I.A. Malkovych. Selected verses in English.
Translated by V.S, Rzhevska
І.А. Малкович. Обрані вірші в англійському перекладі.
Переклад В.С. Ржевської
Джерело оригіналів. Малкович Іван. Подорожник з новими віршами. ґВидання 4-те, доповнене. Вірші вибрані та найновіші. К: А-БА-БА-ГА-ЛА-МА-ГА, 2017. = 320 с., серія "Українська Поетична Антологія".
Переклади здійснено з дозволу автора оригіналів. Проте дозвіл не поширювався на розміщення оригіналів в Мережі. Тому тут з оригіналів - лише назви або перші рядки. А переклади наводжу повністю.
Подорожник
Cад різдвяний
так дивлюся на свої гори
Враз баранчик народився. Цикл
Пташина елегія
Далеке літо
Юна моя майбутня дружина
Своїми провинами ангелячими
Напучування
Синочкові на першу його коляду Диптих
Синові
Вдома
Сумного й неминучого - я знаю...
Традиційний портрет поета
Леонтович
Отак прожив собі, дивись...
Церква
З нічних молитов
З янголом на плечі
Подорожник
A plantain
There's a boy wearing a torn shirt,
he's standing at the road.
His message is strange,
bu it's clear that he considers it good.
- My place is here, for I'm a plantain,
so put me at your wound.
Of many passers-by
no one stops, no one stops, though they could.
- My place is here, for I'm a plantain,
so put me at your wound.
Suddenly brakes squeezed,
the shirt was looked through by a wolf's eye:
- Why are you wandering here, boy?
Weary of your life? Seek to die?
And the boy moves his lips in a pale manner
through the laughter as through knives,
standing the same way as he had stood:
- My place is here, for I'm ... a plantain,
so put me at your wound...
Сад різдвяний
The Christmas orchard
Look, there are two having a walk together,
an elder one, who goes together with a child.
The child says "I'm God" and makes some snow fall.
They are in the Christmas orchard, that's a delight.
It is the calmest of all orchards,
and they are embraced by grace there.
The crunching of cold feathers is heard,
it is made by the small white geese of traces.
The elder one stopped surrounded by winter.
It is he that is the follower here.
He scoops some sky with angels into a pot.
It is for the child
to make him a pillow.
He knows that the kings will come,
he knows that they will kneel, and honour the right,
he knows that the small geese will grow up fast at night.
The title of the poem is translated as 'the Christmas orchard', not 'the Christmas garden' to introduce the play of sounds with the word 'child'.
так дивлюся на свої гори
i look at my mountains
as if i am to die tomorrow
i want to enjoy watching everything
even that little bush of potatoes
that gave birth in the ground
like a hen
and that poppy,
it is so fair -
it is like a fair.
Враз баранчик народився
Suddenly a lamb was born
A cycle
1. The land before Carpaty
It's the land where a floyara hardly sings,
but a woodpecker knocks as if making a sacrifice,
it's there that thin lambs and beech trees
look like boys so much,
that this may be a surprise
2. There was none of us in the barn,
and the weather had the working day's mood.
The weak rain was busy
falling
on the wood.
Yesterday we had all left our house,
the road to the black mountains attracted us.
Work first,
thought next.
Our father chose the mountains
to think in that place.
Suddenly a lamb was born
and was kicking the wood with his hoofs:
so he hurt three hoofs of his,
and he pushed off
with the fourth one
and run high to the field of sky...
Then I came to the barn
hoping to see something good...
Just the weak rain was busy
falling
on the wood.
3. I wish that lambs
never grew up -
that's what I thought
in the evening,
holding this frightened miracle
between my knees.
but the world's what it is
and I don't understand
why your wool will be
cut off
for you're not a soldier
my friend the lamb
4. Mom wrote to me:
'We have a loss
your lamb died.
it was as if snow from a fir tree
fell into my soul
because all of a sudden I recalled
having written a line like this
and quite recently:
"i wish that at least lambs
never grew up..."
did he understand
that he would never be
as he was at the moment
did he understand it all?
