Лидия
Чуковская
(1907-1996)
Как странно, есть ещё живые.
Руками машут, говорят.
Большие, шумные такие,
И не лежат, и не молчат.
Цел мостик, речка вольно плещет,
Туман, где хочет, там плывёт.
И не от ужаса трепещет —
От ветра! — тополь у ворот.
1941
d
Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie
The Way Things Feel When War Has Come
How strange,
the living still exist.
They’re waving their arms, conversing.
Big loud folks who won’t desist,
Not lying down, not quietly dispersing.
The bridge
still stands,
the stream still splashes,
the fog goes floating wherever it wishes.
And the poplar,
quaking by the gate,
still flashes
its foliage;
but the wind, not horror,
is to blame for its swishes!
They’re waving their arms, conversing.
Big loud folks who won’t desist,
Not lying down, not quietly dispersing.
the stream still splashes,
the fog goes floating wherever it wishes.
And the poplar,
quaking by the gate,
still flashes
its foliage;
but the wind, not horror,
is to blame for its swishes!
