Showing posts with label Федор Тютчев. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Федор Тютчев. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 4, 2023

Translation of poem by Fyodor Tyutchev, Федор Тютчев, "Тихо в озере струится," "Softly o’er mere-waters’ ripples"

 


Федор Тютчев

(1803-1873)

 

Тихо в озере струится
Отблеск кровель золотых,
Много в озеро глядится
Достославностей былых
Жизнь играет, солнце греет,
Но под нею и под ним
Здесь былое чудно веет
Обаянием своим.

Солнце светит золотое,
Блещут озера струи
Здесь великое былое
Словно дышит в забытьи;

Дремлет сладко, беззаботно,
Не смущая дивных снов
И тревогой мимолетной
Лебединых голосов

 

1866

d

Literal Translation

Quietly in the lake streams

The reflection of golden rooftops,

Many are the glorious achievements of past times

That gaze into the lake.

Life is playing, sun is warming,

But beneath the play and the warmth

Past times here are marvelously wafting

Their charm.

 

The golden sun is shining,

The streaming lake is shimmering . . .

Here the grand past times

Seem to breathe on oblivious;

It drowses sweetly, carefree,

Not disturbing the marvelous dreams

And the fleeting disquiet

Of the swans’ voices . . .

 

d


Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

Softly o’er mere-waters’ ripples stream on

Reflections of golden rooftops,

Glories of past times muse in dream-song,

Gazing at gleams of sundrops.

Life playacts living, the sun spreads bright warming,

But beneath gamboling balm

Marvelous past times are wafting and swarming,

Exuding wellbeing and calm.

 

Glimmer the sunrays, goldenly gleaming,

Billowing swells scintillate.

Here the grand past times, silently streaming,

Breath on, forgetful, opaque.

Life drowses sweetly, tranquil and carefree,

Lulling the marvelous dreams,

In which the swans’ cries, softly and airily,

Sound midst unease of sunbeams. 

 

 



Tuesday, April 12, 2022

A UKRAINIAN POEM, Translation of Poem by Anna and Fyodor Tyutchev, Федор Тютчев, "Святые горы, "The Holy Mountains"

 


Федор Тютчев (and Anna Tyutchev)


Святые горы

Тихо, мягко, над Украйной
Обаятельною тайной
Ночь июльская лежит —
Небо так ушло глубоко,
Звезды светят так высоко,
И
 Донец во тьме блестит.

Сладкий час успокоенья!
Звон, литии, псалмопенья
Святогорские молчат —
Под обительской стеною,
Озаренные луною,
Богомольцы мирно спят.

И громадою отвесной,
В
 белизне своей чудесной,
Над Донцом утес стоит,
К
 небу крест свой возвышая…
И, как стража вековая,
Богомольцев сторожит.

Говорят, в его утробе,
Затворившись, как во
 гробе,
Чудный инок обитал,
Много лет в
 искусе строгом
Сколько слез он
 перед Богом,
Сколько веры расточал!..

Оттого ночной порою
Силой и
 поднесь живою
Над Донцом утес стоит —
И
 молитв его святыней,
Благодатной и
 доныне,
Спящий мир животворит.

1862

 

d

 

Literal Translation

                                                         The Holy Mountains

 


Silently, softly over Ukraine

With a secret enchantment

Lies the July night.

The sky has departed into the depths,

The stars are shining so high,

And the Donets [River] gleams in the dark.

 

Sweet hour of tranquility!
Peal [of bells], liturgy for the dead, singing of psalms,

The residents of Sviatogorsk are silent.

Beneath the walls of the monastery,

Lit by the moon,

The pilgrims are sleeping peacefully.

 

And a mass of sheer cliff

In its wondrous whiteness,

Over the Donets a crag hangs,

Raising its cross toward the sky…

And like an eternal nightwatchman,

It keeps watch over the pilgrims.

 

They say that in its depths,

Shutting himself away as in a coffin,

A marvelous anchorite once dwelt,

For many years in strictest asceticism,

So many tears he shed before God,

So much faith he dissipated!

