Author's website Alexander Korotko

Translations of Alexander Korotko’s works into many languages have occupied a special place in his work the last decade. The news feed of the site is regularly publishing messages about all new facts related to translations, that take place in the rich literary life of the writer, including news about foreign journal and Internet publications and book releases.

 

As in his own work, so in translations, there are especially successful things to which you want to return, reread and recollect. In the opinion of the author and his team responsible for the operation of the site, the site of the news page can be used as a reminder of such creative successes.

 

Today we return to the translated book of poetry “La grenouille rouge” (“Red Frog”), published in Paris in 2018, by the publishing house “L’Harmattan” and publish the poem “Frightened, heartfelt …” from this edition in the original language, translated into English by Michael Pursglove and translated into French by Nicole Laurent-Catrice.

 

 

* * *

Испуганно, проникновенно

вторгалось время в мою жизнь,

и ангелы со мной дружили,

и тишине они служили,

как служат Англии туманы

в своём величии незваном.

Я сослан памятью домой,

чтоб получить души наследство,

и вот стою я сам не свой

под одиноким небом детства,

и дождь дрожит, и я дрожу,

и никого не нахожу,

и не могу никак согреться,

и ветер гонит тучи прочь

на водопой в чужую осень,

и мне навстречу ночь идёт,

а может, бабушка святая,

я никого не различаю,

я просто долго умираю,

хочу увидеть свою дочь,

но океан лежит меж нами,

и он холодными руками

касается моих седин,

и я один, и он один.

 

* * *

 

Fearfully, heartfeltedly

time was invading my life,

and angels made my acquaintance

and served the silence

as fogs serve Britain

in majesty unbidden.

I’m exiled by memory home,

to receive the soul’s legacy.

I am not myself, but here I am

beneath childhood’s lonely sky,

and the rain shivers, and I shiver

and no one can I discover,

and can in no way warm myself,

and wind is driving clouds away

to a pond in an alien autumn,

and night is coming on to meet me,

but maybe, holy grandmother,

I cannot anyone descry

and simply take too long to die,

I want to see my daughter,

an ocean in between us stretches,

and with his icy fingers touches

my grizzled locks, my hair of grey,

and I’m alone, and so is she.

 

* * *

Le temps pénétrait dans ma vie avec

effroi et clairvoyance,

les anges me devenaient amis,

et servaient le silence,

à l`instar des brumes qui servent

l`Angleterre dans leur grandeur

ennuyeuse. La mémoire m`exile

chez moi, pour hériter de mon âme,

et me voici les sangs tournés

sous ce ciel solitaire de l`enfance,

et la pluie tremble, et je frissonne,

sans trouver personne, sans réussir

à me réchauffer, tandis que le vent

fouette les nuages versl`abreuvoir

dans un automne étranger, et la

nuit s`avance vers moi,

ou serait-ce ma grand-mère angélique ?

Je ne discerne personne, je meurs

si lentement, je voudraisvoir ma fille

mais entre nous se dresse l`océan,

il touche de ses paumes froides

mes cheveux blancs, tous les deux,

nous sommes si seuls ! 

This poem can also be heard in the author’s reading and reading by Nicole Laurent-Catrice, using the link:

 

https://korotko-poetry.com/aleksandr-korotko-i-nikol-loran-katris-chitajut-stihotvorenie