Пангур Баан, котик мой,
Мы охотники с тобой.
Ловим мы во тьме ночей,
Я - слова, а ты - мышей.
На этот раз отступлю от своих правил; этот пост посвящён не моему творчеству, а (внезапно!) древнеирландскому стихотворению "Pangur Bán". Оно было найдено на полях какой-то летописи. Предположительно, его написал молодой монах примерно в VIII-IX веке во время ночных переписываний книг. Ниже я приведу оригинал (на случай, если кто-то знает древнеирландский))) и несколько переводов этой поэмы на английский язык.
Полного русского перевода я не нашлаОригинальный текстPangur Bán
Messe ocus Pangur Bán,
cechtar nathar fria saindan:
bíth a menmasam fri seilgg,
mu memna céin im saincheirdd.
Caraimse fos (ferr cach clu)
oc mu lebran, leir ingnu;
ni foirmtech frimm Pangur Bán:
caraid cesin a maccdán.
O ru biam (scél cen scís)
innar tegdais, ar n-oendís,
taithiunn, dichrichide clius,
ni fris tarddam ar n-áthius.
Gnáth, huaraib, ar gressaib gal
glenaid luch inna línsam;
os mé, du-fuit im lín chéin
dliged ndoraid cu ndronchéill.
Fuachaidsem fri frega fál
a rosc, a nglése comlán;
fuachimm chein fri fegi fis
mu rosc reil, cesu imdis.
Faelidsem cu ndene dul
hi nglen luch inna gerchrub;
hi tucu cheist ndoraid ndil
os me chene am faelid.
Cia beimmi a-min nach ré
ni derban cách a chele:
maith la cechtar nár a dán;
subaigthius a óenurán.
He fesin as choimsid dáu
in muid du-ngni cach oenláu;
du thabairt doraid du glé
for mu mud cein am messe.Перевод с ирландского Eavan Boland***
Myself and Pangur, cat and sage
Go each about our business;
I harass my beloved page,
He his mouse.
Fame comes second to the peace
Of study, a still day
Unenvying, Pangur's choice
Is child's play.
Neither bored, both hone
At home a separate skill
Moving after hours alone
To the kill
When at last his net wraps
After a sly fight
Around a mouse; mine traps
Sudden insight.
On my cell wall here,
His sight fixes, burning,
Searching; my old eyes peer
At new learning,
And his delight when his claws
Close on his prey
Equals mine when sudden clues
Light my way.
So we find by degrees
Peace in solitude,
Both of us, solitaries,
Have each the trade
He loves: Pangur, never idle
Day or night
Hunts mice; I hunt each riddle
From dark to light.Перевод с ирландского, возможно, Robin Flowers***
I and Pangur Ban, my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.
Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill will;
He, too, plies his simple skill.
'Tis a merry thing to see
At our task how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.
Oftentimes a mouse will stray
Into the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.
'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.
When a mouse darts from its den.
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!
So in peace our tasks we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine, and he has his.
Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade ;
I get wisdom day and night,
Turning Darkness into light.'
Перевод с ирландского James Marchand.***
(прим. пер.: I translate Pangur as Felix, in honor of my cat; Pangur would have been recognized as a cat's name in those days.
I have done some punctuating and word-breaking.)
I and white Felix,
each of us two (keeps) at his specialty:
his mind is set on hunting,
my mind on my special subject.
I love (it is better than all fame)
to be quiet beside my book, with persistent inquiry.
Not envious of me White Felix;
_he_ loves his childish art.
When we two are (tale without boredom)
alone in our house,
we have something to which we may apply our skill,
an endless sport.
It is customary at times for a mouse to stick in his net,
as a result of warlike struggles (feats of valor).
For my part, into _my_ net falls
some difficult crux of hard meaning.
He directs his bright perfect eye
against an enclosing wall.
Though my (once) clear eye is very weak
I direct it against acuteness of knowledge.
He is joyful with swift movement
when a mouse sticks in his sharp claw.
I too am joyful
when I understand a dearly loved difficult question.
Though we are always like this,
neither of us bothers the other:
each of us likes his craft,
rejoicing alone each in his.
He it is who is master for himself
of the work which he does every day.
I can perform my own task,
directed toward understanding clearly that which is difficult.Перевод на русский В.А. Заславского***
Забыл о славе я мирской
Ради уютной кельи
И Пангур белоснежный мой,
Со мной призванье делит.
И нет ни ссор, ни суеты,
Ни зависти меж нами.
И кот, и я увлечены
Любимыми делами.
Своим трудом я поглощен,
Святой наукой книжной.
И полон кот своих забот:
Его наука – мыши.
Врагу устроив западню,
Ко мне он мышь приносит.
А я – в сеть разума ловлю
Научные вопросы.
Пытлив и скор, кот вперил взор
В нору, где мышь таится.
Мои ж глаза глядят всегда
На книжные страницы.
Мой Пангур весело мурчит,
Когда добычу словит.
Я так же радуюсь, решив
Проблему в богословьи.
Сидим с котом мы за трудом,
Друг другу не мешаем,
Хоть занят я борьбой с грехом,
А кот – борьбой с мышами.
Отдам коту свою еду,
Свои печаль и радость.
И так вдвоем в ладу живем:
Монаху друг не в тягость.