 

Consequently, in time of night,

To this very day powerful and alive

Above the Donets the crag still hangs.

And the prayers of this sacred place,

Still grace-giving as ever today,

Give new life to the sleeping world.

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

The Holy Mountains

 

Rapt in some enchanted dream, 

Soft and silent o’er Ukraine

Lies July in night’s dim gleam.

Swathed in murky depths the sky,

Stars are glistening far on high,

Spangled Donets feels no pain. 

 

Tranquil time, sheer quietude,

Bell-peals, psalms sung, threnodies,

Sviatogorsk is still, subdued.

Neath the walls of monastery,

Bathed by lunar luminary,

Pilgrims sleep and dream at ease.


And a massive precipice,

Alabaster, heaven-blessed,

Looms o’er Donets that sheer cliff,

Raising high its cross toward sky,

Aged caretaker, keen of eye,

Vigil keeps as pilgrims rest.

 

Deep within its caves, they say,

Once there dwelt an anchorite,

Coffin-bound sequestered lay.

There he kept the strictest fast,

Supplications, tears amassed,

Was steadfast in his faith, contrite.

 

Still puissant to this day, in splendor,

O’er Donets that white crag looms;

Yet steeped in grace, the monk’s prayers render

Solacement to souls at sleep,

To folk who perforce breathe war’s fumes,  

Grant hope renewed to those who weep.  

 

d

 

Translator’s Notes

 

This poem is a joint effort. It was composed by Tyutchev’s eldest daughter, Anna Fyodorovna Tyutchev, in May, 1862. She sent it to her father, who promptly revised it to his own exacting standards. Apparently Anna had visited the region of the Holy Mountains and the monastery there, which was/is located in Eastern Ukraine, on the right bank of the Northern Donets River. The town nearby is Sviatogorsk (Holy Mount)—now spelled Sviatohirsk by Ukrainians. The city of Sloviansk is 30 km. away, and the largest city in the region, Kharkiv, is located to the NW of the Holy Mountains.  

 

In a letter to her sister Ekaterina, A.F. Tyutchev writes, “I’m sending you some new verses, which I wrote about the Holy Mountains and which papa revised in his own way. His poem, naturally, is incomparably better than mine, but he did not exactly capture my idea, the way I understood it” [original of the letter is in French]. Here is Anna’s poem:

 

СВЯТЫЕ ГОРЫ

  Тихо, мягко, ночь Украйны,

  Полна прелести и тайны,

  Над дубравою лежит.

  Темно небо так глубоко,

  Звезды светят так высоко,

  И во тьме Донец блестит.

  За обительской стеной

  Псалмопенье, звон святой

  До заутрени молчат;

  Под оградою толпой,

  Освещенные луной,

  Богомольцы мирно спят.

  И с крестом там на челе

  Белым призраком во тьме

  Над Донцом утес стоит.

  И, как дух минувших дней,

  Он молитвою своей

  Богомольцев сторожит.

  Во скале той священной

  Искони чернец смиренный

  Подвиг веры совершал

  И в духовном созерцанье

  Сколько слез и воздыханий

  Перед Богом изливал.

  Оттого, как дух блаженный,

  Величавый и смиренный

  Над Донцом утес стоит,

  И в тиши порой ночной

  Он молитвой вековой

  Спящий мир животворит.

 

[see Collection of Tyutchev’s poetry in two volumes (Moscow: Nauka Publishers, 1965), Vol. 2, p. 260-61, p. 426-27]

d

 

The Holy Mountains Monastery (Lavra) of the Dormition of the Mother of God

(from Wikipedia)

First written mention of the monastery dates from the seventeenth century, although it is likely that monks settled in the region as early as the 14th or 15th century. In 1679 the monastery was seized and plundered by Crimean Tatars. In 1787 Catherine the Great had the monastery closed. She secularized its lands and donated them to one of her favorites, the famous Prince Gregory Potemkin. Beginning in 1844, an heir of his, Aleksandr Potemkin, together with his wife Tatiana, returned the lands and financed a reestablishment of the monastery—supported by Tsar Nicholas I.

