This may be thought of as Pushkin's locus amœnus poem, and it was an absolute pain in the ass to translate. Seriously. Not because the language is hard, or even because of the (today) opaque allusions, but because of the resonances of language. Pushkin's gift is the ability to phrase an idea in such a way, and in such a context, that the Russophone reader somehow just feels that this is the natural way to say it. Much as Shakespeare constructed phrases (not merely obvious ones such as to thine own self be true, the fault is not in the stars, doth protest to much, to be or not to be, one fell swoop, star-crossed lovers but also words many English speakers use every day such as good riddance, laughingstock, what's done is done, hoist by one's own petard, seen better days, strange bedfellows, a sorry sight) that, by dint of talent and a hefty amount of luck, became part of the English semanticon, so too did Pushkin make much of the Russian phrasebank in his own image. One example from this poem is властитель дум "master/potentate of (one's) thoughts/ideas" a term which in modern Russian is now used to describe the dominant intellectual influence either on a person or on an age.
To The Sea
By Alexander Pushkin
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Russian
Farewell, unfettered element!
Before me now one final time
You roll those azure waves again
And sparkle with a pride sublime.
To The Sea
By Alexander Pushkin
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Russian
Farewell, unfettered element!
Before me now one final time
You roll those azure waves again
And sparkle with a pride sublime.
Like an old friend's regretful sigh,
Like his last faint goodbye through tears,
Your summoning sound, your sounding cry,
This one last time now fills my ears.
You cherished precinct of my heart.
How often I in twilight went
Quiet and dark along your beach,
Wracked by a sacred deep intent1.
Like his last faint goodbye through tears,
Your summoning sound, your sounding cry,
This one last time now fills my ears.
You cherished precinct of my heart.
How often I in twilight went
Quiet and dark along your beach,
Wracked by a sacred deep intent1.
And what dear answers you would send:
Dim primal sounds, the chasm's call
The silences of eveningfall
And those impulsive flights of wind.
The humble sail of fishers' slips,
With the protection of your mood,
Bravely amid your watertips,
But you, a Titan unsubdued,
Roll rough and drown a herd of ships.
I did not have the luck to flee
this tedious, dry and stirless shore,
to greet your waves with ecstasy
and go poetically free
across your crests forevermore.
You called and waited... I was shackled
while my soul rioted in vain.
Bound by a spell of potent passion
beside the beach I would remain.
What's to regret? Toward what far shoal
Could I my madcap voyage chart?
In all your open wilds, one goal
Might still have power to strike my heart,
One cliff...that sepulcher of glory
There a chill slumber in the west
Whelmed memories of a mighty story...
There was Napoleon felled to rest.
He rested there in tribulations.
And, after him as thunder, rolls
Yet one more genius of the nations,
One more commander of our souls2
He vanished, grieved by liberty.
Seethe! Sound! Blow wild with angry weather.
He was your one true bard, O Sea.
In him your spirit left its mark,
In your own image he was framed:
Potent like you, profound and dark
Like you, an element untamed.
The world's a void. Now in that cold
Whither, O Sea, would you with me?
In every land one fate takes hold:
Each drop of virtue is patrolled
By technocrats...or tyranny3.
Like you, an element untamed.
The world's a void. Now in that cold
Whither, O Sea, would you with me?
In every land one fate takes hold:
Each drop of virtue is patrolled
By technocrats...or tyranny3.
So, Sea, farewell. I will recall
Your august splendor all my years.
Long shall your boom as evenings fall
Sound and resound within my ears.
To woods and hushful wastes, today
Imbued anew with you, I bring
Your gleam and shadow, cliff and bay,
And your dear waves' blue rumoring.
Notes:
1: A reference to Pushkin's plan (which ultimately never materialized) to escape Russia and head for western Europe via the Baltic. This idea is also alluded to in stanzas 6 and 7.
2: A reference to the poet Byron, who had died at Missolonghi earlier that year (1824.)
