Carmen Charonis

Наконец-то мой английский перевод аллегории маркиза Паломбара обрёл материальные книжные очертания. В связи с этим хотелось бы напомнить уважаемым читателям про некий поэтический конкурс, формально ещё не завершившийся, так что если есть желающие - милости просим. Если таковых не окажется, подведём итоги на основе имеющихся вариантов.

Для любителей английского, привожу свой перевод, вошедший в книгу:

*     *     *

This stone is not a stone, and still ’s a stone.
The sea, containing it, is not a sea.
And those chasing it just cannot see:
They’re moving off the thing that is well-known.

It is macabre and black, although white and fine, -
The vile thing that is among the dear.
The Sun congealed it of the starry sphere;
You cannot sell it, though you can find it.

No one possesses it, although everyone has it.
It is so far, and still it is so close;
In front of us it is, but our eyes are dazzled.

It dwells upon a hill, the one that never rose;
God blesses those who find its home, whereas
The mountains are not the place of its repose.

*     *     *

Unknown to us, the Chaos of the Wise,
The one we name (as well as any fool)
Son of the Sun, the Elemental Ruler,
Born in the East with many seeing eyes,

To us, despite its fetid breath, is sweet.
A venom with the bosom made of mist,
Before the fire as the Ice it did exist.
It reaches everyone; it has the wind for feet.

It is compound and simple, triune and one.
The priceless trifle, when falling down, it springs
Towards the heights of Heaven and the Sun.

This shapeless, black, and multi-colored thing
Is white and red. A treasure that we shun,
It is the World inside the spirit winged.