Thursday, April 28, 2011

Manuscript Found in a Bottle, Popklavsky

The Russian text of this poem by Boris Poplavsky was scraped from the website, "Literature of the Russian emigration: Boris Poplavsky."The Russian and the English adaptation (below) both appear in the the 1968 anthology Poets on Street Corners, edited by Olga Carlisle.

РУКОПИСЬ, НАЙДЕННАЯ В БУТЫЛКЕ

Мыс Доброй Надежды. Мы с доброй надеждой тебя покидали,
Но море чернело, и красный закат холодов
Стоял над кормою, где пассажирки рыдали,
И призрак Титаника нас провожал среди льдов.

В сумраке ахнул протяжный обеденный гонг.
В зале оркестр запел о любви невозвратной.
Вспыхнул на мачте блуждающий Эльмов огонь.
Перекрестились матросы внизу троекратно.

Мы погибали в таинственных южных морях,
Волны хлестали, смывая шезлонги и лодки.
Мы целовались, корабль опускался во мрак.
В трюме кричал арестант, сотрясая колодки.

С лодкою за борт, кривясь, исчезал рулевой,
Хлопали выстрелы, визги рвались на удары
Мы целовались, и над Твоей головой
Гасли ракеты, взвиваясь прекрасно и даром.

Мы на пустом корабле оставались вдвоем,
Мы погружались, но мы погружались в веселье.
Розовым утром безбрежный расцвел водоем,
Мы со слезами встречали свое новоселье.

Солнце взошло над курчавой Твоей головой,
Ты просыпалась и пошевелила рукою.
В трюме, ныряя, я встретился с мертвой ногой.
Милый мертвец, мы неделю питались тобою.

Милая, мы умираем, прижмись же ко мне.
Небо нас угнетает, нас душит синяя твердь.
Милая, мы просыпаемся, это во сне.
Милая, это не правда. Милая, это смерть.

Тихо восходит на щеки последний румянец.
Невыразимо счастливыми души вернутся ко снам.
Рукопись эту в бутылке, прочти, иностранец,
И позавидуй с богами и звездами нам.

*
As adapted by Denise Levertov:

Manuscript Found in a Bottle

Cape of Good Hope, we left you in good hope . . .
But soon the sea grew black, a gleam
of obsidian knives; the red sunset
chilled over the bows, where weeping passengars
clustered. The ghost of the Titanic
veered after us, following us through the ice.

At twilight the dinner gong echoed a long time.
The orchestra tuned up in the lounge to play love songs.
St. Elmo's Fire was seen between mast and funnel.
The sailors crossed themselves - oh, three times over:
the wildfire remained, a sickly gleam.

We were perishing in the mysterious
down-under ocean. Steep seas began to sweep away
deckchairs, boats . . . As the ship slumped into the dark
we turned to each other. Slowly kissed.
In the hold the prisoners howled and shook their chains.

We saw the Captain put off in a small boat.
Screams, the sound of blows, a ring of shots.
We kissed; behind your head - your
curly head - up went the beautiful, useless, disaster flares.
In what intimacy we were left to go down!

The decks were bare. What gaiety filled us!
The endless water blossomed with pink morning,
the sea sheathed its knives. With tears
we celebrated our housewarming. The deck
sloped like a hill behind us.

Slowly the sun rose (over your curly head).
You woke, turning at once to touch me again.
Diving into the hold, I met a leg
floating. Dear cadaver! You gave us
a week more of life.

Now we are dying. Come closer; closer.
The sky is against us, its hard azure is crushing us.
Dearest, we are awaking, this is a dream.
Dearest, this is not true.
Dearest, this is death.

Slowly a last blush
mounts to your cheek.
Souls return to their dreams: that is happiness.
-Stranger, read this letter sealed in a bottle,
and envy us, as you envy Gods and the stars.

3 comments:

  1. a fitting piece for today's prompt.
    well done.

    ReplyDelete
  2. invite you sharing a free verse with poets rally today.… 9 hours to go before we are closed.

    Hope to see you in!
    Have A Blessed Thursday!
    xxx

    ReplyDelete
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