Поэзия Канады (Эмили Полин Джонсон). Эмили Полин Джонсон
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Название: Поэзия Канады (Эмили Полин Джонсон)
Автор: Эмили Полин Джонсон
Издательство: Автор
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И Билла письмо заколочено внутрь, а под ним снеговая округа,
«Наверное, здесь прямо сел он на поезд» – сказал тогда Дэн, но я знал,
Одно существо или два под сугробом, впечатаны в снежный завал,
Он будто для нас написал на клочке: «Нет надежды, я сбился с пути,
Смотри, где трепещет платок на столбе, меня можно найти».
At Half-Mast
You didn't know Billy, did you? Well, Bill was one of the boys,
The greatest fellow you ever seen to racket an' raise a noise, -
An' sing! say, you never heard singing 'nless you heard Billy sing.
I used to say to him, "Billy, that voice that you've got there'd bring
A mighty sight more bank-notes to tuck away in your vest,
If only you'd go on the concert stage instead of a-ranchin' West."
An' Billy he'd jist go laughin', and say as I didn't know
A robin's whistle in springtime from a barnyard rooster's crow.
But Billy could sing, an' I sometimes think that voice lives anyhow, -
That perhaps Bill helps with the music in the place he's gone to now.
The last time that I seen him was the day he rode away;
He was goin' acrost the plain to catch the train for the East next day.
'Twas the only time I ever seen poor Bill that he didn't laugh
Or sing, an' kick up a rumpus an' racket around, and chaff,
For he'd got a letter from his folks that said for to hurry home,
For his mother was dyin' away down East an' she wanted Bill to come.
Say, but the feller took it hard, but he saddled up right away,
An' started across the plains to take the train for the East, next day.
Sometimes I lie awake a-nights jist a-thinkin' of the rest,
For that was the great big blizzard day, when the wind come down from west,
An' the snow piled up like mountains an' we couldn't put foot outside,
But jist set into the shack an' talked of Bill on his lonely ride.
We talked of the laugh he threw us as he went at the break o' day,
An' we talked of the poor old woman dyin' a thousand mile away.
Well, Dan O'Connell an' I went out to search at the end of the week,
Fer all of us fellers thought a lot, – a lot that we darsn't speak.
We'd been up the trail about forty mile, an' was talkin' of turnin' back,
But Dan, well, he wouldn't give in, so we kep' right on to the railroad track.
As soon as we sighted them telegraph wires says Dan, "Say, bless my soul!
Ain't that there Bill's red handkerchief tied half way up that pole?"
Yes, sir, there she was, with her ends a-flippin' an' flyin' in the wind,
An' underneath was the envelope of Bill's letter tightly pinned.
"Why, he must a-boarded the train right here," says Dan, but I kinder knew
That underneath them snowdrifts we would find a thing or two;
Fer he'd writ on that there paper, "Been lost fer hours, – all hope is past.
You'll find me, boys, where my handkerchief is flyin' at half-mast."
Во время молотьбы
Во время молотьбы сжимается початок
В клинках желтеющих своих, румян и сладок,
В шуршащей нынче оболочке кукуруза
С презреньем от листов, теперь они обуза,
Избавится, чтоб лечь в подвал с осенних грядок.
Среди веселых лиц телега с парою лошадок
Неспешно вклинилась в рабочий распорядок
По стеблям и стерне, скрипя от перегруза,
Во время молотьбы.
Пытливый лоцман воронья среди оградок
Собрал ораву для разбойничьих нападок,
Енот, хитрец и прирожденный мастер вкуса,
Из рога изобилия набьет нору и пузо,
Бурундукам нетерпеливым сдаст остаток
Во время молотьбы.
At Husking Time
At husking time the tassel fades
To brown above the yellow blades,
Whose rustling sheath enswathes the corn
That bursts its chrysalis in scorn
Longer to lie in prison shades.
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