Зимняя дорога
Сквозь волнистые туманы
Пробирается луна,
На печальные поляны
Льёт печально свет она.
По дороге зимней, скучной
Тройка борзая бежит,
Колокольчик однозвучный
Утомительно гремит.
Что-то слышится родное
В долгих песнях ямщика:
То разгулье удалое,
То сердечная тоска......
Ни огня, ни черной хаты,
Глушь и снег.... На встречу мне
Только версты полосаты
Попадаются одне...
Скучно, грустно... Завтра, Нина,
Завтра к милой возвратясь,
Я забудусь у камина,
Загляжусь не наглядясь.
Звучно стрелка часовая
Мерный круг свой совершит,
И, докучных удаляя,
Полночь нас не разлучит.
Грустно, Нина: путь мой скучен,
Дремля смолкнул мой ямщик,
Колокольчик однозвучен,
Отуманен лунный лик.
Александр Пушкин, 1826
---
Winter Road
Through the murk the moon is veering,
Ghost-accompanist of night,
On the melancholy clearings
Pouring melancholy light.
Runs the troika with its dreary
Toneless jangling sleigh-bell on
Over dismal snow' I'm weary,
Hungry, frozen to the bone.
Coachman in a homely fashion's
Singing as we flash along;
Now a snatch of mournful passion,
Now a foulmouthed drinking-song.
Not a light shines, not a lonely
Dusky cabin. . . Snow and hush. . .
Streaming past the troika only
Mileposts, striped and motley, rush.
Dismal, dreary. . . But returning
Homewards! And tomorrow, through
Pleasant crackles of the burning
Pine-logs, I shall gaze at you:
Dream, and go on gazing, Nina,
One whole circle of the clock;
Midnight will not come between us,
When we gently turn the lock
On our callers. . . Drowsing maybe,
Coachman's faded, lost the tune;
Toneless, dreary, goes the sleigh-bell;
Nina, clouds blot out the moon.
http://www.russianlegacy.com/en/go_to/culture/poetry/pushkin.htm
http://www.poetarium.info/pushkin/winter_road.htm
Автор перевода не указан, к сожалению
---
The Winter Road
Through the cool and wavy hazes
Cuts the moon her slow way;
On the glades of sadness, endless,
Her distressing light she spays.
The exhausting winter road
Leads the troika, full of strength;
The light bell with one tone loaded,
Weary rings through all time's length.
One can hear something native
In the coachman's long songs -
Or a revel, superlative,
Or a soul's sadness, strong.
Nor a light nor a dark house -
Wild and snow... On my way,
Just the striped versts arouse
And, this moment, run away.
Yevgeny Bonver, October 7, 2004
---
The Winter Road
Through the wavy mist of a'cloud
The Moon is creeping in the night;
And on doleful fields around
Dolefully it sheds her light.
On the tiresome winter road
A swift troika tears along;
Monotone, on the same note,
The `sleigh-bell rings its boring song.
Neither light, nor even `dark hut,
Snowy boonies... During the trip
I am meeting nothing but
Lonely fields and mileposts striped.
Something is familiar and touching
In the coachman's endless songs,
Sometimes merry and debauching,
Sometimes painful, like "heart tongs".
Sad and boring... But tomorrow
Nina, next to the fireplace,
I'll forget my bitter sorrow
Gazing at your dear face.
Steadily, the clock-hand chiming
Makes full round, the day will pass,
Then midnight will come in time and
Drive them out, all but us.
Nina, I am sad and lonely,
Th' coachman fell `silent, half asleep,
Th' bell is clinging monotonely,
The Moon is pale, the night is deep...
VG, 19 января 2014