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А сегодня у нас вечер поэзии на английском.
Говорят, язык становится "родным" тогда, когда начинаешь впитывать поэзию на этом языке. Не просто песни, а именно - умение запоминать стихи, чувствовать тонкость языка в стихах.

Мое знакомство с поэзией на английском началось еще на лицейских уроках английского,
Robert Burns, с простого

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

Потом я перешла на более сложные тексты, книги.
Псалмы Библии - сначала я узнала о них на английском, и только потом - на русском.

Сегодня в rusam спросили про американскую прозу, и "Остапа понесло" - стала вспоминать то, что зацепилось в памяти, осталось образами и всполохами слов.


  • Мoody Blues
    Late Lament

    Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
    Watch lights fade from every room.
    Bedsitter people look back and lament,
    Another day's useless energy spent.
    Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
    Lonely man cries for love and has none.
    New mother picks up and suckles her son,
    Senior citizens wish they were young.

    Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
    Removes the colours from our sight.
    Red is grey and yellow white,
    But we decide which is right.
    And which is an illusion???

  • Сериал Battlestar Galactica меня - отразил. Там такая Кэра Трейс, что ее образ как раз незабываем, как она и хотела, когда говорила "I want to be remembered"
    И вот, оттуда же:



    Methodically smoking my cigarette
    Every breath I breathe out the day
    With every delicious sip
    I drink away the night
    Stroking my hair to
    The beat of his heart
    Watching a boy turn into a man


  • У индийцев популярен писатель и поэт Ruskin Bond
    То, что я впервые у него прочитала из поэзии -
    "Танец одинокой лисы"


    As I walked home last night
    I saw a lone fox dancing
    In the cold moonlight.

    I stood and watched. Then
    Took the low road, knowing
    The night was his by right.

    Sometimes, when words ring true,
    I'm like a lone fox dancing
    In the morning dew.

    + It isn't time that's passing by,
    It is you and I....

  • Классика: Do not stand at my grave and weep или на русском Не стой и не плачь над могилой

    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow,
    I am the sun on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    When you awaken in the morning’s hush
    I am the swift uplifting rush
    Of quiet birds in circling flight.
    I am the soft star-shine at night.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there; I did not die.

  • Oдно из запомнившихся у Robert Frost
    The Road Not Taken

    The Road Not Taken
    by Robert Frost

    Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
    And sorry I could not travel both
    And be one traveler, long I stood
    And looked down one as far as I could
    To where it bent in the undergrowth;

    Then took the other, as just as fair,
    And having perhaps the better claim,
    Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
    Though as for that the passing there
    Had worn them really about the same,

    And both that morning equally lay
    In leaves no step had trodden black.
    Oh, I kept the first for another day!
    Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
    I doubted if I should ever come back.

    I shall be telling this with a sigh
    Somewhere ages and ages hence:
    Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
    I took the one less traveled by,
    And that has made all the difference.

  • Несравненная Dorothy Parker

    Indian Summer

    In youth, it was a way I had
    To do my best to please,
    And change, with every passing lad,
    To suit his theories.

    But now I know the things I know,
    And do the things I do;
    And if you do not like me so,
    To hell, my love, with you!


    They hail you as their morning star
    Because you are the way you are.
    If you return the sentiment,
    They'll try to make you different;
    And once they have you, safe and sound,
    They want to change you all around.
    Your moods and ways they put a curse on;
    They'd make of you another person.
    They cannot let you go your gait;
    They influence and educate.
    They'd alter all that they admired.
    They make me sick, they make me tired.

  • Ну и мое, беговое

  • Hotel room
    By Rhian Gallagher

    It is a room just off to the side of our lives
    newly emptied. Our small clutter spills
    across polished surfaces as we fill up the vacancy.
    Halt of a lift, voices that come through walls like a cloud,
    no-one lives here. It is a room with no country.
    Our half-emptied bags wearing yesterday’s flight tags,
    the room makes loud its limitation yet
    holds out hours and gives us passport. Space.

    All around are towers, floors of rooms, window
    squares of light. The city sounds, loading, unloading.
    We draw the curtains on a night that is wide as the Atlantic.

