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| Вс, Янв 5, 2020 12:54am [Аноним] - 1572 d back | ↑↓ |
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У лукоморья....
On seashore far a green oak towers,
And to it with a gold chain bound,
A learned cat whiles away the hours
By walking slowly round and round.
To right he walks, and sings a ditty;
To left he walks, and tells a tale…
A strange place! There a mermaid sits in
A tree; there prowls a sprite; on trails
Unknown to man move beasts unseen by
His eyes; there stands on chicken feet,
Without a door or e’en a window,
A tiny hut, a hag’s retreat.
Both wood and valley there are teeming
With wondrous things… When dawn comes, gleaming
Waves o’er the sands and grasses creep,
And from the clear and shining water
Step thirty goodly knights escorted
By their old tutor, of the deep
An ancient dweller… There a dreaded
Tsar by a prince is captive ta’en;
There, as all watch, for cloud banks headed,
Across the sea and o’er the plain,
A mage a warrior bears. There, weeping,
A young princess sits in a cell,
And Grey Wolf serves her very well.
There, in a mortar, onward sweeping
All of itself, beneath the skies
The wicked Baba-Yaga flies;
There Tsar Koshchei o’er his hoard withers…
A smell of Russ! Of Russ all breathes there!…
There once was I, and the learned cat,
As near him ‘neath the oak I sat
And drank of sweet mead at my leisure,
Told me full many a tale… With pleasure
These tales of his do I recall
And here and now will share with all…
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (1799-1837)
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| Вс, Янв 5, 2020 01:57am [Аноним] - 1572 d back | ↑↓ |
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Реко_мЭн_дация самого А.С._(са...?___Крут.то.
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| Ср, Май 6, 2020 02:14pm [Аноним] - 1450 d back | ↑↓ |
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Владимир Маяковский
Стихи о советском паспорте
Vladimir Mayakovsky
The Poem of the Soviet Passport
Я волком бы выгрыз бюрократизм.
К мандатам почтения нету.
К любым чертям с матерями катись
Любая бумажка. Но эту...
I'd root out bureaucracy once and for ever.
I have no respect for formalities.
May every paper go to the devil
But for this...
По длинному фронту купе и кают
Чиновник учтивый движется.
Сдают паспорта, и я сдаю
Мою пурпурную книжицу.
A courteous official passes through
The maze of compartments and halls.
They hand in passports, And I, too,
Hand in my red-skinned pass.
К одним паспортам - улыбка у рта.
К другим - отношение плевое.
С почтеньем берут, например, паспорта
С двухспальным английским левою.
Some passports arouse an obliging smile
While others are treated as mud.
Say, passports picturing the British Lion
Are taken with special regard.
Глазами доброго дядю выев,
Не переставая кланяться,
Берут, как будто берут чаевые,
Паспорт американца.
A burly guy from the USA
Is met with an exorbitant honor,
They take his passport as if they
Were taking a gift of money.
На польский - глядят, как в афишу коза.
На польский - выпяливают глаза
В тугой полицейской слоновости -
Откуда, мол, и что это за
Географические новости?
The Polish passport makes them stare
Like a sheep might stare at a Christmas tree:
Where does it come from, this silly and queer
Geographical discovery?
И не повернув головы кочан
И чувств никаких не изведав,
Берут, не моргнув, паспорта датчан
И разных прочих шведов.
Without trying to use their brains,
Entirely dead to all feelings,
They take quite coldly passports from Danes
And other sorts of aliens.
И вдруг, как будто ожогом, рот
Скривило господину.
Это господин чиновник берет
Мою краснокожую паспортину.
Suddenly, as if he had burnt his mouth,
The official stood stock-still:
It's my red passport fall this bound
Into the hands of his majesty.
Берет - как бомбу, берет - как ежа,
Как бритву обоюдоострую,
Берет, как гремучую в 20 жал
Змею двухметроворостую.
He takes my pass, as if it were
A bomb, a blade or those sorts of things,
He takes it with extraordinary caution and scare
As if it were a snake with dozens of stings.
Моргнул многозначаще глаз носильщика,
Хоть вещи снесет задаром вам.
Жандарм вопросительно смотрит на сыщика,
Сыщик на жандарма.
The porter meaningly bats his eyes
Ready to serve me for free.
The detective looks at the cop in surprise,
The cop looks at him inquiringly.
С каким наслажденьем жандармской кастой
Я был бы исхлестан и распят
За то, что в руках у меня молоткастый,
Серпастый советский паспорт.
I know I'd be fiercely slashed and hanged
By this gendarmerie caste
Only because I have got in my hand
This hammer-and-sickle pass.
Я волком бы выгрыз бюрократизм.
К мандатам почтения нету.
К любым чертям с матерями катись
Любая бумажка. Но эту...
I'd root out bureaucracy once and for ever.
I have no respect for formalities.
May every paper go to the devil
But for this...
Я достаю из широких штанин
Дубликатом бесценного груза.
Читайте, завидуйте, я - гражданин
Советского Союза.
This little thing, so dear to me,
I withdraw from my loose pantaloons,
Read it and envy me: I happen to be
A citizen of the Soviet Union.
1929
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