Posted: 05 Nov 2015 03:28 AM PST
This may be thought of as Pushkin's locus amÅ“nus poem, and it was an absolute pain in the ass to translate. Seriously. Not because the language is hard, or even because of the (today) opaque allusions, but because of the resonances of language. Pushkin's gift is the ability to phrase an idea in such a way, and in such a context, that the Russophone reader somehow just feels that this is the natural way to say it. Much as Shakespeare constructed phrases (not merely obvious ones such as to thine own self be true, the fault is not in the stars, doth protest to much, to be or not to be, one fell swoop, star-crossed lovers but also words many English speakers use every day such as good riddance, laughingstock, what's done is done, hoist by one's own petard, seen better days, strange bedfellows, a sorry sight) that, by dint of talent and a hefty amount of luck, became part of the English semanticon, so too did Pushkin make much of the Russian phrasebank in his own image. One example from this poem is влаÑтитель дум "master/potentate of (one's) thoughts/ideas" a term which in modern Russian is now used to describe the dominant intellectual influence either on a person or on an age.
To The Sea By Alexander Pushkin Translated by A.Z. Foreman Click to hear me recite the original Russian
Unfettered element! Farewell Before me now one final time You roll again that skyblue swell, And sparkle with a pride sublime.
Like an old friend's regretful sigh, Like calls of fare-you-well through tears, Your summoning sound, your sounding cry, One final time now fills my ears.
Oh yes, my heart's desired reach! How often I in twilight went Quiet and dark along your beach, Wracked by a sacred deep intent1
Dear were the answers you would send, Dim primal sounds, the chasm's call The silences of eveningfall And those impulsive flights of wind.
The humble sail of fishers' slips, With the protection of your mood, Bravely amid your watertips, But you, a Titan unsubdued, Roll rough and drown a herd of ships.
'Twas not my luck to leave the night Fallen on this dry stirless shore, To greet you, raptured into light, And make my grand poetic flight Across your crests forevermore
You called... I was enthralled aground. Vainly my heart in shackles strained. By spells of potent passion bound Beside the beaches I remained.

What's to regret? Toward what far shoal Could I my madcap voyage chart? In all your open wilds, one goal Could still have power to strike my heart,
One cliff...that sepulcher of glory There a chill slumber in the west Whelmed memories of a mighty story... There was Napoleon felled to rest.
There rested he in tribulations. And, after him as thunder, rolls Yet one more genius of the nations, One more commander of our souls2
Leaving the world his wreath forever He vanished, grieved by liberty. Seethe! Sound! Blow wild with angry weather. He was your one true bard, O Sea.
In him your spirit wrought its mark, In your own image was he framed Like you was potent, deep and dark. Like you, an element untamed.
The world's a void. Now in that cold Whither, O Sea, would you with me? In every land one fate takes hold: Each drop of virtue is patrolled By technocrats...or tyranny3
So, Sea, farewell. I will recall Your august splendor all my years. Long shall your boom as evenings fall Sound and resound within my ears.
To woods and hushful wastes, away Imbued anew with you, I bring Your gleam and shadow, cliff and bay, And your dear waves' blue rumoring.
Notes: 1: A reference to Pushkin's plan (which ultimately never materialized) to escape Russia and head for western Europe via the Baltic. This idea is also alluded to in stanzas 6 and 7. 2: A reference to the poet Byron, who had died at Missolonghi earlier that year (1824.) 3: The original says "enlightenment" instead of "tecnhnocrats." The latter word didn't exist in Pushkin's time. Here Pushkin was using an instance of the old Romantic idea that "enlightenment" seen in western Europe as a herald of liberation was nothing more than tyranny in new garb. Pushkin's experience of this had to do with the way in which modernization and reform were being and had been implemented in Russia, being used to entrench power rather than challenge it.
The Original:
К Морю ÐлекÑандр Пушкин
Прощай, ÑÐ²Ð¾Ð±Ð¾Ð´Ð½Ð°Ñ ÑтихиÑ! Ð’ поÑледний раз передо мной Ты катишь волны голубые И блещешь гордою краÑой.
Как друга ропот заунывный, Как зов его в прощальный чаÑ, Твой груÑтный шум, твой шум призывный УÑлышал Ñ Ð² поÑледний раз.
Моей души предел желанный! Как чаÑто по брегам твоим Бродил Ñ Ñ‚Ð¸Ñ…Ð¸Ð¹ и туманный, Заветным умыÑлом томим!
Как Ñ Ð»ÑŽÐ±Ð¸Ð» твои отзывы, Глухие звуки, бездны глаÑ, И тишину в вечерний чаÑ, И Ñвоенравные порывы!
Смиренный Ð¿Ð°Ñ€ÑƒÑ Ñ€Ñ‹Ð±Ð°Ñ€ÐµÐ¹, Твоею прихотью хранимый, Скользит отважно Ñредь зыбей: Ðо Ñ‚Ñ‹ взыграл, неодолимый,- И ÑÑ‚Ð°Ñ Ñ‚Ð¾Ð½ÐµÑ‚ кораблей.
Ðе удалоÑÑŒ навек оÑтавить Мне Ñкучный, неподвижный брег, Ð¢ÐµÐ±Ñ Ð²Ð¾Ñторгами поздравить И по хребтам твоим направить Мой поÑтичеÑкий побег.
Ты ждал, Ñ‚Ñ‹ звал... Ñ Ð±Ñ‹Ð» окован; Вотще рвалаÑÑŒ душа моÑ: Могучей ÑтраÑтью очарован, У берегов оÑталÑÑ Ñ.
О чем жалеть? Куда бы ныне Я путь беÑпечный уÑтремил? Один предмет в твоей пуÑтыне Мою бы душу поразил.
Одна Ñкала, гробница Ñлавы... Там погружалиÑÑŒ в хладный Ñон ВоÑÐ¿Ð¾Ð¼Ð¸Ð½Ð°Ð½ÑŒÑ Ð²ÐµÐ»Ð¸Ñ‡Ð°Ð²Ñ‹: Там угаÑал Ðаполеон.
Там он почил Ñреди мучений. И вÑлед за ним, как бури шум, Другой от Ð½Ð°Ñ ÑƒÐ¼Ñ‡Ð°Ð»ÑÑ Ð³ÐµÐ½Ð¸Ð¹, Другой влаÑтитель наших дум.
ИÑчез, оплаканный Ñвободой, ОÑÑ‚Ð°Ð²Ñ Ð¼Ð¸Ñ€Ñƒ Ñвой венец. Шуми, взволнуйÑÑ Ð½ÐµÐ¿Ð¾Ð³Ð¾Ð´Ð¾Ð¹: Он был, о море, твой певец.
Твой образ был на нем означен, Он духом Ñоздан был твоим: Как Ñ‚Ñ‹, могущ, глубок и мрачен, Как Ñ‚Ñ‹, ничем неукротим.
Мир опуÑтел... Теперь куда же ÐœÐµÐ½Ñ Ð± Ñ‚Ñ‹ вынеÑ, океан? Судьба людей повÑюду та же: Где ÐºÐ°Ð¿Ð»Ñ Ð±Ð»Ð°Ð³Ð°, там на Ñтраже Уж проÑвещенье иль тиран.
Прощай же, море! Ðе забуду Твоей торжеÑтвенной краÑÑ‹ И долго, долго Ñлышать буду Твой гул в вечерние чаÑÑ‹.
Ð’ леÑа, в пуÑтыни молчаливы ПеренеÑу, тобою полн, Твои Ñкалы, твои заливы, И блеÑк, и тень, и говор волн.
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