    Что-то еще вспоминается иногда, от случая к случаю, но специально я не читаю, не ищу стихи на английском - просто иногда они находят меня. Иногда пишу на английском.

    Поделитесь стихами на английском, какие нравятся вам?
  • Comments

    ( 38 comments — Leave a comment )
    Aug. 28th, 2012 02:46 am (UTC)
    An Old Song Resung
    William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)

    Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
    She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
    She bid me take love easy as the leaves grow on the tree;
    But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.

    In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
    And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
    She bid me take life easy as the grass grows on the weirs;
    But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

    Есть перевод Маршака

    Я ждал в саду под ивой, а дальше мы вместе пошли.
    Ее белоснежные ножки едва касались земли.
    - Любите, - она говорила, - легко, как растет листва.
    Но я был глуп и молод и не знал, что она права.

    А в поле, где у запруды стояли мы над рекой,
    Плеча моего коснулась она белоснежной рукой.
    - Живите легко, мой милый, как растет меж камней трава.
    Но я был молод, и горько мне вспомнить ее слова.

    Edited at 2012-08-28 02:47 am (UTC)
    Aug. 28th, 2012 08:44 am (UTC)
    какие прелестные - легкие и мудрые - стихи. Спасибо, что поделились.
    (no subject) - mongwu - Aug. 29th, 2012 01:50 am (UTC) - Expand
    (no subject) - avatarakali - Aug. 28th, 2012 12:48 pm (UTC) - Expand
    (no subject) - mongwu - Aug. 29th, 2012 01:57 am (UTC) - Expand
    Aug. 28th, 2012 03:34 am (UTC)
    Про лиса понравилось. А автор индеец?
    Aug. 28th, 2012 12:49 pm (UTC)
    да, индиец =)
    единственный поэт-индиец кроме Рабиндраната Тагора, что я знаю =)
    (no subject) - oddandspooky - Aug. 28th, 2012 06:33 pm (UTC) - Expand
    (no subject) - avatarakali - Aug. 28th, 2012 06:52 pm (UTC) - Expand
    (no subject) - oddandspooky - Aug. 28th, 2012 08:05 pm (UTC) - Expand
    Aug. 28th, 2012 03:37 am (UTC)
    Happy Ending?

    There are no happy endings,
    Endings are the saddest part,
    So just give me a happy middle
    And a very happy start.

    ― Shel Silverstein, "Every Thing on It"
    Aug. 28th, 2012 12:31 pm (UTC)
    о, я помню этот легкий фразеологический оборот, про happy middle, точно! встречался где-то!

    нравится мне Ваш юзерпик! =)
    (no subject) - adm_benbow - Aug. 28th, 2012 01:09 pm (UTC) - Expand
    Aug. 28th, 2012 03:52 am (UTC)
    Aug. 28th, 2012 12:30 pm (UTC)
    ого! у Вас отменный вкус! добавляю во френдленту и иду читать! спасибо! что ж Вы раньше-то молчали! =) надо руками махать, знакомиться, а то вот так втихомолку, и не знаешь, что такие жж есть =)
    (no subject) - dejavu_smile - Aug. 28th, 2012 06:37 pm (UTC) - Expand
    Aug. 28th, 2012 06:15 am (UTC)
    Одно из лучших стихотворений на английском, которые я знаю. Написано в ночь перед казнью. Пробирает.

    Tichborne's Elegy

    My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
    My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
    My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
    And all my good is but vain hope of gain;

    The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
    And now I live, and now my life is done.
    My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
    My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,

    My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
    I saw the world and yet I was not seen;
    My thread is cut and yet it is not spun,
    And now I live, and now my life is done.

    I sought my death and found it in my womb,
    I looked for life and saw it was a shade,
    I trod the earth and knew it was my tomb,
    And now I die, and now I was but made;

    My glass is full, and now my glass is run,
    And now I live, and now my life is done.

