A relatively quick translation of my favourite KR poem. Notes:
1. This translation isn't 1-1 (though I don't think I've strayed terribly far). Unlike my usual work, I decided that since it's a poem I should try and value the general vibe over getting it as close to the original as possible. Let me know if it worked.
2. At times, he uses what I assume to be nosism which I have translated simply as 'I' for ease of reading. I say assume because I could easily have interpreted it wrongly, but some lines (in my unprofessional opinion) make little sense if they are actually supposed to indicate 'we'.
3. I'm fairly certain it scans with the accompanying Plevitskaya song, though annoyingly some lines of the poem are omitted from the song anyway.
So without further ado...
He Died.
He died, poor man! In the military hospital
A long time the darling lay ill;
This soldier’s life gradually, slow as possible
Drained away till he was still…
Sooner than ought he was torn from his family:
Bitter tears wept his mother,
The full depths of maternal sorrow are damnably
Hard, in writing, to cover!
With inexpressible grief clouding her eyes
The poor wife held her husband:
A cup full of great woe for her son’s demise
Was, to her lips, early summoned.
And she looked to him with shaking hands extended
The poor baby boy of her breast…
…Out of sight the homes of his own land absconded
A bird from his family’s nest.
To the guards was appointed, an infantry man
In our regiment he was placed
His long journey to the Emperor’s service began
Imperial office attaste.
In appearance he was a most handsome recruit
Slender and so very tall
A milky complexion and rose-flush did suit
Lively and clever and droll:
With a fuzz over his lip scarcely visible,
With an honest, open face,
With hair pale brown, with eyes blue and affable
What a fine fellow, fine grace.
The corporal had him on surety and soon he
Grew settled with his new lot,
Grew used to science and history military
Stupid and slow he was not.
Shortly considered an experienced soldier
Most beloved of the band
In this Izmailovsky get-up he seemed bolder
Who would recognise the man!
Immaculate in each and every uniform
He fulfilled his service well,
And in shooting was the best, with perfect form
So his commander would tell.
By winter he would be in officer training
To be taught by many great men
And so well-prepared by them, would be in Spring
Returned to the company again:
Over time he’d have been a glorious commander
But that dream did not follow!
…Encampment ended; cold wind did the remainder
Of yellow leaves from trees blow,
Grey fog came down upon the capital city
Rain fell thick without an end
On a wet autumn day our fine fellow, now sickly,
Was to the hospital condemned.
He melted, like a candle, little by little
In our harsh and bitter land;
Meekly, to the Lord God gave his soul so gentle,
His life, modest time had spanned.
He died so far from his own native village,
He died so far from family
Without even motherly blessing did finish
This young soldier’s life rapidly.
His soft, gentle hands now eternally closed
Those eyes would never again shed
For a life well lived, nor a family composed, a
Tear more except that of the dead!
The regiment was informed of his sad demise
Squabbles were quick put away;
They clothed him in some old uniform, and with sighs
Over his coffin did pray.
The body was taken out of the hospital
The platoon all dressed with him
Clouds raced across the sky in a string, unnatural
The day of his burial, grim;
A blizzard was howling and screaming mournfully
With such a dreadful wail,
Weeping for the fate of our friend, gone so wretchedly,
Crying for his bitter tale!
The coffin was carried out; tethered to his friends
And along the narrow road
The regiment’s familiar grey nags did wend
Trotting and snorting they towed.
At the procession’s rear, I wandered from the gate
I would at least reach the corner:
To stand anywhere just before they took him straight
Out of my sight, one more mourner.
Once the coffin had vanished I stared and I stared
In silence for a long time…
People strange to the soldier would bury him there
In our frozen foreign clime,
Beyond the barrier, where the wind howls so
In the wilderness somewhere.
Sleep then, comrade of ours, though with you we can’t go!
Sleep then, this you must do
In this deep and damp little grave, all alone!
Memory eternal to you!
No comments:
Post a Comment