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Re: Песни в английском переводе

19.03.2015 23:09

Ой, Jacob Gore, простите, это Вы у меня спрашиваете, как я нашла эту тему? :scratch:
Я просто нажала кнопку "активные темы" в левом верхнем углу, под окном проверки грамотности. И, возможно, это я совсем не так смотрю: "домашняя страница этого сайта".... :sos: ауууу, форумцы! Скажите мне, как найти "домашнюю страницу этого сайта", пожаааалуйста! Это?
Image

Jacob Gore, а на ФБ Вы в друзьях с Тимуром Шаовым?
Три из них Тимур Султанович видел на концерте в Москве 8-го февраля. Сказал после антракта, что рад что англоязычным будут доступны некоторые...

Думаю, будет очень правильно передать тексты самому Тимуру. Вполне вероятно, тексты пригодятся ему на концертах в англоязычных странах. Хотя, :kin: на его концерты во всех странах ходят русскоговорящие.
Ну, а вдруг... Австралия, Нов.Зеландия. В Лондоне как-то был концерт.
Петь только учусь, и то классику, а гитару давно забыл, так что сам записать в переводе не смог бы.

Вот кто бы нам эти песни на английском "прославил под гитару"?
Было бы здОрово, если была запись. Я точно в машине бы постоянно слушала, и своим англоязычным друзьям отправила.

Конечно, ждем продолжения!

Re: Песни в английском переводе

20.03.2015 13:10

Я тоже всегда жму на "Активные темы", а если тема старая и её в активных нет, то в поиске по названию всегда найдётся. Но в данном случае тема активная.

Re: Песни в английском переводе

23.03.2015 22:02

A Goy's Song - Песня Гоя
(Transl. Jacob Gore)

I was born a goy, so happened,
yes, sometimes that's how it happens,
no big deal, just didn't have the luck.
But their God took pity on me,
many Jewish friends He sent me,
all the best among them — bless His heart!

I wish they all lived together,
it would sure ease my travels,
but more restless nation you won't find.
My Jews spread all o'er the planet,
from New York to Sydney, damn it,
now all year around I have to fly.

When I get there, I say:

"Take a brake from work, my boys, come see me!
Come on, just declare a Sabbath with me!"
And my pals say, as they grin,
like I was their closest kin:

"Oy,
goy,
hello, my dear boy!
Sing to us about a tomtit's life beyond the sea!
So, how's
the empire doing now?
And did Kabaeva for real have a son with him?"

If right now in North Korea,
just a few Jews lived, my dear,
then a decent country it would be!
We would have our half percent there,
I would give my concerts then there,
but none of them are moving there,
but none of them are moving there,
but none of them are moving there, you see.

I'm myself an aging artist,
an eternal-Jew guitarist,
all over this world with songs I go.
I asked a Rebbe, for my journal,
"Are any Circassians eternal?"
He replied, "If only yes, but no"!

And all of my dear yiddishe mamas,
Lyubas, Mashas, Innas, Tanyas, Zhannas
feed gefilte fish to me
as they sing with sympathy:

"Oy,
goy,
you're such a skinny boy!
Mother Russia starves to death her most deserving sons!
So small,
hardly eats at all,
looks like that bloodthirsty Kremlin stole and ate up all."

To my friend I said, "Mark, dearest,
in the wrongest place thou livest!
Go forth to the desert, some Jew you are!"
He was so offended by me,
he went forth. Moved to Miami.
There he mourns his country from afar.

Through the desert then I wandered,
only humus ate, and pondered,
thinking to myself, "Why did their God,
for a covenant land choosing,
picked this place to promise to them —
what, He couldn't find a cooler spot?"

Suddenly, I saw a bush on fire,
and it talked to me, as I perspired.
It smoked, sparkled and burned free,
as it spoke these words to me:

"Oy,
goy,
go back home, my boy!
What's with this reconnoissance, what do you want to know?
Ask, don't guess!
This place is simply bliss!
Desert in the summer's pleasant — goys just don't get this."

