Текст песни Tangerine Dream - London

Тексты Уильяма Блейка из цикла Songs of Experience - Песни Познания

Часть 1. London
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning church appals;
And the hapless soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down palace walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.

По вольным улицам брожу,
У вольной издавна реки.
На всех я лицах нахожу
Печать бессилья и тоски.
Мужская брань, и женский стон,
И плач испуганных детей
В моих ушах звучат, как звон
Законом созданных цепей.
Здесь трубочистов юных крики
Пугают сумрачный собор,
И кровь солдата-горемыки
Течет на королевский двор.
А от проклятий и угроз
Девчонки в закоулках мрачных
Чернеют капли детских слез
И катафалки новобрачных.
Перевод С. Я. Маршака

Блуждая по пыльным улицам столицы,
Там, где Темзы поток струиться,
Я вижу лица - на них клеймо прожженно,
Печать нищеты, печали клеймо.
В молитве каждой, каждого из нас,
В младенцев плаче, не смыкающих от страха глаз,
Во всех отчаянных стенаниях к небесам,
Звенит цепями бездуховность, не чуждая нам.
Поглядите, как крики трубочистов
Ввергают в хаос церквей основы и софистов,
И как горемычных солдат предсмертный хрип
У стен дворцовых алой речкою бежит.
И как же, Боже, страшно мне в ночи,
Когда в борделе девочка кощунствует, кричит...
Тогда невинная слеза чернеет и гниет,
И от чумы уж скоро вовсе лицемерный брак помрет.
Перевод Л. Беспечной

From AMERICA. A PROPHECY
Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are
open;
And let his wife and children return from the opressor's
scourge.
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream,
Singing: "The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher
morning,
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall
cease.

Вскрыться навстречу жизни, где нет ни Врат, ни Цепей,
Детям и женам чтоб надсмотрщика бич не грозил.
Пусть их не верят. Вера позже придет: не во сне
Все это. Песнь восторга грянет: "Исходом из тьмы
Солнце взошло, луна сияет в блаженной ночи,
Власть изошла - теперь не будет ни Волка, ни Льва!"
Перевод В. Л. Топорова
______________________________
Часть 2. The Fly
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.

Летун проворный,
Твой летний бал
Рукой небрежной
Я вмиг прервал.
О мотылек!
Ты мне сродни.
Ведь сочтены
Часы и дни.
Вот я играю,
Резвлюсь, сную -
Но не прервут ли
И жизнь мою?
Пусть жизнь есть мысль,
И жар, и свет,
А смерть есть тьма,
Где мысли нет, -
И там, и там
Я лишь на срок.
И счастлив я -
Я мотылек.
Перевод Т. Стамовой (1996)

Малютка мошка,
Ты так хрупка!
Тебя сгубила
Моя рука.
А чем не мошка
Я, человек?
Ведь ненамного
Мой дольше век.
Пою, танцую,
Кружусь, пока
Меня не сгубит
Судьбы рука.
Но если разум
Для нас - как свет,
И где нет мысли -
Там жизни нет,
То жить ли буду
Иль смерти ждать,
Счастливой мошкой
Хочу летать.
Перевод А.Кудрявицкого (1994)

Texts of William Blake from the Songs of Experience cycle - Songs of Knowledge

Part 1. London
I Wander Thro 'Each Charter'd Street,
Near Where The Charter'd Thames Does Flow
AND MARK IN EVERY FACE I MEET
Marks of Weakness, Marks of Woe.
In every cry of every man
In Every Infant's Cry of Fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The Mind-Forg'd Manacles I Hear.
HOW THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER'S CRY
Every Black'ning Church Appals;
And The Hapless Soldiers Sigh
Runs in Blood Down Palace Walls.
But Most Thro 'Midnight Streets I Hear
How The Youthful Harlot's Curse
Blasts The New-Born Infant's Tear,
And Blights with Plagues The Marriage Hearse.

By free streets, I walked
Wolne has long since the river.
At all I find faces
Printing reserves and longing.
Men's brand, and female moan,
And crying frightened children
In my ears they sound like a ringing
The law created by chains.
Here the chicks of young cries
Scare a gloomy cathedral
And blood soldier-honeycomb
Flowing to the royal court.
And from curses and threats
Girls in Gloomy Scan
Drops of children's tears
And newlyweds.
Translation S. Ya. Marshak

Wandering on the dusty streets of the capital,
Where the Thames flow stream,
I see the face - they are burning on them,
Print poverty, sorrow stigma.
In prayer each, each of us
In babies weeping, not closing the eye
In all the desperate moans to heaven,
Rales the chains of confusion, not alien to us.
Look like chicks of chicks
Plunge into the chaos churches of the foundation and sophists,
And as a mere soldier suicide wheezing
The walls of the Palace Scarlet River runs.
And how, God, scary to me in the night,
When a girl is blazing in a brothel, screaming ...
Then the innocent tear is black and rot,
And from the plague, there is no longer a hypocritical marriage.
Translation of L. Burefiens

FROM America. A prophecy
Rise and Look Out; HIS Chains Are Loose, HIS Dungeon Doors Are
Open;
And Let His Wife and Children Return from the Opressor's
Scourge.
They Look Behind At Every Step and Believe It Is a Dream,
Singing: "The Sun Has Left His Blackness, and Has Found a Fresher
Morning,
And The Fair Moon Rejoices in The Clear and Cloudless Night;
For Empire Is No More and Now The Lion and Wolf Shall
Cease.

Reveal to meet life where there is no gate, nor chains,
Children and wives so as a supervisor Beach did not threaten.
Let them not believe them. Faith will come later: not in a dream
All this. Song delight is born: "Exodus from Darkness
The sun rose, the moon shines in blissful night,
Power has been echoed - now there will be no wolf, no lion! "
Translation V. L. Toporova
______________________________
Part 2. The Fly
Little Fly,
Thy Summer's Play
My Thoughtless Hand.
Has Brush'd Away.
Am Not I.
A FLY LIKE THEE?
OR ART NOT THOU
A MAN LIKE ME?
For I Dance,
And Drink, and Sing,
Till Some Blind Hand
Shall Brush My Wing.
If Thought Is Life
And Strength and Breath,
And The Want.
Of Thought Is Death;
THEN AM I.
A Happy Fly,
If i live
Or if i die.

Tomner Verny,
Your summer ball
Hand careless
I interrupted.
About Moth!
You are akin to me.
After all, considered
Clock and days.
Here I am playing
Harsh, sleep -
But do not interrupt
And my life?
Let life have a thought
And heat, and light,
And death is darkness,
Where there are no thoughts -
Here and there
I'm only for a term.
And I am happy -
I am moth.
Translation T. Stamova (1996)

Baby Moshka,
You are so fragile!
You have been thugged
My hand.
And what is not midge
I am human?
After all, non-imminent
My longest century.
I sing, dancing,
Circling down
I do not bother me
Fate hand.
But if the mind
For us - like light,
And where there is no thought -
There is no life there,
Then live if I will
Ile death to wait
Happy midge
Want to fly.
A. Kudryavitsky translation (1994)