Иосиф Бродский - Часы останови, забудь про телефон...
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Часы останови, забудь про телефон,
И бобику дай кость, чтобы не тявкал он.
Накрой чехлом рояль; под барабана дробь
И всхлипыванья пусть теперь выносят гроб.
Пускай аэроплан, свой объясняя вой,
Начертит в небесах “Он мертв” над головой,
И лебедь в бабочку из крепа спрячет грусть,
Регулировщики – в перчатках черных пусть.
Он был мой Север, Юг, мой Запад, мой Восток,
Мой шестидневный труд, мой выходной восторг,
Слова и их мотив, местоимений сплав.
Любви, считал я, нет конца. Я был не прав.
Созвездья погаси и больше не смотри
Вверх. Упакуй луну и солнце разбери,
Слей в чашку океан, лес чисто подмети.
Отныне ничего в них больше не найти.
ОРИГИНАЛ
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dogs from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, My South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun:
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
И бобику дай кость, чтобы не тявкал он.
Накрой чехлом рояль; под барабана дробь
И всхлипыванья пусть теперь выносят гроб.
Пускай аэроплан, свой объясняя вой,
Начертит в небесах “Он мертв” над головой,
И лебедь в бабочку из крепа спрячет грусть,
Регулировщики – в перчатках черных пусть.
Он был мой Север, Юг, мой Запад, мой Восток,
Мой шестидневный труд, мой выходной восторг,
Слова и их мотив, местоимений сплав.
Любви, считал я, нет конца. Я был не прав.
Созвездья погаси и больше не смотри
Вверх. Упакуй луну и солнце разбери,
Слей в чашку океан, лес чисто подмети.
Отныне ничего в них больше не найти.
ОРИГИНАЛ
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dogs from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, My South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun:
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
The clock stop, forget about the phone,
And give the bone to the bob so that he does not yap.
Cover the piano cover; Under the drum fraction
And let the sob now take out the coffin.
Let the airplane, explaining your howl,
Draws in the heavens “he is dead” above his head,
And swan in a butterfly from a crepe will hide sadness,
Adjusters - in black gloves, let.
He was my north, south, my west, my east,
My six -day work, my day off,
Words and their motive, pronouns of alloy.
Love, I thought, there is no end. I was wrong.
Bay out the constellations and don't look anymore
Up. Pack the moon and the sun, understand
Dry a cup of the ocean, the forest is cleanly noticeable.
From now on, nothing else to find in them.
ORIGINAL
Stop All the Clocks, Cut Off the Telephone,
Prevent the Dogs from Barking with A Juicy Bone,
Silence the Pianos and with Muffled Drum
Bring Out the Coffin, Let the Mourners Come.
Let Aeroplanes Circle Moaning Overhead
Scribbling on the Sky The Message He is Dead,
Put Crepe Bows Round the White Necks of the Public Doves,
Let the Traffic Policemen Wear Black Cotton Gloves.
He was my north, my south, my east and west,
My working Week and My Sunday Rest,
My Noon, My Midnight, My Talk, My Song;
I Thumbht that Love Would Last for Ever: I Was Wrong.
The Stars are not Wanted Now: Put out easel
Pack Up the Moon and Dismantle the Sun:
POUR AWAY THE OCEAN and SWEEP UP the Wood;
For Nothing Now Can Ever Come to Any Good.
And give the bone to the bob so that he does not yap.
Cover the piano cover; Under the drum fraction
And let the sob now take out the coffin.
Let the airplane, explaining your howl,
Draws in the heavens “he is dead” above his head,
And swan in a butterfly from a crepe will hide sadness,
Adjusters - in black gloves, let.
He was my north, south, my west, my east,
My six -day work, my day off,
Words and their motive, pronouns of alloy.
Love, I thought, there is no end. I was wrong.
Bay out the constellations and don't look anymore
Up. Pack the moon and the sun, understand
Dry a cup of the ocean, the forest is cleanly noticeable.
From now on, nothing else to find in them.
ORIGINAL
Stop All the Clocks, Cut Off the Telephone,
Prevent the Dogs from Barking with A Juicy Bone,
Silence the Pianos and with Muffled Drum
Bring Out the Coffin, Let the Mourners Come.
Let Aeroplanes Circle Moaning Overhead
Scribbling on the Sky The Message He is Dead,
Put Crepe Bows Round the White Necks of the Public Doves,
Let the Traffic Policemen Wear Black Cotton Gloves.
He was my north, my south, my east and west,
My working Week and My Sunday Rest,
My Noon, My Midnight, My Talk, My Song;
I Thumbht that Love Would Last for Ever: I Was Wrong.
The Stars are not Wanted Now: Put out easel
Pack Up the Moon and Dismantle the Sun:
POUR AWAY THE OCEAN and SWEEP UP the Wood;
For Nothing Now Can Ever Come to Any Good.
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