О муза пламенной сатиры!
Приди на мой призывный клич!
Не нужно мне гремящей лиры,
Вручи мне Ювеналов бич!
Не подражателям холодным,
Не переводчикам голодным,
Не безответным рифмачам
Готовлю язвы эпиграмм!
Мир вам, несчастные поэты,
Мир вам, журнальные клевреты,
Мир вам, смиренные глупцы!
А вы, ребята подлецы, -
Вперед! Всю вашу сволочь буду
Я мучить казнию стыда!
Но если же кого забуду,
Прошу напомнить, господа!
О, сколько лиц бесстыдно-бледных,
О, сколько лбов широко-медных
Готовы от меня принять
Неизгладимую печать!
Александр Пушкин, 1825
---
O Muse of satire, breathing fire!
Oh, come and heed my urgent call!
I do not need the thundering lyre,
Hand me the scourge of Juvenal!
Not the pedestrian imitators,
Not the penurious translators,
Nor rhymesters echoless, poor lambs,
Shall fester from my epigrams!
Peace to the poet wan with hunger,
Peace to the journals' gossipmonger.
Peace unto every harmless fool!
But as for you, my scoundrels cool,
Come forward! I shall surely hook one,
Hook all you scum with piercing pen,
And if by chance I overlook one,
Please do remind me, gentlemen!
Ah, mugs with sallow slander horrid,
Ah, forehead after brazen forehead,
All due from my avenging hand
The ineradicable brand!
@
http://halonine.tripod.com/1824-26.htm
К сожалению, кто автор этого перевода, я не знаю
---
Oh, Muse of the red-hot satire,
Appear at my urgent spell:
I've no need for rattling lyre,
Give me the whip of Juvenal!
Not to translators ever cold,
Or imitators gaunt and bold,
Not to the lambs, who make the rhymes,
I'll send the pledge of epigrams!
Enjoy your peace, oh, bard, despondent,
The journal's creature-correspondent,
The dull humiliated slaves!
But you, 'good' fellows, you, knaves --
Step forward! All your blackguards' party
I'll sentence to the stake of shame,
And, if I will forget the name
Of somebody, please help me smartly!
A lot of faces, pale and sassy,
A lot of brows, wide and brassy,
Are ready to receive from me
The brand, that ever must there be.
Yevgeny Bonver, December 1999
Edited by Dmitry Karshtedt, March 2000
---
O blazing Muse of pure satire!
Come forth on my inviting call!
I do not need the thundering lyre,
Give me the scourge of Juvenal!
And neither lifeless imitators
Nor hungry, gluttonous translators,
Nor rhymesters, unsatisfied ,
Shall fester from my pen tonight.
Peace to the poets, poor creators,
Peace to the journal's adulators,
Peace to the fools who have been tamed!
But rascals, you I'll put to shame,--
Come forth you villains, don't resist!
And everyone I'll punished then
But if by chance one I shall miss,
Please do remind me, gentlemen!
How many faces -- shameless-pale,
How many forehands -- dull and stale,
Stand here, all ready to acquire
The timeless imprint of my lyre!
Andrey Kneller
http://www.russianpoetryinenglish.com/blazingmuse/
https://sites.google.com/site/poetryandtranslations/aleksander-pushkin/-o-blazing-muse
---
Oh muse of fiery satire!
Come to my call, enough of sleep!
I don't need any silver lyre,
Entrust to me Juvenal's whip.
Not imitators, cold and angry,
Neither translators, bold and hungry,
Nor rhymers, jaunty, meek, or dumb,
Be targets for my epigram.
God bless you, miserable creatures!
Your indistinguishable features
Do not deserve such fury yet.
But you, the scoundrels, step ahead!
By th' smarting whip of shame, your rotten
Disgusting rabble I'll torment,
And if some will remain forgotten,
Then please remind me, gentlemen.
How many foreheads iron-pale,
How many faces, mean and stale
Are ready and just waiting till
I affix my indelible seal.
VG, 22 августа 2014