    Aug. 28th, 2012 12:28 pm (UTC)
    ты довела меня до слез ...
    серьезно, это так созвучно с тем, о чем я иногда пишу, про ощущения насчет песка сквозь пальцы


    я сначала прочитала и похлюпала носом, и только потом увидела фразу "написано ночью перед казнью" и похлюпала еще раз...
    (no subject) - melamory_me - Aug. 28th, 2012 12:29 pm (UTC) - Expand
    (no subject) - avatarakali - Aug. 28th, 2012 01:11 pm (UTC) - Expand
    Aug. 28th, 2012 06:25 am (UTC)
    Я вами восхищаюсь!
    Aug. 28th, 2012 06:53 am (UTC)
    My favorite
    Особо с поэзией не знакома. Прозу читаю на АЯ. Вообще не увлекаюсь стихами. Но вот это вот стихотворение...
    Оно было одним из те тех, что заставляли на фонетики учить. Но как поёт моя душа, когда его я произношу... И смысл этот, не совсем прямой.. Подтекст, я имею ввиду.))) В общем, мне очень нра))) Может, и Вам понра))

    Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

    Whose woods these are I think I know.
    His house is in the village though;
    He will not see me stopping here
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.

    My little horse must think it queer
    To stop without a farmhouse near
    Between the woods and frozen lake
    The darkest evening of the year.

    He gives his harness bells a shake
    To ask if there is some mistake.
    The only other sound's the sweep
    Of easy wind and downy flake.

    The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
    But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.
    Aug. 28th, 2012 12:44 pm (UTC)
    Re: My favorite
    о, точно!!!
    это у меня в списке "знал, но забыл" =)

    а фраза "And miles to go before I sleep" и все эти образы в лесу - это как раз про trail runners ;) =)

    да, я тоже не то, чтобы увлекаюсь стихами - я не запоминаю их дословно. Но вот это состояние души, да, когда произносятся или читаются стихи - оно особое, и оно мне в жизни тоже очень нравится =)
    Re: My favorite - butterfly_3891 - Aug. 28th, 2012 01:19 pm (UTC) - Expand
    Re: My favorite - avatarakali - Aug. 28th, 2012 03:46 pm (UTC) - Expand
    Re: My favorite - butterfly_3891 - Aug. 29th, 2012 05:37 am (UTC) - Expand
    Aug. 28th, 2012 07:01 am (UTC)
    Восхищаюсь вами!
    Aug. 28th, 2012 12:40 pm (UTC)
    2 раза ;)
    просто у меня коментарии скринятся сначала, в качестве превентивной меры от спама
    Aug. 28th, 2012 08:41 am (UTC)
    Все, с чем я знакома на английском, это пару сонетов Шекспира.
    My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
    Coral is far more red than her lips' red...

    Из приведенного вами понравился "Do not stand at my grave and weep". Что-то подобное стала писать мама моей подруги, недавно ушедшей из жизни.
    Aug. 28th, 2012 12:39 pm (UTC)
    Шекспир - я пыталась, но я его не запоминаю =(
    В подростковом возрасте в 96м году в США я нашла в маленьком техасском магазинчике "антиквариат" - книжку, маленькую, 1952го, кажется, года выпуска, с Гамлетом и какими-то сонетами.

    Тогда я залистала ее до полураспада =) И потом она куда-то провалилась, не могу найти...

    =( сочувствую по поводу подруги...

    мне хотелось бы, чтобы меня вспомнили этим стихотворением, если будет кому вспомнить, когда придет мой момент
    if I die young - avatarakali - Aug. 28th, 2012 01:09 pm (UTC) - Expand
    Re: if I die young - ladysunrise - Aug. 28th, 2012 01:22 pm (UTC) - Expand
    Aug. 28th, 2012 08:51 am (UTC)
    а вообще, спасибо за этот пост. Я как-то вспомнила, что давно не читала стихов. И вообще пришла в лирическое расположение духа. :)
    Aug. 28th, 2012 12:34 pm (UTC)
    на здоровье, вот, я тоже вчера, ага, и до сих пор в этом расположении =) Мне хочется все это собрать в одном пункте, как раньше записывали понравившиеся стихи в тетради, от руки. У мамы была такая тетрадь. Но там на русском, а вот эти, на английском, я узнала стала понимать только недавно.