He did
i'm sure that he did
for he nestled in the barn's corner
said - be well -
to a younger lamb
and passed away then
And that anotther lamb was beating him with a small hoof:
- Let us play...
do you hear me?-
and then that another lamb lay close to him
to make the small hoof wet with tears
Now
when I watch the moon
I see the lamb there
he's so curly and sad -
with his hoofs up -
looking so as if he wants
to be born once again
... and i feel well with my friend the lamb
K.Moskalets wrote in his article on I.Malkovych that if the Little Prince wrote poetry it would have been like that of I.Malkovych in his youth. This may be a friendly compliment but turnes out to be more than that if one compares this cycle on a lamb with the start of the famous tale and the Prince's wish a lamb to be drawn for him.
Пташина елегія
The Birds Elegy
Among us only children
are those brothers
who are the closest to birds and angels.
They haven't forgotten how to fly
they flutter for half a year
and chirp is felt in their voices
You do remember the mysterious passion
of all children to bury dead birds
in the ground and to place
small crosses at their heads
(it is as if they were burying
the bird's nature of their own
in the breast of a frozen bird)
and recall the increased eyeballs
and these eyes - as large as half a face -
the eyes filled with sorrow for a bird - isn't it then
that children lose the fury of their cruelty - and tenderness
enters suddenly and warmly
what we call the soul - that is the highest moment.
when an angel turns into a human being,
....................................................................
ask your friends and let them
ask others and then you'll recognize
to your surprise - how many
graves of birds on the earth
are made with the childish hands
that is - how muh tenderness is left in the world!...
where does it go? why doesn't it grow with us?
why does - everyone - receive the soul
only once and in a grasp?
for all millers - those who live on spine -
destroy our bones persistently -
raise our heart higher and higher
(as if heart would see farther)
....................................................
only this sadness that is not to be fed up, as years pass -
this unmeasurable sadness with the eyes of a child
that enters us - replaces the soul slowly but persistently
replaces the soul taken by the wind -
it adds to it - makes it exhausted -
and becomes the lord of quiet hearts itself
the soul that we leave after us
becomes more and more sad
the generations that come to this world
become more lonely and more sad
those are the generations of people,
of birds,
of trees
Далеке літо
The far away summer
The parting with this summer was so empty -
it's far away now. Though it may be missed,
it won't be reached. There's glass between the summer and me,
the thinnest one, as if it were mist.
We both were crossed by this summer,
but we have the necessary means that's helping us:
it's calmness. We don't try to break this glass.
That's our protection that this summer gave.
Юна моя майбутня дружина
The youthful future wife of mine
The youthful future wife of mine
has the profile marked with the Egyptian charm.
Noone moves as smoothly as she,
and she's tender enough to sleep in a flower.
She gives a look,
and the sleepy an green heat has come.
I love her dearly and this makes me feel
as if I'm growing stronger, braver, and, certainly, serene and worthy.
And that is not only because she knits for me
a black sweter, that looks like an old coat of armour's copy.
She is endlessly feminine, up to her purring, her speech is rolled up into the wind,
and her words have white wings.
That's why I believe it all possible, that some day she'll become a bird's throat,
and for the birds' journey to find warmness she leaves.
своїми провинами ангелячими
what evil can you cause
by your offences of an angel
you small child?
is it drawing round your small hand
in your scholl notebook?
is it the godless missing of a few stanzas
when singing a carol
to be able to visit more houses this way?
oh cricket
with the trembling leafs of langs
there's but one thing
you will reproduce these stanzas
through the whole life of yours
as to a line
as to a word
and then you will break
each syllable
into many voices
when singing
Напучування
An Instruction
Though this may be
not the matter of the greatest importance
you child
are called to protect
the tiny candle of the letter "Ї"
with your small hands
and also
rising on your small toes
you're to protect the moonlike sikle
of the letter "є"
which was taken from the sky
together with the thread
for they say child
that our language is that of a nightingale
these words are nice
but understand
that times may come
when even the smallest nightingale
won't remember
our language
so we cannot rely
on nightingales only
child
Синочкові
на першу його коляду
To my dear boy
for his first carol singing
диптих
a diptych
1. A boy goes with the flag of a carol
on the holiday
He praises another, the one that is great
that is the boy of the same age
in the sky
who promised him a reward,
a piece of chocolate.