3: The original says "enlightenment" instead of "tecnhnocrats." The latter word didn't exist in Pushkin's time. Here Pushkin was using an instance of the old Romantic idea that "enlightenment" seen in western Europe as a herald of liberation was nothing more than tyranny in new garb. Pushkin's experience of this had to do with the way in which modernization and reform were being and had been implemented in Russia, being used to entrench power rather than challenge it.
К Морю
Александр Пушкин
Your august splendor all my years.
Long shall your boom as evenings fall
Sound and resound within my ears.
To woods and hushful wastes, today
Imbued anew with you, I bring
Your gleam and shadow, cliff and bay,
And your dear waves' blue rumoring.
Notes:
1: A reference to Pushkin's plan (which ultimately never materialized) to escape Russia and head for western Europe via the Baltic. This idea is also alluded to in stanzas 6 and 7.
2: A reference to the poet Byron, who had died at Missolonghi earlier that year (1824.)
3: The original says "enlightenment" instead of "tecnhnocrats." The latter word didn't exist in Pushkin's time. Here Pushkin was using an instance of the old Romantic idea that "enlightenment" seen in western Europe as a herald of liberation was nothing more than tyranny in new garb. Pushkin's experience of this had to do with the way in which modernization and reform were being and had been implemented in Russia, being used to entrench power rather than challenge it.
The Original:
К Морю
Александр Пушкин
Прощай, свободная стихія!
Въ послѣдній разъ передо мной
Ты катишь волны голубыя
И блещешь гордою красой.
Какъ друга ропотъ заунывный,
Какъ зовъ его въ прощальный часъ,
Твой грустный шумъ, твой шумъ призывный
Услышалъ я въ послѣдній разъ.
Моей души предѣлъ желанный!
Какъ часто по брегамъ твоимъ
Бродилъ я тихій и туманный,
Завѣтнымъ умысломъ томимъ!
Какъ я любилъ твои отзывы,
Глухіе звуки, бездны гласъ
И тишину въ вечерній часъ,
И своенравные порывы!
Смиренный парусъ рыбарей,
Твоею прихотью хранимый,
Скользитъ отважно средь зыбей:
Но ты взыгралъ, неодолимый;
И стая тонетъ кораблей.
Не удалось навѣкъ оставить
Мнѣ скучный, неподвижный брегъ,
Тебя восторгами поздравить
И по хребтамъ твоимъ направить
Мой поэтическій побѣгъ.
Ты ждалъ, ты звалъ... я былъ окованъ;
Вотще рвалась душа моя:
Могучей страстью очарованъ,
У береговъ остался я.
О чемъ жалѣть? Куда бы нынѣ
Я путь безпечный устремилъ?
Одинъ предметъ въ твоей пустынѣ
Мою бы душу поразилъ.
Одна скала, гробница славы...
Тамъ погружались въ хладный сонъ
Воспоминанья величавы:
Тамъ угасалъ Наполеонъ.
Тамъ онъ почилъ среди мученій.
И вслѣдъ за нимъ, какъ бури шумъ,
Другой отъ насъ умчался геній,
Другой властитель нашихъ думъ.
Исчезъ, оплаканный свободой,
Оставя міру свой вѣнецъ.
Шуми, взволнуйся непогодой:
Онъ былъ, о море, твой пѣвецъ.
Твой образъ былъ на немъ означенъ,
Онъ духомъ созданъ былъ твоимъ:
Какъ ты, могущъ, глубокъ и мраченъ,
Какъ ты, ничѣмъ неукротимъ.
Міръ опустѣлъ... Теперь куда же
Меня бъ ты вынесъ, океанъ?
Судьба людей повсюду та же:
Гдѣ благо, тамъ уже на стражѣ
Иль просвѣщенье, иль тиранъ.
Прощай же, море! не забуду
Твоей торжественной красы,
И долго, долго слышать буду
Твой гулъ въ вечерніе часы.
Въ лѣса, въ пустыни молчаливы
Перенесу, тобою полнъ,
Твои скалы, твои заливы,
И блескъ, и тѣнь, и говоръ волнъ.
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God damn, pal, you're a real pro in linguistics.
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