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April 1997
1. If I could tell you - 00:00 2. A curse - 03:35 3. Warm are the still and lucky miles - 07:02 |
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April 1997
1. If I could tell you - 00:00 2. A curse - 03:35 3. Warm are the still and lucky miles - 07:02 |
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Time will say nothing but I told you so
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reason why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
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Лишь время всё расставит по местам
И нам в итоге свой предъявит счет.
Я рассказал бы, если знал бы сам.
Паяцы пляшут - значит, плакать нам?
Сбиваться с ног, когда труба зовет?
Лишь время всё расставит по местам.
За предсказанья ни гроша не дам -
Ведь я люблю тебя который год.
Я рассказал бы, если знал бы сам.
Известно же, откуда дуть ветрам
И почему опять листва сгниет.
Лишь время всё расставит по местам.
Быть может, розы рвутся к небесам,
И убежден мираж, что не уйдет.
Я рассказал бы, если знал бы сам.
Вообрази: пора на волю львам,
Ручьи и рати сгинут в свой черед.
Лишь время всё расставит по местам?
Я рассказал бы, если знал бы сам.
(пер. В. Бойко)
Dark was that day when Diesel
conceived his grim engine that
begot you, vile invention,
more vicious, more criminal
than the camera even,
metallic monstrosity,
bale and bane of our Culture,
chief woe of our Commonweal.
How dare the Law prohibit
hashish and heroin yet
license your use, who inflate
all weak inferior egos?
Their addicts only do harm
to their own lives: you poison
the lungs of the innocent,
your din dithers the peaceful,
and on choked roads hundreds must
daily die by chance-medley.
Nimble technicians, surely
you should hang your heads in shame.
Your wit works mighty wonders,
has landed men on the Moon,
replaced brains by computers,
and can smithy a `smart` bomb.
It is a crying scandal
that you cannot take the time
or be bothered to build us,
what sanity knows we need,
an odorless and noiseless
staid little electric brougham.
Warm are the still and lucky miles,
White shores of longing stretch away,
A light of recognition fills
The whole great day, and bright
The tiny world of lovers` arms.
Silence invades the breathing wood
Where drowsy limbs a treasure keep,
Now greenly falls the learned shade
Across the sleeping brows
And stirs their secret to a smile.
Restored! Returned! The lost are borne
On seas of shipwreck home at last:
See! In a fire of praising burns
The dry dumb past, and we
Our life-day long shall part no more.
Warm are the still and lucky miles,
White shores of longing stretch away,
A light of recognition fills
The whole great day, and bright
The tiny world of lovers` arms.
Silence invades the breathing wood
Where drowsy limbs a treasure keep,
Now greenly falls the learned shade
Across the sleeping brows
And stirs their secret to a smile.
Restored! Returned! The lost are borne
On seas of shipwreck home at last:
See! In a fire of praising burns
The dry dumb past, and we
Our life-day long shall part no more.
получил Пулитцеровскую премию и еще пачку других премий и которого так любил Бродский?
получил Пулитцеровскую премию и еще пачку других премий и которого так любил
Бродский?
Стравинского.