Вірші про Україну на англійській мові з перекладом зібрані в цій статті.
Вірші про Україну на англійській мові з перекладом
It Doesn’t Touch Me…
It does not touch me, not a whit
If I live in Ukraine or no,
If men recall me, or forget,
Lost as I am, in foreign snow, –
Touches me not the slightest whit.
Captive, to manhood I have grown
In strangers’ homes, and by my own
Unmourned, a weeping captive still,
I’ll die, all that is mine, I will
Bear off; let not a trace remain
In our glorious Ukraine.
Our own land – yet a strangers’ rather.
And speaking with his son, no father
Will recall, nor bit him: Pray,
Pray, son! Of old, for our Ukraine,
They tortured all his life away.
It does not touch me, not a whit,
Whether that son will pray or no…
But it does touch me deep if knave,
Evil rogues lull our Ukraine
Asleep, and only in the flames
Let her, all plundered, wake again…
That touches me with deepest pain.
Мені однаково, чи буду… Тарас Шевченко
Мені однаково, чи буду
Я жить в Україні, чи ні.
Чи хто згадає, чи забуде
Мене в снігу на чужині –
Однаковісінько мені.
В неволі виріс меж чужими,
І, не оплаканий своїми,
В неволі, плачучи, умру,
І все з собою заберу,
Малого сліду не покину
На нашій славній Україні,
На нашій – не своїй землі.
І не пом’яне батько з сином,
Не скаже синові: «Молись.
Молися, сину: за Вкраїну
Його замучили колись».
Мені однаково, чи буде
Той син молитися, чи ні…
Та не однаково мені,
Як Україну злії люде
Присплять, лукаві, і в огні
Її, окраденую, збудять…
Ох, не однаково мені.
Beside the Cottage (Садок вишневий коло хати)
Beside the cottage cherry-trees are swinging,
Above the cherries may-bugs winging,
Ploughmen with their ploughs are homeward
heading,
Садок вишневий коло хати,
Хрущі над вишнями гудуть,
Плугатарі з плугами йдуть,
Співають ідучи дівчата,
А матері вечерять ждуть.
And lassies as they pass are singing,
While mothers wait with supper ready.
Beside the cottage all the family’s eating,
Above, the evening star the sunset’s greeting.
The evening meal the daughter serves around,
When mother chides, from where she’s
seated,
Her voice by singing nightingales is drowned.
Beside the cottage mother’s lullabying
Till little ones in golden slumbers’re lying;
She herself beside them falls asleep.
All is quiet, only the girls are vying
With nightingales and can’t their quiet keep.
Сім’я вечеря коло хати,
Вечірня зіронька встає.
Дочка вечерять подає,
А мати хоче научати,
Так соловейко не дає.
Поклала мати коло хати
Маленьких діточок своїх;
Сама заснула коло їх.
Затихло все, тілько дівчата
Та соловейко не затих.
***
Taras Shevchenko. Lichu v nevoli dni i nochi
In captivity I count the days and nights,
Then lose count.
O, Lord. How hard
These days drag on.
And the years flow between them.
They quietly flow by,
They take away the good and bad
With themselves!
They take away, without returning
Anything ever!
And don`t plead, for your prayer
Will be lost on God.
And the fourth year passes
Quietly, slowly,
And I begin to embroider
My fourth book in captivity I embroider
My sorrow in a foreign land
With blood and tears.
For you never can tell
Your grief to anyone in words,
Ever, ever,
Nowhere in the world! There are no words
In far-off captivity!
There are no words, no tears,
No nothing.
You don`t even have great God
Around you!
There is nothing to look at,
No one to speak to.
You don`t feel like living in the world,
But you have to live.
I must, I must, but why?
Not to lose my soul?
It`s not worth this sorrow
This is why I am fated
To live in the world, to drag
These chains in captivity.
Maybe some day I`ll still look
At my Ukraine
Maybe some day I`ll share
My word-tears with
Green oak groves,
Dark meadows!
For I have no kin
In all of Ukraine.
But still, the people aren`t the same
As in this foreign land!
I`d stroll along the Dnipro River
Through cheerful villages
And I`d sing my thoughts in songs,
Quiet ones, sad ones.
Let me live to that day, to glance,
Dear God,
At these green fields,
At these grave mounds.
If you don`t grant me this, then carry
My tears
To my land; for I, Lord,
I am dying for her!
Perhaps it will be easier
To lay myself down in this foreign land
If from time to time
They`ll remember me in Ukraine!
Carry my tears there, my Lord!
Or at least send hope
To my soul for there is nothing
That I can do with my wretched head,
For my heart grows cold
When I think that perhaps
I`ll be buried
In a foreign land and these thoughts
Will be buried with me.
And no one in Ukraine
Will remember me!
And perhaps quietly after the years
My thoughts embroidered by tears
Will reach Ukraine
Sometime and fall,
Like dew, over the land,
They will quietly fall
Over a sincere young heart!
And this heart will bow its head
And will weep with me,
And, perhaps, Lord,
Will remember me in prayer!
Let be what will be.
Whether to flow on or wander,
At least I`ll be forced to crucify myself!
But I`ll quietly embroider
These white pages anyway.