The carol is as sweet as cutya
it makes the mountains of snow fall apart
As the piece of chocolate melts in the mouth
faith grows stronger in the childish heart
2. There's the green cutya of hay
Christmas is dark tonight
The sad child of God in the sky
is praised by a human child.
January is severe, prison-like,
the star is lonely, when the message is told,
the sky is mute... What these two kids will find
in this indifferent and cruel world?
cutya is a traditional Ukrainian Christmas meal
Синові
To his son
You're the only one, so unique,
that one cannot tell, how.
And how shall I preserve you?
What is to be done?
I'll draw a picture of clowns with bells,
for you to have fun.
I'll gather seven pockets of flat stones
for you to throw them on water.
A pleasure that you will miss.
And I want to fill your pillow with sky,
for you to see angels in dreams.
Just call me, when this world, that shows tenderness rarely,
makes you cry.
I'll be like a true friend,
a horse from a fairy tale,
To your side I will fly.
Вдома
At home
I'll come again for two or three days,
and with nothing again. Believe
that I'll give no help there;
being useless, I will feel sorry.
There will be some nervous dialogues
almost in a sort of a dream,
and with that I'll only make my parentss worry.
What shall my fate give me here next time?
Shall we meet again? Shall there be all of us?
I'm leaving and see the parents of mine.
Mom and Dad are in the window like Huzul icons on glass.
Сумного й неминучого - я знаю...
Many reasons for unavoidable sadness
will be in my future. I know them, I can name them:
there will be fears, and illnessnesses, and deaths,
and cicades singing in my native desert,
and betrayals happening against the will,
and getting awake, and another star's attraction present...
Oh, my heart, you look through the ribs
as if from behind the bars,
you observe this mad change of scenes.
Oh, my heart, why were you given to a man like this?
Why were you given to me, to my dull body?
Was it for you to suffer more? Was it
for me to lean over the river again?
To drop my face there? Was it for the face
to disappear, taken by the water,
for me to cry in mute frustration?
The traditional portrait of a poet
A poet is very delicate
a creature:
he cries
over each tear
of his
Now there's one sitting under a scarecrow
and enjoying peace
Three sparrows have appeared flying
The thought that he had formed
was torn
by their wings
And certainly
they have left their droppings
as brave sparrows should
(at least some buttons
were seen on the coat)
The poet thinks:
- And what about
this good man,
who's standing above me
with a bowl on his head?
Why doesn't he
make these morons
fly away?
Oh, I see! -
the poet narrows his eye
and shakes his finger, -
the good man has no shoes
And the ground is already cold
as in winter...
And he looks most worried and compassionate
while unlacing
his shoes.
Леонтович
Leontovych
the christmas new-york moves with no hurry in the windows of a cadilac which is coloured beige and pearly:
the feastly streets are covered with snow and illuminated by people of various colours who are shining with content and gladness
he leaves the car in front of the apple store at fifth avenue and goes with no hurry in the direction of rockfeller center:
- the christmas installation is there - it is separated by the road from the main christmas tree and 'schedryck" is played again and again
someone from the cheerful crowd recognizes him:
- look look - that's no one else but mister leontovych, the creator of the carol of the bells!
- ukrainian bell carol - leontovych adds in english and smiles
- oh yes yes!... may i have your autograph?
- a small selfi please!
- and with us too!
- god there is mister leontovych - the king of the christmas mood!
- i am such a fan of your musyca!
a gentleman of thin stature with a small grey beard passes to him through the crowd and they embrace each other guickly and warmly
leontovych turns to the happy people who gather with great enthusiasm to make a photo with him
- let me introduce peter vilhovsky - he is the author of the english lyrics for "shedryck"... and my fellow contryman
.........................................................................................................................
i'm standing in the crowd of tourists and the hail of tears is falling down my face...
getting frozen as they fly they jump on the sidewalk of cement and crack under the feet of passers-by
leontovych recognizes me steppes to meet me stretches his warm hands:
- what happened? why are you crying friend?
