Стихи для конкурса поэтического перевода ФАЯ-2016

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by Emily Dickinson

Nobody knows this little Rose –

It might a pilgrim be

Did I not take it from the ways

And lift it up to thee.


Only a Bee will miss it –

Only a Butterfly,

Hastening from far journey –

On its breast to lie –


Only a Bird will wonder –

Only a Breeze will sigh –

Ah Little Rose – how easy

For such as thee to die!


On Hearing a Symphony of Beethoven:

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sweets sounds, oh, beautiful music, do not cease!

Reject me not into the world again.

With you alone is excellence and peace,

Mankind made plausible, his purpose plain

Enchanted in your air benign and shrewd,

With limbs a-sprawl and empty faces pale,

The spiteful and the stingy and rude

Sleep like the scullions in the fairy — tale.

This moment is the best the world can give:

The tranquil blossom on the tortured stem.

Reject me not, sweet sounds; oh, let me live,

Till Doom espy my towers and scatter them,

A city spell-bound under the aging Sun.

Music my rampart, and my only one.


The World and I

By Laura Riding Jackson

This is not exactly what I mean

Any more than the sun is the sun.

But how to mean more closely

If the sun shines but approximately?

What a world of awkwardness!

What hostile implements of sense!

Perhaps this is as close a meaning

As perhaps becomes such knowing.

Else I think the world and I

Must live together as strangers and die—

A sour love, each doubtful whether

Was ever a thing to love the other.

No, better for both to be nearly sure

Each of each—exactly where

Exactly I and exactly the world

Fail to meet by a moment, and a word.