Текст песни Tangerine Dream - London
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На этой странице находится текст песни Tangerine Dream - London, а также перевод песни и видео или клип.
С этой песней обычно слушают:
Часть 1. London
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning church appals;
And the hapless soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down palace walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
По вольным улицам брожу,
У вольной издавна реки.
На всех я лицах нахожу
Печать бессилья и тоски.
Мужская брань, и женский стон,
И плач испуганных детей
В моих ушах звучат, как звон
Законом созданных цепей.
Здесь трубочистов юных крики
Пугают сумрачный собор,
И кровь солдата-горемыки
Течет на королевский двор.
А от проклятий и угроз
Девчонки в закоулках мрачных
Чернеют капли детских слез
И катафалки новобрачных.
Перевод С. Я. Маршака
Блуждая по пыльным улицам столицы,
Там, где Темзы поток струиться,
Я вижу лица - на них клеймо прожженно,
Печать нищеты, печали клеймо.
В молитве каждой, каждого из нас,
В младенцев плаче, не смыкающих от страха глаз,
Во всех отчаянных стенаниях к небесам,
Звенит цепями бездуховность, не чуждая нам.
Поглядите, как крики трубочистов
Ввергают в хаос церквей основы и софистов,
И как горемычных солдат предсмертный хрип
У стен дворцовых алой речкою бежит.
И как же, Боже, страшно мне в ночи,
Когда в борделе девочка кощунствует, кричит...
Тогда невинная слеза чернеет и гниет,
И от чумы уж скоро вовсе лицемерный брак помрет.
Перевод Л. Беспечной
From AMERICA. A PROPHECY
Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are
open;
And let his wife and children return from the opressor's
scourge.
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream,
Singing: "The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher
morning,
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall
cease.
Вскрыться навстречу жизни, где нет ни Врат, ни Цепей,
Детям и женам чтоб надсмотрщика бич не грозил.
Пусть их не верят. Вера позже придет: не во сне
Все это. Песнь восторга грянет: "Исходом из тьмы
Солнце взошло, луна сияет в блаженной ночи,
Власть изошла - теперь не будет ни Волка, ни Льва!"
Перевод В. Л. Топорова
______________________________
Часть 2. The Fly
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.
Летун проворный,
Твой летний бал
Рукой небрежной
Я вмиг прервал.
О мотылек!
Ты мне сродни.
Ведь сочтены
Часы и дни.
Вот я играю,
Резвлюсь, сную -
Но не прервут ли
И жизнь мою?
Пусть жизнь есть мысль,
И жар, и свет,
А смерть есть тьма,
Где мысли нет, -
И там, и там
Я лишь на срок.
И счастлив я -
Я мотылек.
Перевод Т. Стамовой (1996)
Малютка мошка,
Ты так хрупка!
Тебя сгубила
Моя рука.
А чем не мошка
Я, человек?
Ведь ненамного
Мой дольше век.
Пою, танцую,
Кружусь, пока
Меня не сгубит
Судьбы рука.
Но если разум
Для нас - как свет,
И где нет мысли -
Там жизни нет,
То жить ли буду
Иль смерти ждать,
Счастливой мошкой
Хочу летать.
Перевод А.Кудрявицкого (1994) William Blake Lyrics from Songs of Experience - Songs of Knowledge
Part 1. London
I wander thro 'each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning church appals;
And the hapless soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down palace walls.
But most thro 'midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
I wander through the free streets,
Freestyle has long been a river.
On all faces I find
The stamp of impotence and melancholy.
Male abuse and female moan
And the cry of frightened children
My ears are ringing
By the law of the chains created.
Here the chimney sweeps screams
The gloomy cathedral scares
And the blood of a wretched soldier
It flows into the royal court.
And from curses and threats
Girls in the gloomy back streets
Drops of children's tears turn black
And the hearses for the newlyweds.
Translated by S. Ya. Marshak
Wandering through the dusty streets of the capital
Where the Thames is flowing,
I see faces - they are branded,
The seal of poverty, the brand of sadness.
In the prayer of each, each of us,
In babies crying, not closing their eyes with fear,
In all the desperate groans to heaven
The lack of spirituality rings with chains, not alien to us.
Look how the chimney sweeps screams
They plunge into the chaos of the churches and the sophists,
And like a miserable soldier, death rattle
At the walls of the palace runs like a scarlet river.
And how, God, I'm scared in the night,
When a girl blasphemes in a brothel, screams ...
Then an innocent tear turns black and rots,
And from the plague, the hypocritical marriage will soon die.
Translation by L. Bespechnaya
From AMERICA. A PROPHECY
Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are
open;
And let his wife and children return from the opressor's
scourge.
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream,
Singing: "The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher
morning,
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night;
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall
cease.
Open up to meet life, where there are no Gates or Chains,
Children and wives so that the overseer does not threaten the scourge.
Let them not be believed. Faith will come later: not in a dream
All this. A song of delight will burst: "Out of the darkness
The sun is up, the moon is shining on a blissful night
Power has gone - now there will be no Wolf, no Lion! "
Translation by V. L. Toporov
______________________________
Part 2. The Fly
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.
The flyer is agile,
Your summer ball
By a careless hand
I interrupted instantly.
Oh moth!
You are akin to me.
After all, numbered
Hours and days.
Here I play
I frolic, sleepy -
But won't they interrupt
And my life?
Let life be a thought
And heat and light
And death is darkness
Where there is no thought -
Here and there
I'm only for a period.
And I'm happy -
I am a moth.
Translated by T. Stamova (1996)
Little midge
You are so fragile!
Ruined you
My hand.
Why not a midge
I am human?
After all, not much
Mine is longer than a century.
I sing, I dance
Spinning while
It won't ruin me
The hand of fate.
But if the mind
For us - like light
And where there is no thought -
There is no life there
Will I live
Or wait for death,
Happy midge
I want to fly.
Translated by A. Kudryavitsky (1994)
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