Maung Thano - Mahakayva, four long classical foreign poems

The bronze horseman

I have tried to translate Pushkin's "The Bronze Horseman" three times. At that time, I even did some advertising from the Glass Lamp Bookstore. But I was unsuccessful, and the translation was only partially completed, and I never finished it. Now those original books are gone, and I have to start over again.

I have translated from the original Russian. ( The title of the poem is “The Eye of the Beholder” in Russian. ) There are English translations that I have consulted. ( 1 ) A prose translation by John Finnell, ( 2 ) A poetic translation by Irina Relezhnaya Zanova, and ( 3 ) A prose translation by Mitrofan Oblonsky. Volumes 1 and 3 are published by Penguin Books, while Volume 2 is published by Moscow Progress Publishers. Volumes 1 and 3 are prose translations, so they are fairly close to the original, except for the occasional additions that the English language naturally makes . Volume 2 is a poem, and since it is not rhymed, it has a lot more words. See below.

Fresh in our memories we keep

A time most grave and

dark and sinister...

Upon my narrative with dread

Therefore do I begin for painful

It needs must be, dear friends,

and sad.

(Irina Gelul Zhanova)

          There was a sad time - the memory of it is still fresh... I will begin my narrative of it is for you, my friends. My tale will be sad.

( John Finnell )

The original Russian text reads..

There was. A terrifying time.

The memory of him is still fresh ( first rhyme )

To you, my friends ( second verse )

Let me begin my story ( first rhyme )

My story must be tragic ( second verse )

Irina said that the original was just "horrifying"

There was a most grave and dark and baneful thing done .

We keep it that way. From now on with dread

You will see that we have added the words therefore.

John Finnell doesn't have that extra stuff, but the speech is structured.

It's not like him, and the rhyme is no longer there.

Since it's prose, it's easy to read as if it were prose. When I translated, I tried to avoid using extra words ( except for the occasional slur ), to keep the word order the same ( as much as possible ) , to keep the number of words ( acronyms ) the same, and to keep the rhyme the same.

It was a scary time.

The memory is still fresh.

Friends, you are counting.

I will begin the story.

The cost of living would be tragic.

So you will find that some words ( for example , " he" and " she") have been omitted, and some words in the verse have been moved to fit the rhyme ( for example, "there was a terrible time" has been replaced by "there was a terrible time ") . Apart from these minor details, my translation has tried to be as close as possible to the original Russian text.

The bronze horseman

The story of Peterborough

Introduction

On the shore of lonely waves

He stands there, thinking big.

Far away, wide open in front

The river is running down, the small boat is floating.

Only one floats above the river.

On the muddy shore,

There are black houses here and there.

The refuge of the red-headed bird,

The sun is hidden in the snow.

The forest that the rays do not know

The surrounding area.

He was thinking.

From here we will chase the Saudis,

We need to build a city here.

Arrogant neighbor is scary.

Here, nature gives us,

Opening a window to Europe,

To be more permanent than the sea.

With new waves for them

The guests will be all flags.

Let's have fun talking loudly.

A young city a hundred years ago

The beauty and wonder of the northern countries

From the darkness of the forest, from the mud of the lake

I came out looking beautiful.

Once upon a time, there was a Finnish fisherman here.

Nature's broken hearted son

Alone on the low shore

His pipe is in the unknown water

Where it was thrown, now it's there

On the crowded banks

The palaces and towers are magnificent.

It's already piling up. Ships.

Groups from all corners of the world

Let's sail to the rich harbor.

Sesame stone Neva River ornament.

Bridges are suspended over water.

Dark green and gardens

The wind that blows over his islands.

In front of the young city

Ancient Moscow faded,

In front of the new queen

The purple hunter is a real hunter.

I love you, Peter.

I love you, my dear, your beauty is beautiful,

The majestic flow of the Niva,

His sesame stone beach.

Min Win Hran's iron fence,

Your thoughts are the ship of nights.

The moonlight, piercing the twilight.

Me in my room.

I was writing and reading without a lamp.

The sleep of the lonely road

The volumes are bright, the waves are clear.

Admiralty Palace too.

In the golden sky,

Don't let the dark night come.

One dawn after another,

Just give me half an hour at night.

My love is fierce, my love is fierce.

The still wind and the snow,

With a frog running across the Neva River

A face that is more beautiful than a rose,

The colors of the dance, the sound of the music, the voices of the people,

At the time of the bachelor party

The pure sound of the gong,

The pale blue flame of punk,

Mars Stadium

I love the vigor of life,

Of the soldiers and the horses

I also love the beauty of the same line.

The torn flag of victory

They seem to be rolling around in a row,

Shot in the head in the war

The bronze helmets are beautiful.

I love the great city of war.

The roar and smoke of your fortress,

The Queen of the North bought the Golden Palace.

The time when the Son gave it to me.

A victory over the enemy

When Russia celebrates again.

The ice blue is broken,

Take it to the Neva Sea.

Enjoy the scent of spring.

Show your beauty, St. Petersburg.

Stand firm like Russia.

I can overcome even the wind and water.

I will make peace with you.

The bond between anger and old age

Forget the Finnish waves.

With vain hatred for Peter

Always sleep and don't disturb me.

It was a scary time.

The memory is still fresh..

Friends, you are counting.

I will begin the story.

My novel will be tragic.