So go back home I will
and for a great big meal,
like Moses, gather people as my guests!
And with my goyish wife
I'll have drink to life
and wish my friends good health and all the best!

Yes, go back home I will
and for a great big meal,
like Moses, gather people as my guests!
And with my goyish wife
have a stiff drink to life
and wish my friends good health and all the best!
Last edited by Jacob Gore on 12.04.2015 09:28, edited 2 times in total.

Re: Песни в английском переводе

23.03.2015 22:36

Здорово! Я так со временем английский выучу. :apl: :appl: :apl:

Re: Песни в английском переводе

09.04.2015 19:59

Эх, яблочко!
Народная песня

Эх, яблочко, куда ты котишься?
Ко мне в рот попадёшь—не воротишься!

Эх яблочко, да на тарелочке!
Надоела мне жена—пойду к девочкам.

Oh, Apple Dear!
Russian folk song (transl. Jacob Gore)

Oh, apple dear, where are you rolling to?
If you roll to my mouth, that's the end of you!

Oh, apple dear, up on a little plate,
I am tired of my wife, I'll go on a date.


Oh, Apple Dear! - Эх, яблочко!
(Transl. Jacob Gore)

Having lunch out in the park,
in fresh air,
I see her as she strolls by,
maiden fair,
a James Joyce book in hand—it's a sign of an exquisite hipness.
With a slightly snobbish pout,
wistful glance,
looking longingly about—
elegance!
Oh, it has been so long since so much sex appeal I have witnessed!

Oh, apple dear, on a little plate,
this girl has to be approached with nuance and grace.
Oh, apple dear, I just might as well,
I will shamelessly walk up, introduce myself!

I'm an artist, I tell her,
underground,
I'm a non-conformist poet,
underground,
and I also love Joyce, and please, do not think I am some pervert.
She presents to me her hand—
a coquette!
My bait's taken just as planned—
the hook is set!
Now to reel the catch in, I must keep working patiently on it.

Oh, apple dear, my words must be wise.
My vocabulary shined, I quotationized.
Oh, apple dear, my fruit tropical,
our discussions were just so… philosophical.

Like:
Emotional, frustrational, novational, fellatial,
"Have you read Rape of Lucrece?" — "Is your potency substantial?"
I tell myself, "Horatio, but this much exaltation is
much more than our philosophers have dreamt!"

Night is falling.
Walked her to her house, right to her front door, right to her front door and…
Night is falling.
Hinted that I'd like to enter, maybe for a little coffee…
Night is falling…
She says, "My husband's gone tonight, come in."
Come on in!

To her boudoir we pass—
this is great!
Jin and Tonic in a glass—
truly great.
Says her husband does not understand her, that she's always lonely.
Says she's been a faithful wife—
I think, a lie.
Has been faithful all her life—
of course a lie!
If you're such a reflection of virtue, then why do you want me?

Oh, apple dear, there's no need to roll.
The dame had a little wine, lost all self-control.
Oh, apple dear, my drink not yet gone,
when she took away my glass, and just jumped my bones!

But the night did not end well—
once again.
Silently her husband came—
not again!
Not away, like she'd said, but right here, and he wants retribution.
He's from Kursk, from peasant stock,
like an ox,
drunk and angry as a boar,
mighty bloke.
I cried out, "We are civilized men, let us find a solution!"

Oh, apple dear, why do I chase broads?
He was pummeling by head with cast iron rods.
Oh, apple dear, 'twas no tournament.
I survived, but the concussion is permanent.

They are Trouble,
that's, my friend, what broads are, that's, my friend, what broads are.
They are Trouble.
In the head I'm sick now, in the head I'm weak now.
They are Trouble!
I walk around now mumbling all the time.
All the time!

"Duration and stagnation and oration and frustration
and cremation and castration and then electrification
and petition and sedition and incision and revision
and pollution and solution and then maybe revolution
and ambition and gradation. But what kind of installation?
And what is your motivation? But that's just defloweration!

And rotation and ovation and …"