Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах (билингва)

Between rebellion as a private study and the publicDefiance is simple action only which will flickerCatlike, for spring. Whether at nerve-roots is secretIron, there’s no diviner can tell, only the moment can show.Simple and unclear moment, on a morning utterly differentAnd under circumstances different from what you’d expected.

Your flag is public over granite. Gulls fly above it.Whatever the issue of the battle is, your memoryIs public, for them to pull awry with crooked hands,Moist eyes. And villages’ reputations will be built onInaccurate accounts of your campaign. You’re name for orators,Figure stone-struck beneath damp Dublin sky.In a delaying action, perhaps, on hillside in remote parish,

Outposts correctly placed, retreat secured to wood, bridge minedAgainst pursuit, sniper may sight you carelessly contoured.Or death my follow years in strait confinement, where dietIs uniform as ceremony, lacking only fruit.Or on the barrack square before the sun casts shadow.Name, subject of all-considered words, praise and blame

Irrelevant, the public talk which sounds the same on hollowTongue as true, you’ll be with Parnell and with Pearse.Name aldermen will raise a cheer with, teachers make referenceOblique in class, and boys and women spin gum of sentimentOn qualities attributed in error.Man, dweller in mountain huts, possessor of coloured mice,Skilful in minor manual turns, patron of obscure subjects, of

Gaelic swordsmanship and mediaeval armoury,The technique of the public man, the masked servilities areNot for you. Master of military trade, you giveLike Raleigh, Lawrence, Childers, your services but not yourself.

Чарльз Донелли (1914–1937)

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