Гiркi слова
"Ховають досi мого батька,-"
Такi узгодженi слова.
А над землею неба латка
I сонця сива голова.
Ховають досi мого батька,
Бо од вiйни його нема.
Зелений луг, як плащ-палатка,
I, наче дим, густий туман
I поки небо, поки вiтер,
Допоки хмаронька пливе,
Гiркi слова iз круглих лiтер
Торкають серце за живе.
The Bitter Words
"My father, they are still him burying,-"
The words form units once they're said.
The ground is in silence staring
At old white clouds overhead.
My father, they are still him burying,
For since that war he has been missed.
Green, as the tunic he was wearing,
The field is, smoky is the mist.
Till there is any thing that matters:
The sky, the sun, the wind, the rain,
These bitter words in round letters
Will touch my heart with aching pain.
Перевод из Ганны Чубач на английский 2
© Copyright: Геннадий Покрывайло, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116050908534
Свидетельство о публикации №116050908534
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