2024.05.01.
Marina Tsvetayeva - Заводские (Zavodskiye) dalszöveg fordítás angol nyelvre
Translation
Factory
1
Stand in a laborer’s frown
The smoked hulls.
Over the soot sweep the curls
Moved by heaven.
In the breathed tea room loneliness
Wanders the greasy cup.
Cries out for righteousness
The outskirt’s last pipe.
Pipe! Pipe! Of foreheads distorted
The last one: we are here still!
What to death condemnation
In the complaint of last trumpet call!
As in your velvet satiety
Their pitiful howl comes thereafter!
What is buried alive
And hatching for slaughter!
And God? To very forehead is smoked,
Will not stand up! Waiting in vain!
Over the beds of hospitals and prisons
He by carnations is nailed.
Torment! Live meat!
It was and will be –
Till the end.
For all the songs, a mound,
And all despair is a nest:
Factory! Factory! Black lift-off
The factory is called.
To the despair of the factory pipe
Listen – for will be called
Factory. And no middleman
Will serve you then just so,
When over last city light
The final pipe will blow.
2
Book of eternity on people’s lips
Not just a leaf – just
At the last, last outbursts
Where beginning is grass
And beginning is truth… on a stone sowing,
Following bird droppings…
That last – final – farthest
Distant ones – the longest…
The furthest…
Says: come I will!
And in coffin still!
Hard to breathe – judge our case
And a pipe to slave.
That over the city of approved crimes,
Leperous children,
In smoky tin – like shameful pole
Like a raised finger.
Voice of mines and cellars,
Stunted stem foreheads!
Voice orphaned of and little,
Evil – and right in evil:
All the smoked, which the devil
Bought for the cover!
The voice of the racks and bunks,
Rafters and levers.
To whom – no garbage!
Myself – the last lumber!
The voice of all the voiceless
Under your whip – there!
Chirping are your cellars
Where without ray they are growing.
To whom came no rabble:
Self – and of alien shoulder!
Dare not move.
Was born – and lie down again!
The voice of little seamstresses
Pouring in the rain.
Black cough, as we see,
Lousy itching jealousy.
The shout, that is stained with blood:
There, where they beat and love…
Voice, beating in the dust
With forehead – of your meekness,
(Without a shirt proud voice
I will recognize!)
The nightly ode
Heaven, to your beauty!
All – that from the back door
Into life, and quietly
In the last, the last of all outposts,
There, where is right each one –
Or are disenfranched – standing on a stone,
In the splash of the first grass…
And towards, from an unknown
Tower – into a convict howl:
Voice of the truth of heaven
Against the truth of the ground.
Az előadó további dalszöveg fordításait megtalálhatod a következő linken: Marina Tsvetayeva
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