Бабочка
Ты прав. Одним воздушным очертаньем
Я так мила.
Весь бархат мой с его живым миганьем -
Лишь два крыла.
Не спрашивай: откуда появилась?
Куда спешу?
Здесь на цветок я легкий опустилась
И вот - дышу.
Надолго ли, без цели, без усилья,
Дышать хочу?
Вот-вот сейчас, сверкнув, раскину крылья
И улечу.
Ты прав. Одним воздушным очертаньем
Я так мила.
Весь бархат мой с его живым миганьем -
Лишь два крыла.
Не спрашивай: откуда появилась?
Куда спешу?
Здесь на цветок я легкий опустилась
И вот - дышу.
Надолго ли, без цели, без усилья,
Дышать хочу?
Вот-вот сейчас, сверкнув, раскину крылья
И улечу.
(written no later than Oct. 25, 1884)
LITERAL TRANSLATION
You’re right [butterfly narrator speaks to the poet]. It’s
just that one outline I trace in the air
That makes me so dear (precious).
All of my velvet with its live (vivacious) twinkling
(blinking)
Is just two wings.
Don’t ask from where I have appeared,
Where I’m rushing off to.
Here on this soft (light) bloom I have alighted
And now I breathe.
Is it for long that I aimlessly, effortlessly
Wish to breathe?
Any second now, with a flash, I’ll spread wide my wings
And fly away.
TRANSLATION BY ALEKSANDR POKIDOV
Butterfly
Yes, right you are! Alone for
outlines airy
I am so fine.
All velvet mine with all its
twinkle merry—
Two wings of mine.
O, never ask me, wherefrom I
appear
Or whither flit!
Upon a flow’r I have alighted
here
To breathe and sit.
How long, without an effort, aim
or worry
Am I to stay?
Just see, now I will flash my spread
wings glory
And fly away.
TRANSLATION BY U.R. BOWIE
Babochka
(Butterfly)
Look now: one bright flit in the
air
And I flaunt my precious bling.
All of this velvet with its
flicker-flair
Is only a wing, plus a wing.
Don’t ask from whence I’ve come,
Or whither I’m bound when I
leave.
Here on this flower in blithe slumberdom
I perch, and breathe.
Is it for long, in aimless bliss,
astride
My bloom I wish to suspirate?
Just watch: in no time now I’ll
flash-flip wide
My wings, fly off,
And dissipate.
In translating only four lines of this poem, Vladimir Nabokov, the lepidopterist, does a nice job of capturing the nineteenth-century feel of the style, what he calls "Fet's 'Butterfly' soliloquizing":
Whence have I come and whither am I hasting
Do not inquire;
Now on a graceful flower I have settled
And now respire.
(in Speak, Memory, p. 129)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUyCuuuhrVU
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