Dylan thomas do not go gentle into that good night

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night Poem by Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Thank you Marcus Robbins for your exceptionally insightful interpretation of this poem. You’ve really nailed it as far as I’m concerned. It seems we are doomed, no matter which way we choose to live out our lives. We will all reach the same desperate destination.

It would be a man to write a poem using words about not being gentle but about raging. That’s what too many humin male primates do, they rage. Even in an experience with the potential for sweetness, gentleness, and xplration like a poem, humin male primates persist with raging. That must be what’s happening inside the brains of most humin male primates. Now, look at the states of the planet and the world and tell me this poet should not have used better words. I am sick and tired of the male destructive infestation of everything, including language.

Стихотворение Дилана Томаса

Не уходи смиренно, в сумрак вечной тьмы,
Пусть тлеет бесконечность в яростном закате.
Пылает гнев на то, как гаснет смертный мир,
Пусть мудрецы твердят, что прав лишь тьмы покой.
И не разжечь уж тлеющий костёр.
Не уходи смиренно в сумрак вечной тьмы,
Пылает гнев на то, как гаснет смертный мир.

Перевод стихотворения в более стихотворной форме:

Не следуй мирно в даль, где света нет,
Пусть гневом встретит старость свой конец.
Бунтуй, бунтуй, когда слабеет свет.

Хоть знают мудрецы, что тьма – ответ
На свет всех слов, не следует мудрец
Безропотно туда, где света нет.

И праведник, сдержавший свой обет
Нести добро как солнечный венец,
Рыдает зло, когда слабеет свет.

Дикарь, свободный человек, поэт,
Прекрасного певец, лучей ловец,
Не побредет туда, где света нет.

Увидев перед смертью рой комет
Сквозь слепоту всех лет былых, слепец
Бунтует, если угасает свет.

Еще один вариант перевода:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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Дилан Томас Не будь покорен, если гаснет свет!

Как все, что утром солнцу шлют привет,
когда лучи пригреют их посевы,
не будь покорен, если гаснет свет.

Как солнце днём и силой не сволочь
в его часы с небесного амвона,
не отступай, когда грозится ночь.

Dylan Thomas Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
1951

Дилан Томас С чего восточный ветер студит.
(С английского).

Dylan Thomas Why East Wind Chills

Why east wind chills and south wind cools
Shall not be known till windwell dries
And west’s no longer drowned
In winds that bring the fruit and rind
Of many a hundred falls;
Why silk is soft and the stone wounds
The child shall question all his days,
Why night-time rain and the breast’s blood
Both quench his thirst he’ll have a black reply.

When cometh Jack Frost? the children ask.
Shall they clasp a comet in their fists?
Not till, from high and low, their dust
Sprinkles in children’s eyes a long-last sleep
And dusk is crowded with the children’s ghosts,
Shall a white answer echo from the rooftops.

All things are known: the stars’ advice
Calls some content to travel with the winds,
Though what the stars ask as they round
ime upon time the towers of the skies
Is heard but little till the stars go out.
I hear content, and ‘Be Content’
Ring like a handbell through the corridors,
And ‘Know no answer,’ and I know
No answer to the children’s cry
Of echo’s answer and the man of frost
And ghostly comets over the raised fist
1936

Дилан Томас Сонет «Пять чувств».
(С английского).

Dylan Thomas Sonnet

When all my five and country senses see,
The fingers will forget green thumbs and mark
How, through the halfmoon’s vegetable eye,
Husk of young stars and handfull zodiac,
Love in the frost is pared and wintered by,
The whispering ears will watch love drummed away
Down breeze and shell to a discordant beach,
And, lashed to syllables, the lynx tongue cry
That her fond wounds are mended bitterly.
My nostrils see her breath burn like a bush.
My one and noble heart has witnesses
In all love’s countries, that will grope awake;
And when blind sleep drops on the spying senses,
The heart is sensual, though five eyes break.

Дилан Томас Среди убитых при утреннем налёте был столетний старец.
(С английского).

Dylan Thomas Among Those Killed in the Dawn Raid Was a Man aged a Hundred

When the morning was waking over the war
He put on his clothes and stepped out and he died,
The locks yawned loose and a blast blew them wide,
He dropped where he loved on the burst pavement stone
And the funeral grains of the slaughtered floor.
Tell his street on its back he stopped a sun
And the craters of his eyes grew springshots and fire
When all the keys shot from the locks, and rang.
Dig no more for the chains of his grey-haired heart.
The heavenly ambulance drawn by a wound
Assembling waits for the spade’s ring on the cage.
O keep his bones away from the common cart,
The morning is flying on the wings of his age
And a hundred storks perch on the sun’s right hand.

Дилан Томас. В благую ночь уйти не торопись.

ДИЛАН ТОМАС
В БЛАГУЮ НОЧЬ УЙТИ НЕ ТОРОПИСЬ.
(Перевод: Роман Дин)

В благую ночь уйти не торопись,
Пылай неистово с закатом дней,
Борись за свет, отчаянно борись!

Хоть знал мудрец: конец и тьма – сошлись,
Туманна речь – не блещет молнией, –
В благую ночь уйти не торопись.

С волной последней криком изошлись:
Великих планов – море, у людей, –
Борись за свет, отчаянно борись!

Дикарь, за солнцем бегая всю жизнь,
Испьет все ж чашу горечи своей, –
В благую ночь уйти не торопись.

Незряч и при смерти, но взглядом чист:
Как вспыхнет метеором взор очей!
Борись за свет, отчаянно борись!

И ты, отец, ушедший скорбно в высь,
Слезми, в святом укоре, обогрей!
В благую ночь уйти не торопись,
Борись за свет, отчаянно борись!

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
/1951/

mnweb’s notes

Недавно пересмотрели с друзьями «Интерстеллар». Вопреки ожиданию, во второй раз было не менее интересно, чем в первый. На многие вещи обратили больше внимания. Ну и обсуждение с рассуждениями на околокосмические и околонаучные темы это очень приятно.

Настроение было получено, воздух заряжен, и вот сегодня Наташа присылает стих, просто так, чтоб не потерялся. Решил, пусть лучше тут полежит:

Автор стихотворения — английский поэт, сценарист Дилан Томас (Dylan Thomas), живший в первой половине 20 века.

Другой перевод:

Оригинал:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.