Александр Пушкин «Что в имени тебе моём?..» на английском языке
* * *
Что в имени тебе моём?
Оно умрёт, как шум печальный
Волны, плеснувшей в берег дальный,
Как звук ночной в лесу глухом.
Оно на памятном листке
Оставит мёртвый след, подобный
Узору надписи надгробной
На непонятном языке.
Что в нём? Забытое давно
В волненьях новых и мятежных,
Твоей душе не даст оно
Воспоминаний чистых, нежных.
Но в день печали, в тишине,
Произнеси его тоскуя;
Скажи: есть память обо мне,
Есть в мире сердце, где живу я
5 января 1830
Александр Пушкин (1799-1837)
* * *
What means my name to you?.. ‘Twil die
As does the melancholy rumour
Of distant waves, or, of a summer,
The forest’s hushed nocturnal sigh.
Found on a fading album page,
Dim will it seem and enigmatic,
Like words traced on a tomb, a relic
Of some long dead and vanished age.
What’s in my name?.. Long since forgot,
Erased by new, tempestuous passion,
Of tenderness ’twill leave you not
The lingering and sweet impression.
But in an hour of agony,
Pray, speak it, and recall my image,
And say, «He still remembers me,
His heart alone still pays me homage.»
Alexander Pushkin
Translated by Irina Zheleznova
* * *
So, what then is my name to you?
Oh, it will die, like doleful jingle
Of billows on the distant shingle,
Like dark night’s sound in forest, too.
Upon the list of those who’ve gone
Its memory will but scarcely linger –
A tombstone’s screed by unknown finger
In an obscure and unknown tongue.
What does it mean? Forgotten long
With fresh rebellion’s new excitement,
My name will not produce incitement
Of gentle, pure memento’s song.
But when trial comes, I humbly plea
That, grieving, you may memory summon;
That you may say: “Yes, there is someone
Whose heart remains a home for me.”
Alexander Pushkin
Translated by Rupert Moreton
* * *
What’s in my name for you? What good?
It will but die as the sad sound
of a wave that’s splashed its last aground,
a cry out in the toneless wood.
Lifeless its marks will lie among
these album pages: the design
of someone’s epitaphic line
in some unfathomable tongue.
What’s in it then? Lost to the past
in new emotions’ wild infection,
upon your soul it will not cast
the tender rays of recollection.
But on a silent day of rue
pronounce it with a sigh of pain
and say «One memory is true!
There beats one heart where I remain!”
Alexander Pushkin
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
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