Конкурс молодых поэтов-переводчиков 2014 года
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Конкурс молодых поэтов-переводчиков 2014 года
АНГЛИЙСКИЙ ЯЗЫК
| Unknown Poets | Florence Bone (1875 – 1971) | Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869 – 1935) | Sara Tiesdale (1884 – 1933) |
| These I can Promise I cannot promise you a life of sunshine; I cannot promise riches, wealth, or gold; I cannot promise you an easy pathway That leads away from change or growing old. But I can promise all my heart's devotion; A smile to chase away your tears of sorrow; A love that's ever true and ever growing; A hand to hold in yours through each tomorrow. From This Day Forward From this day forward, You shall not walk alone. My heart will be your shelter, And my arms will be your home. The Optimist The optimist fell ten stories, At each window bar He shouted to his friends: “All right so far”. A Maxim Revised Ladies, to this advise give heed – In controlling men: If at first you don’t succeed Why, cry, cry again. | *****
God send us    a little home,
To come back to, when we roam.
Low walls and fluted tiles,
Wide windows, a view for miles.
Red firelight and deep chairs,
Small white beds upstairs –
Great talk in little nooks,
Dim colors, rows of books.
One picture on each wall,
Not many things at all.
God send us a little ground,
Tall trees stand round.
Homely flowers in brown sod,
Overhead, thy stars, О God.
God bless thee, when winds blow,
Our home, and all we know.
| A Happy Man When these graven lines you see, Traveller, do not pity me; Though I be among the dead, Let no mournful word be said. Children that I leave behind, And their children, all were kind; Near to them and to my wife, I was happy all my life. My three sons I married right, And their sons I rocked at night; Death nor sorrow never brought Cause for one unhappy thought. Now, and with no need of tears, Here they leave me, full of years, – Leave me to my quiet rest In the region of the blest. | ***** My heart is heavy with many a song Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree, But I can never give you one – My songs do not belong to me. Yet in the evening, in the dusk When moths go to and fro, In the gray hour if die fruit has fallen, Take it, no one will know. The Wine I cannot die, who drank delight From the cup of the crescent moon, And hungrily as men eat bread, Loved the scented nights of June. The rest may die – but is there not Some shining strange escape for me Who sought in Beauty the bright wine Of immortality? |
Конкурс молодых поэтов-переводчиков 2014 года
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ФРАНЦУЗСКИЙ ЯЗЫК
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