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mincaoЗадумался, существует и перевод "Пира во время чумы".
Небольшой гуглёж - оказывается, Набоков переводил!
и еще интересный перевод, ритмически более привычный, но оценить качество я не в состоянии.
Alexander Pushkin
HYMN TO PLAGUE (from The Feast of Pestilence)
====================================================
I. Translated by Vladimir Nabokov.
When mighty Captain Winter swoops
upon us with his hoary troops,
leading against us all his grim
legions of frost and snow,-
logs crackling brightly laugh at him
and festive wine cups glow.
Her awful Majesty the Plague
now comes at us with nothing vague
about her aims and appetite;
with a grave-digger's spade
she knocks at windows day and night.
Where should we look for aid?
Just as we deal wth Winter's pest
against *this* one it will be best
to stay in lighted rooms and drink
and drown our minds, and jest.
Come, let us dance upon the brink
to glorify Queen Pest!
There's bliss in battle and there's bliss
on the dark edge of an abyss
and in the fury of the main
amid foam-crested death;
in the Arabian hurricane
and in the Plague's light breath.
All, all such mortal dangers fill
a mortal's heart with a deep thrill
of wordless rapture that bespeaks
maybe, immortal life,
-and happy is the man who seeks
and tastes them in his strife.
And so, Dark Queen, we praise thy reign!
Thou callest us, but we remain
unruffled by the chill of death,
clinking our cups, carefree,
drinking a rose-lipped maiden's breath
full of the Plague, maybe!
если кому-то интересно, вот перевод моей знакомой
======================================================
II. Translated by Tanya Wolfson and Ian Abramson.
When the winter launches harsh campaigns
And everywhere across our plains
Its grisly soldiers surge in droves,
Its corps of cold and storm and sleet,
We stand our ground with glowing stoves
And radiant is our winter heat!
Her dreaded majesty, Queen Plague
Approaches now, league after league,
Harvesting both staunch keep and hovel.
Our homes resound the whole night through
With thuds of her gravedigger's shovel.
What do we do? What can we do?
As we have done in winter wars,
We'll keep the plague outside the doors.
We'll lock our homes and fill our glasses,
Light blazing fires and soak the brains!
With balls and feasts, with wine and kisses
We'll celebrate our dread queen's reign!
In the thick of battle there is bliss,
And on the brink of the abyss,
And on a ship, when the sea is rabid
And hopes of seeing dawn are vague,
And in the sandstorm of Arabia,
And in the sweeping breath of plague.
Within all that which threatens doom
A mortal heart finds hidden room
Full of delights untold and even
Into immortal life insights.
Happy the few, mid turmoil driven
To seize and relish these delights.
Queen Plague, we drink your happiness!
Your summons stun us less and less.
Each day your human harvest grows,
Meanwhile we clink and drain our cups
And drink the breath of fair maid Rose,
The breath of pestilence, perhaps!
найдено здесь: https://forum.privet.com/viewtopic.php?style=3&t=91283
Небольшой гуглёж - оказывается, Набоков переводил!
и еще интересный перевод, ритмически более привычный, но оценить качество я не в состоянии.
Alexander Pushkin
HYMN TO PLAGUE (from The Feast of Pestilence)
====================================================
I. Translated by Vladimir Nabokov.
When mighty Captain Winter swoops
upon us with his hoary troops,
leading against us all his grim
legions of frost and snow,-
logs crackling brightly laugh at him
and festive wine cups glow.
Her awful Majesty the Plague
now comes at us with nothing vague
about her aims and appetite;
with a grave-digger's spade
she knocks at windows day and night.
Where should we look for aid?
Just as we deal wth Winter's pest
against *this* one it will be best
to stay in lighted rooms and drink
and drown our minds, and jest.
Come, let us dance upon the brink
to glorify Queen Pest!
There's bliss in battle and there's bliss
on the dark edge of an abyss
and in the fury of the main
amid foam-crested death;
in the Arabian hurricane
and in the Plague's light breath.
All, all such mortal dangers fill
a mortal's heart with a deep thrill
of wordless rapture that bespeaks
maybe, immortal life,
-and happy is the man who seeks
and tastes them in his strife.
And so, Dark Queen, we praise thy reign!
Thou callest us, but we remain
unruffled by the chill of death,
clinking our cups, carefree,
drinking a rose-lipped maiden's breath
full of the Plague, maybe!
если кому-то интересно, вот перевод моей знакомой
======================================================
II. Translated by Tanya Wolfson and Ian Abramson.
When the winter launches harsh campaigns
And everywhere across our plains
Its grisly soldiers surge in droves,
Its corps of cold and storm and sleet,
We stand our ground with glowing stoves
And radiant is our winter heat!
Her dreaded majesty, Queen Plague
Approaches now, league after league,
Harvesting both staunch keep and hovel.
Our homes resound the whole night through
With thuds of her gravedigger's shovel.
What do we do? What can we do?
As we have done in winter wars,
We'll keep the plague outside the doors.
We'll lock our homes and fill our glasses,
Light blazing fires and soak the brains!
With balls and feasts, with wine and kisses
We'll celebrate our dread queen's reign!
In the thick of battle there is bliss,
And on the brink of the abyss,
And on a ship, when the sea is rabid
And hopes of seeing dawn are vague,
And in the sandstorm of Arabia,
And in the sweeping breath of plague.
Within all that which threatens doom
A mortal heart finds hidden room
Full of delights untold and even
Into immortal life insights.
Happy the few, mid turmoil driven
To seize and relish these delights.
Queen Plague, we drink your happiness!
Your summons stun us less and less.
Each day your human harvest grows,
Meanwhile we clink and drain our cups
And drink the breath of fair maid Rose,
The breath of pestilence, perhaps!
найдено здесь: https://forum.privet.com/viewtopic.php?style=3&t=91283