 During the Russian Revolution the Bolsheviks plundered and desecrated the monastery, beating and killing many of the monks; in 1922 they closed it down altogether and established on the grounds a resort/sanitorium for the workers of the Donbas. In 1991, after the fall of the Soviet Union, Ukraine became independent, and the monastery was restored. In 2004 it was granted the status of a Ukrainian Orthodox Church Lavra (lavra being at the highest level in the hierarchy of monasteries).

 Recently, in the turmoil of the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine, people evacuated from war zones in Eastern Ukraine took refuge at the monastery. On March 12, 2022, Russian aircraft attacked the bridge linking the right and left banks of the Northern Donets River, the Lavra and the city of Sviatogorsk. A bomb exploded, knocking out windows in buildings of the monastery and wounding several refugees. At the time of this posting (April 12, 2022), the city of Izyum, on the Donets River, just to the north of the Holy Mountains, had been seized by Russian forces; their next objective, apparently, was the nearby city of Sloviansk.

 The attached photographs show the bridge over the Donets, along with the chalk-white precipice that attracted Anna Tyutchev’s attention in 1862. The crosses behind the precipice are those of the St. Nicholas Church. Like the most famous Lavra in Ukraine, the Kiev-Cave Monastery, the Holy Mountains Lavra has caves in which ascetic monks dwell, practicing fasting, perpetual prayer, and mortification of the flesh. The caves are located within the chalk-white precipice. Here too is where the legendary monk/anchorite once dwelled, the one mentioned in the poem.

 




 YouTube video: Russian Orthodox Bells at the Holy Mount Monastery:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JuuMgL8POKM

NY Times article, from June 6, 2022:

Sunday, February 13, 2022

Translation of Poem by Fyodor Tyutchev, RAINBOW, Федор Тютчев, "Как неожиданно и ярко"

 


Федор Тютчев

(1803-1873)

 

Как неожиданно и ярко,

На влажной неба синеве,

Воздушная воздвиглась арка

В своем минутном торжестве!

Один конец в леса вонзила,

Другим за облака ушла –

Она полнеба обхватила

И в высоте изнемогла.

 

О, в этом радужном виденье

Какая нега для очей!

Оно дано нам на мгновенье,

Лови его - лови скорей!

Смотри - оно уж побледнело,

Еще минута, две - и что ж?

Ушло, как то уйдет всецело,

Чем ты и дышишь и живешь.

 

5 августа 1865

Ф.И.Тютчев. Полное собрание стихотворений. Ленинград, "Советский писатель", 1957.

 

Literal Translation

How unexpectedly and brightly,

On the moist blueness of the sky,

Has reared up an arch made of air

In its momentary triumph!

One end has pierced the forest,

The other has gone off beyond the clouds—

Half the sky has it encompassed

And has exhausted its efforts on high.

 

O, in that iridescent sight

What bliss there is for the eyes!

It is given to us only for an instant,

Catch it, catch it fast!

Look, it has already grown pale,

One more minute, two, and then what?

It will have gone, just as will be gone absolutely

Everything that you breathe and live by.

 

d

 

Literary Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie

 

Rainbow

Abruptly rearing, gleaming bright

Against the moist blue of the skies,

That arch that’s built of air and light

Triumphant hangs for but a trice.

 

One end has pierced the forest nigh,

The other dissipates in clouds.

All told it clutches half the sky,

Then fades, exhausted, space beshrouds.

 

What bliss there is for watching eyes

In iridescence strung on high.

An instant brief, and then it dies,

So quickly heed its hue and cry.

 

The bow (look there!) has pallid grown,

Just one more minute, maybe two,

It will have scattered, lost, windblown, 

Like all you cherish, love, and rue.