Не дай мне бог сойти с ума.
Нет, легче посох и сума;
Нет, легче труд и глад.
Не то, чтоб разумом моим
Я дорожил; не то, чтоб с ним
Расстаться был не рад:
Когда б оставили меня
На воле, как бы резво я
Пустился в темный лес!
Я пел бы в пламенном бреду,
Я забывался бы в чаду
Нестройных, чудных грез.
И я б заслушивался волн,
И я глядел бы, счастья полн,
В пустые небеса;
И силен, волен был бы я,
Как вихорь, роющий поля,
Ломающий леса.
Да вот беда: сойди с ума,
И страшен будешь как чума,
Как раз тебя запрут,
Посадят на цепь дурака
И сквозь решетку как зверка
Дразнить тебя придут.
А ночью слышать буду я
Не голос яркий соловья,
Не шум глухой дубров -
А крик товарищей моих,
Да брань смотрителей ночных,
Да визг, да звон оков.
Александр Пушкин, 1833
---
King Lear:
O, let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven!
I would not be mad. Keep me in temper.
I would not be mad.
---
Аркадий Янишевский
Построчный перевод на английский
@
http://home.comcast.net/~alexyan/pushkin.pdf
---
Let me not lose my senses, God;
Better the pilgrim's scrip and rod,
Or toil and hunger sad.
Not that I prize this mind of mine,
Or that my reason to resign
I should not be right glad,
If only then they'd set me free.
How sportively I'd flee
To where the dark wood gleams!
I'd sing in raving ecstasies,
Forgetting self in fantasies
Of changeful wondrous dreams.
To the wild waves I'd lend an ear,
And glancing upward, full of cheer,
Would scan the open sky ;
And strong and free I'd rush amain,
A whirlwind sweeping o'er the plain,
Crashing through woods I'd fly.
But there's the rub ! You lose your sense -
Are dreaded like a pestilence,
And clapped in prison drear.
They chain you to the idiot's yoke,
And, through the cage-bars, to provoke
The wild beast they draw near.
No more the nightingale to hear
At midnight singing sweet and clear,
Nor greenwood's rustling strains,
But only brother-madmen's cries,
The nightly keeper's blasphemies.
And shrieks, and clamor of chains.
John Pollen, "Rhymes from the Russian", 1891
@
http://archive.org/stream/russiansongslyri00pollrich/russiansongslyri00pollrich_djvu.txt
https://archive.org/stream/rhymesfromrussia00poll/rhymesfromrussia00poll_djvu.txt
---
To lose my mind I dread; 'tis worse
Than, facing beggary and dearth,
To starve and labor hard;
Not that my acumen were so
Endeared; not that to let it go
Were painful to my heart:
If only I were left to stay
Unchained, how speedily I'd stray
Into the darkest woods!
I would deliriously sing,
I'd daydream in a smoky ring
Of odd diluted moods;
The sound of waves would take me high,
And, overjoyed, the empty sky
I'd contemplate for long;
And like a twister plowing fields
And sweeping crushingly through wealds,
I would be free and strong.
But truth is: be my mind not clear,
A plague will merit as much fear;
One blink and I am seized,
Put on a chain and barred, a fool,
For crowds to tease and ridicule
As animals get teased.
And then at night my ear will trail -
Not singing of a nightingale,
Not rustling of the rain,
But yells of my poor comrades barred,
And curses of the nighttime guard,
And cries, and clanging chain.
Евгения Саркисьянц, 2011
@
http://www.stihi.ru/2011/06/08/1728
---
Oh, save me God from going mad,
I would prefer to die instead,
No! I would rather drudge,
Or starve, or waste whole life in vain,
And not because I grudge my brain
Or value it too much.
If only freedom I could keep,
Oh, how happily then I'd skip
About in a field,
And I would sing, and I would dream,
Over the air and water skim,
My madness being my shield.
But that 's the trouble: go mad
And they will treat you like a cad,
And chain you up at once,
All life you'll have fool's cap to wear,
And they will tease you like a bear
And never give a chance
T'escape from bars. And all night long
You'll listen not to th' sea waves song
Or warbling of the birds,
But moans of fellow inmates,
And clanking chains, and squeaking gates,
And warder's foul words.
VG, 15 ноября 2012