Пряхин Андрей Александрович : другие произведения.

Сон Dream

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Школа кожевенного мастерства: сумки, ремни своими руками
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  • Аннотация:
    HEARTBRREAKING IDA Boris Pasternak fell in love for the first time rather late when he was 20 years old. He fell in love with Ida Wissotzkaya, the daughter of a wealthy Moscow merchant. It was love at first sight. The parents sent Ida to learn abroad. By that reason Pasternak asked his parents also to send him to learn in Germany. He declared his love in Marburg and was refused. Later he wrote the same name famous poem dedicated to Ida. In 1913 Boris Pasternak transformed his love into the yellow-purple tints of autumn in another poem of his `The Dream`. As to Ida Wissotzkaya, she was a daughter of the Wissotzky Tea Co.`s owner who was an exclusive supplier of the Russian Royal Court. That Russian tea company was the largest in the world that time. After leaving the Russian classical school Ida learned in England, in Cambridge. She was infatuated with Shakespeare as it was obvious from her letters to Pasternak. Although a Jewish girl, she was a tall blonde. Later she married a banker Feldzer and died in 1979. By then the company of her late father, David Wissotzky, became the leading tea company in Israel. Of course, there was an abyss between Boris and Ida in a financial respect. Ida considered him a prospective friend for any chance; she could never expect that he would become a world-famous poet. Did she regret her refusal? Hardly ever. Poetry is poetry, but life is life.



Борис Пастернак
СОН
Мне снилась осень в полусвете стекол,
Друзья и ты в их шутовской гурьбе,
И, как с небес добывший крови сокол,
Спускалось сердце на руку к тебе.

Но время шло, и старилось, и глохло,
И, поволокой рамы серебря,
Заря из сада обдавала стекла
Кровавыми слезами сентября.

Но время шло и старилось. И рыхлый,
Как лед, трещал и таял кресел шелк.
Вдруг, громкая, запнулась ты и стихла,
И сон, как отзвук колокола, смолк.

Я пробудился. Был, как осень, темен
Рассвет, и ветер, удаляясь, нес,
Как за возом бегущий дождь соломин,
Гряду бегущих по небу берез.

By Boris Pasternak
THE DREAM
I dreamt of autumn in the dusk of window glasses.
There were friends and you in their motley crew.
My heart as if a falcon full of blood it got beyond the clouds
Alighted on the wrist of yours, predestined to its doom.

But time was passing, getting old, subsiding.
The dawn while making silver framings languishing as eyes
Was pouring blood red tears of September
O`er window glasses from the garden"s side.

But time was passing, getting old. And rotten
Silk of the chairs cracked and thawed as ice.
You, boisterous, stopped short as if forgotten.
The dream like echo of a bell grew vague at once.

I woke up. Dawn was dark as in late autumn,
And wind while moving off drove north
The skyline of the birch trees as a rainfall
Of straws from a straw cart when they pour forth.



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Новые книги авторов СИ, вышедшие из печати:
О.Болдырева "Крадуш. Чужие души" М.Николаев "Вторжение на Землю"

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Кожевенное мастерство | Сайт "Художники" | Доска об'явлений "Книги"