Alan Alexander Milne
18 January 1882; Hampstead, Middlesex, England -
31 January 1956; Hartfield, Sussex, England.
Автор "Винни-Пуха"
---
Teddy Bear
A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at;
He gets what exercise he can
By falling off the ottoman,
But generally seems to lack
The energy to clamber back.
Now tubbiness is just the thing
Which gets a fellow wondering;
And Teddy worried lots about
The fact that he was rather stout.
He thought: "If only I were thin!
But how does anyone begin?"
He thought: "It really isn"t fair
To grudge one exercise and air."
For many weeks he pressed in vain
His nose against the window-pane,
And envied those who walked about
Reducing their unwanted stout.
None of the people he could see
"Is quite" (he said) "as fat as me!"
Then, with a still more moving sigh,
"I mean" (he said) "as fat as I!
Now Teddy, as was only right,
Slept in the ottoman at night,
And with him crowded in as well
More animals than I can tell;
Not only these, but books and things,
Such as a kind relation brings -
Old tales of "Once upon a time,"
And history retold in rhyme.
One night it happened that he took
A peep at an old picture-book,
Wherein he came across by chance
The picture of a King of France
(A stoutish man) and, down below,
These words: "King Louis So and So,
Nicknamed "The Handsome!"" There he sat,
And (think of it!) the man was fat!
Our bear rejoiced like anything
To read about this famous King,
Nicknamed "The Handsome." There he sat,
And certainly the man was fat.
Nicknamed "The Handsome." Not a doubt
The man was definitely stout.
Why then, a bear (for all his tub )
Might yet be named "The Handsome Cub!"
"Might yet be named." Or did he mean
That years ago he "might have been"?
For now he felt a slight misgiving:
"Is Louis So and So still living?
Fashions in beauty have a way
Of altering from day to day.
Is "Handsome Louis" with us yet?
Unfortunately I forget."
Next morning (nose to window-pane)
The doubt occurred to him again.
One question hammered in his head:
"Is he alive or is he dead?"
Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but
The lattice window, loosely shut,
Swung open. With one startled "Oh!"
Our Teddy disappeared below.
There happened to be passing by
A plump man with a twinkling eye,
Who, seeing Teddy in the street,
Raised him politely to his feet,
And murmured kindly in his ear
Soft words of comfort and of cheer:
"Well, well!" "Allow me!" "Not at all."
"Tut-tut! A very nasty fall."
Our Teddy answered not a word;
It"s doubtful if he even heard.
Our bear could only look and look:
The stout man in the picture-book!
That "handsome" King - could this be he,
This man of adiposity?
"Impossible," he thought. "But still,
No harm in asking. Yes I will!"
"Are you," he said,"by any chance
His Majesty the King of France?"
The other answered, "I am that,"
Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat;
Then said, "Excuse me," with an air,
"But is it Mr Edward Bear?"
And Teddy, bending very low,
Replied politely, "Even so!"
They stood beneath the window there,
The King and Mr Edward Bear,
And, handsome, if a trifle fat,
Talked carelessly of this and that....
Then said His Majesty, "Well, well,
I must get on," and rang the bell.
"Your bear, I think," he smiled. "Good-day!"
And turned, and went upon his way.
A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at.
But do you think it worries him
To know that he is far from slim?
No, just the other way about -
He"s proud of being short and stout.
---
Медведь Тэдди
Известно всем, без физкультуры
Никак не сохранить фигуры.
Наш мишка Тэдди полноват,
Хоть в этом и не виноват.
Он просыпался утром рано
И прыгал кувырком с дивана,
Но после этого, понятно,
Не мог вскарабкаться обратно.
Так, оказавшись не у дел,
Он свыше меры растолстел.
А полнота - такое свойство,
Что вызывает беспокойство.
Наш Тэдди проводил всю ночь
В раздумьях, как беде помочь.
И утром, осмотрев понуро
Свою округлую фигуру,
Он восклицал: "Какой кошмар!
Пузырь, баллон, воздушный шар!"
И днем, в окно уткнувшись носом,
Над тем же размышлял вопросом.
Внизу народ бежал трусцой,
Борясь с излишней полнотой.
"Да," - отмечал медведь с тревогой -
"Таких, как я, не слишком много."
И, глядя убегавшим вслед,
С тоской вздыхал: "Их вовсе нет!"
Заботясь о своей осанке,
Наш Тэдди спал на оттоманке.
С ним рядом на одной подушке
Валялись разные игрушки,
И книжки, и подобный хлам,
Что на рожденья дарят вам.
Раз от бессонницы наш мишка
Листал одну такую книжку.
В ней нарисован был на троне
Дородный господин в короне
И на странице сорок три
Пояснено: "Король Луи
По прозвищу Красавец". Тэдди
Весьма степенным слыл медведем,
Но тут он подскочил на месте:
Мужчина весил фунтов двести.
"Весьма упитанный толстяк!
По прозвищу 'Красавец'... Так...
Выходит, даже и полнея,
Могу красавцем слыть вполне я!"
