Мадона

Мадонна

А. С. Пушкин

Не множеством картин старинных мастеров

Украсить я всегда желал свою обитель,

Чтоб суеверно им дивился посетитель,

Внимая важному сужденью знатоков.

В простом углу моем, средь медленных трудов,

Одной картины я желал быть вечно зритель,

Одной: чтоб на меня с холста, как с облаков,

Пречистая и наш божественный спаситель —

Она с величием, он с разумом в очах —

Взирали, кроткие, во славе и в лучах,

Одни, без ангелов, под пальмою Сиона.

Исполнились мои желания. Творец

Тебя мне ниспослал, тебя, моя Мадонна,

Чистейшей прелести чистейший образец.

* * *

Madonna

Alexander Pushkin

Not by a multitude of antique art displayed,

I’ve sought to adorn all my humble dwelling’s air,

That visitors in awe might venerate and stare,

Awake to the esteemed, the connoisseurs’ crusade.

And in my modest nook, midst labour’s slow parade,

I wished to gaze forever on one painting rare,

Just one: to see from canvas, as if from clouds up there,

The Virgin and our Saviour, the holy accolade —

In grandeur she and he in wisdom’s purest guise —

And gazing back with gentle glory and the skies,

Beneath, alone, sans angels, the Zion’s palm’s sensation.

My desires found fulfilment, Creator, in essence,

Sent you to me, Madonna, down in revelation,

Oh beauty purest, in your purest existence.

(N. T.)

Къде живее Йожи?

Онова „наужким“ между доброто и лошото носи най-много смисъл.

(Надежда Радулова, „Тук живее Йожи“, Жанет 45, 2023)

(Year’s) Epilogue by Robert Browning

At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time,

When you set your fancies free,

Will they pass to where – by death, fools think, imprisoned –

Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so,

 – Pity me?

 

Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken!

What had I on earth to do

With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?

Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel

 – Being – who?

 

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward,

Never doubted clouds would break,

Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph,

Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better,

Sleep to wake.

 

No, at noonday in the bustle of man’s work-time

Greet the unseen with a cheer!

Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be,

“Strive and thrive!” cry “Speed, – fight on, fare ever

There as here!”