The Sound of the Trees
Nov. 30th, 2009 04:58 pmI wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place.
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of goiong
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing.
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees away,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
(Robert FROST)
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place.
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of goiong
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing.
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees away,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
(Robert FROST)
Роберт Фрост. Шум деревьев
Date: 2009-11-30 02:04 pm (UTC)К их листве, шелестящей угрюмо
Возле нашего дома, где нам
Так досаден бывает любой
Тишину нарушающий звук.
Мы им целые дни напролет
Безмятежно внимаем, но вдруг
Нас покоя лишает простой
Смысл бессвязного вроде бы шума.
Так до старости о несвободе
Причитает беспомощно тот,
Кто, мечтая всю жизнь об уходе,
Твердо знает, что это пустое
И что он никуда не уйдет.
Потому среди белого дня
Дерева увидав, головою
Поникаю и я, ибо ждет
Вряд ли участь иная меня.
Но однажды, услышав их шум,
На высокие листья и хвою
Я взгляну, и придет мне на ум
Неожиданно что-то такое,
Что, пусть даже себе на беду,
Я не стану твердить про уход,
А уйду.
(Перевод Б.Хлебникова)
no subject
Date: 2009-11-30 05:45 pm (UTC)