Всю ночь медведь провел в волненье;
Под утро вновь пришли сомненья.
Он жаждал получить ответ,
Луи-Красавец жив иль нет.
Ведь красота - служанка моды,
А та - капризнее погоды.
Быть может, просвещённый взгляд
Господствовал лет сто назад.
Когда Луи-Красавец жил,
Я, к сожалению, забыл.
Над новым думая вопросом,
Медведь в окно уткнулся носом.
Вот тут и приключилась драма:
Внезапно распахнулась рама;
Успел воскликнуть Тэдди: "Ой!"
И полетел вниз головой.
Случайно мимо шел один
Отменно тучный господин.
Увидев мишкино несчастье,
Он подошел к нему с участьем.
"Позвольте мне... один момент...
Какой досадный инцидент!"
Но Тэдди, будто зачарован,
Не мог произнести ни слова.
Луи-Красавец - это он!
Невероятно! Просто сон!
И то сказать, возможно ли,
Чтоб тут гуляли короли?!
А впрочем, может быть, и да.
Спрошу, ведь в этом нет вреда.
"Не обижайтесь на меня,
Король Луи Вам не родня?"
"Положим, это я и есть!
И что же? С кем имею честь?"
И вдруг всплеснул руками: "Ведь
Это - Эдуард-медведь!"
И пожимая Тэдди лапу,
Он приподнял изящно шляпу.
Известно всем, без физкультуры
Никак не сохранить фигуры.
Наш мишка Тэдди полноват,
Но этому он только рад.
Считает он не без причины:
Вес - украшение мужчины!
VG, 1980
-------------------------
The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak
Of all the Knights in Appledore
The wisest was Sir Thomas Tom.
He multiplied as far as four,
And knew what nine was taken from
To make eleven. He could write
A letter to another Knight.
No other Knight in all the land
Could do the things which he could do.
Not only did he understand
The way to polish swords, but knew
What remedy a Knight should seek
Whose armour had begun to squeak.
And, if he didn't fight too much,
It wasn't that he didn't care
For blips and buffetings and such,
But felt that it was hardly fair
To risk, by frequent injuries,
A brain as delicate as his.
His castle (Castle Tom) was set
Conveniently on a hill;
And daily, when it wasn't wet,
He paced the battlements until
Some smaller Knight who couldn't swim
Should reach the moat and challenge him.
Or sometimes, feeling full of fight,
He hurried out to scour the plain,
And, seeing some approaching Knight,
He either hurried home again,
Or hid; and, when the foe was past,
Blew a triumphant trumpet-blast.
One day when good Sir Thomas Tom
Was resting in a handy ditch,
The noises he was hiding from,
Though very much the noises which
He'd always hidden from before,
Seemed somehow less... Or was it more?
The trotting horse, the trumpet's blast,
The whistling sword, the armour's squeak,
These, and especially the last,
Had clattered by him all the week.
Was this the same, or was it not?
Something was different. But what?
Sir Thomas raised a cautious ear
And listened as Sir Hugh went by,
And suddenly he seemed to hear
(Or not to hear) the reason why
This stranger made a nicer sound
Than other Knights who lived around.
Sir Thomas watched the way he went -
His rage was such he couldn't speak,
For years they'd called him down in Kent
The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak!
Yet here and now he looked upon
Another Knight whose squeak had gone.
He rushed to where his horse was tied;
He spurred it to a rapid trot.
The only fear he felt inside
About his enemy was not
'How sharp his sword?' 'How stout his heart?'
But 'Has he got too long a start?'
Sir Hugh was singing, hand on hip,
When something sudden came along,
And caught him a terrific blip
Right in the middle of his song.
'A thunderstorm!' he thought. 'Of course!'
And toppled gently off his horse.
Then said the good Sir Thomas Tom,
Dismounting with a friendly air,
'Allow me to extract you from
The heavy armour that you wear.
At times like these the bravest Knight
May find his armour much too tight.'
A hundred yards or so beyond
The scene of brave Sir Hugh's defeat
Sir Thomas found a useful pond,
And, careful not to wet his feet,
He brought the armour to the brink,
And flung it in...and watched it sink.
So ever after, more and more,
The men of Kent would proudly speak
Of Thomas Tom of Appledore,
'The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak.'
Whilst Hugh, the Knight who gave him best,
Squeaks just as badly as the rest.
---
Рыцарь, чьи доспехи не скрипели
Из рыцарей земли Шартрез
Умнее всех был Теренс Риз:
Он умножал до семью-шесть
И знал, что надо вычесть из
Тринадцати, чтоб вышло пять.
На поединок написать
Мог вызов он в стихах. Притом
Из лука в грушу попадал
И мастерски владел клинком,
Но главное, Сэр Теренс знал,
Как сделать, чтобы в ратном деле
Его доспехи не скрипели;
И если драться не любил,
То уж отнюдь не потому,
Что слабаком и трусом был,
Но, думал, стоит ли ему,
Махая без толку мечами,
Такими рисковать мозгами.
...
VG, 30 июля 2014