    еще вертятся какие-то образы в памяти, но не могу вспомнить, ни автора, ни четкой строчки, чтобы поискать в гугле, так что ставлю себе заметку тут и буду возвращаться сюда, если что еще вспомнится
    Aug. 28th, 2012 01:27 pm (UTC)
    я все больше по классике:
    "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways" Elizabeth Browning
    Sonnet 130 by Shakespeare
    "The Road Not Taken" and "Fire And Ice" Robert Frost
    Aug. 28th, 2012 03:41 pm (UTC)

    I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
    ....., if God choose,
    I shall but love thee better after death.

    да, The Road not taken - смоти, тоже совпало =) оно так запомнилось
    Aug. 28th, 2012 03:58 pm (UTC)

    Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

    Whose woods these are I think I know,
    His house is in the village though.
    He will not see me stopping here,
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.

    My little horse must think it queer,
    To stop without a farmhouse near,
    Between the woods and frozen lake,
    The darkest evening of the year.

    He gives his harness bells a shake,
    To ask if there is some mistake.
    The only other sound's the sweep,
    Of easy wind and downy flake.

    The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
    But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.

    -- Robert Frost

    Гугля по запросу "Whose woods these are I think I know meaning" вывалил гору читательских и "профессиональных" разборов, как например:

    Frost wrote quite a bit about life, death, making choices, and being in the woods. This one contains all those motifs.

    The first stanza seems simple, but you do need to think about at least two possible meanings of "Whose woods these are." You could take this only literally (often a poor choice with poetry). Or you could think about whose woods they really are (God's). If you read it metaphorically, then the house in town is the church, and the speaker is making a little gentle fun of the fact that people think that God lives in the church and doesn't get out much :) In any event, the speaker seeks solitude in the woods during the snowstorm.

    The second stanza adds the detail of the horse being puzzled. (Would a horse be puzzled about this? Or is it the speaker's dilemma projected onto the horse?) We also learn that this takes place on the winter solstice. Too many images of darkness and solitude for us not to associate this with death.

    Stanza three continues with the horse's misgivings about all this stopping and contemplating. We also get a nice auditory image here.

    The last stanza brings it all home. The speaker has surely been contemplating death. Suicide is probably too big a leap, but Frost's characters do contemplate the end of life. The woods (death) are "lovely, dark, and deep," an excellent non-religious view of what death must be like. But it seems that the speaker is not ready, for he has responsibilities (promises to keep) and things to do before he can consider his life over.

    Robert Frost's poem is actually about a gentleman contemplating
    suicide. The first image of the blanket of snow, the death shroud,
    covering everything invokes the reader into participating in the
    speaker's unnoticed and unseen death. Why would you want someone there
    to stop you if you really were going to do that? The horse notices
    something's wrong and that it's only the speaker and himself. The
    speaker is struggling with this choice, stuck between a rock and a hard
    place, or in this case; between the woods and the frozen pond.
    Naturally, this all takes place on the darkest day of the year; the
    winter solstice, december 21st, the darkest day in his life, his
    sadness, his isolation. and his depression are the greatest. So, in
    the third stanza, we see the conflict of should I do it or not. The
    horse, his friend, his reason, the connection back to civilization and
    life, is signaling to the speaker as if saying, "hey, let's get the
    hell out of here. This isn't what you want to do, is it? This is a
    mistake. Let's go." Meanwhile, the speaker is hearing this, but is
    also seeing how nice the wind is and how it could blow away all his
    worries and woes. The downy flakes would cover it all up and he'd
    never have to worry about it again. However, in the end, the speaker
    realizes that although death, the dark and deep woods covered in snow,
    would be an answer to his problems; it's not his answer. He has
    promises to keep. He does actually have a connection to the life he
    wants to ax and therefore decides to keep journeying on. He has many
    things still to do. He has many miles to go before he sleeps.

    Aug. 28th, 2012 04:17 pm (UTC)
    о, к этому уже выше обращались
    очень, да, "многослойное" стихотворение

    это ощущение нахождения на грани жизни и смерти и "miles to go before I sleep" - это очень явно видно. И очень созвучно с многими образами в осознании мира и своего места в этом мире
    ( 38 comments — Leave a comment )


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