- oh, don't ask maestro i had a horrible dream...
- tell it me then and forget it - for this is christmas!
- the dream concerned... you maestro leontovych...
- me? that's another reason to tell it - speak!
- i dreamed... that... it happened many years ago... it was in 1921... a chekist asked you for permission to stay in your house for the night... to give him lodging... and before dawn... no, no...i cannot...
-please, do continue! i do not fear dreams -
-and before dawn he... he shot you...
i am shivering as if i had a fever
all of a sudden leontovych burns out
a dark blue gap is in the place where he stood
i close my eyes and open them...
a swallow is making circles above fifth avenue...
mister leontovych is glad to make more and more photos with his chirping admirers...
it is as if i came out from a tunnel full of blood:
- what happiness it is that it was only a dream - i wisper to myself - only a terriible most terrible dream
Mykola Leontovych, a great Ukrainian composer and son to a priest, died in the way that the author saw in his dream. Namely, he was murdered by a checkist whom he had allowed to enter his house. It is easy to conclude that the murder was made according to a political order and became another terrible episode of fight between the two systems. There is evidence, however, that such an order to kill Leontovych did not exist. The checkist acted as a simple bandit, ans his actions were investigated as a crime. This circumstance does not give much ease to the understanding that the death of Leontovych was a striking tragedy.
The punctuation of the translation preserves that of the original.
Отак прожив собі, дивись...
Look, that's the whole life I have lived,
as if the only knowledge I received
was that my birth happened at five and thirty
and my funeral will be at one and thirty.
I came from somewhere, and
there's somewhere where I went
I almost was and I almost was not
Bu some will mourn me,
some will truly mourn,
somehow
and sometime
when I meet my end.
That is what I came for,
being meant to make some eyes bright,
even if rarely,
and to inspire some spirits to rise.
Brightness was to come violin-like,
that is, most tenderly,
and gladness was to be celllo-like,
that is, wise.
Церква
Church
This space is filled with intense, passionate wishes,
which are pressed densley,
and as such it reaches
its dome, being made as neatly
as a break.
There's murmuring here and there,
it is as naked as flowers,
for people hear easily what they speak.
Health to their children and more years to live. These are two main desires.
Their needs may be the same,
no matter who are the speakers,
but each prayer is to serve
its proper heroes,
the breath being different for every dream.
Like swarming bees, all flying lines have the same destination.
it's now that their cause deserves attention,
they strive to enter the Ear of the Supreme.
Not all of them have luck and energy for winning,
some need to wait too long before achieving.
Some may spend centuries
in their heavenly dance...
But even then He will bestow His grace,
and send a sighn by which it is expressed:
a flower may bloom above
the poor one, who is already covered with grass.
З нічних молитов
From the night prayers
Oh, my Lord, do put a stem of summer
to each lonely person's heart.
May each and everyone have salvation,
when in this world.
May each and everyone's heart feel great,
when surrounded with the bright ring
that shines and breaks
darkness of any strength and duration,
as we have been told.
That ring is the circle of Your faith.
З янголом на плечі
Старосвітська балада
With an angel on the shoulder
A ballad in the old style
Dark it is at the world's end
God sent His candle, for He cared
someone lonely there is feeling bolder
with an angel on his shoulder
There he goes, not to return,
his childish faith keeping him warm.
As he goes, his back is stricken
by the grey pendulum of life.
No, you should not go at night
Even if Good keeps His candle bright.
You won't travel any longer
with an angel on your shoulder
The cold wind is easy to hear
A cruel illness is drawing near
And the grey pendulum strikes
And the angel suffers and cries...
But the lonely one keeps going
Though the candle is hardly burning.
Good my angel, you keep me stronger,
Do not fall down from my shoulder!
ID:
1062283
ТИП: Поезія
СТИЛЬОВІ ЖАНРИ: Ліричний
ВИД ТВОРУ: Вірш
ТЕМАТИКА: Поетичні переклади
дата надходження: 12.05.2026 17:11:59
© дата внесення змiн: 29.05.2026 18:50:33
автор: Валентина Ржевская
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