Чиянов В. Ф. Там, где есть бумага RU EN

Там, где есть бумага,
Чувств не скрыть своих -
Падают отважно
Буквы в белый лист!

Падают, смеются,
Плачут и рыдают -
Свет моей души
В строчки превращают!

И, как в поле дальнем,
Всходы прорастают -
Эх, какая жалость,
Долго созревают…

Ну и пусть, когда-то,
Вырастут свободно
Злаки мыслей добрых,
Коль судьбе угодно…

Пахарь… Вдруг издатель
Заприметит это -
Урожай, что вырос,
Собирет наверно…

Ни копейки, знаешь,
Не могу я дать!
Забирай бесплатно,
Сделай каравай!

Может по дешевке,
Знаю - даром нет!
Ты продаш книжонки
Моих прошлых лет.

Налетайте, братцы!
Поделись деньгами
С теми, кто не сеял,
С теми, кто не жали.

Мне то безразлично,
И давно не надо -
Голубое небо
Золотое стало.

Падают листочки,
Листопад, шурша,
Вновь навеет строчки,
Запоет душа!

Там, где есть бумага,
Чувств не скрыть своих -
Падают отважно
Буквы в белый лист!

© Чиянов В.Ф.,2021


Where the paper is


I cannot hide my feelings where the paper is,
I let them drop courageously on pages.
I let the letters cry and laugh contagiously,
The light within my soul turns into daydreams.

I see the senses grow as if they were rich crops,
A field is far away, they ripen slowly.
Oh what a pity is to see these shining drops
Of seeds so immature, alight and lonely.

Once they have fully grown, it's time to cut them down,
Enthusing over vastness of these measures.
Let warm and honest thoughts save this immense, profound
And vivid symbol of fulfilling pleasure.

I work as hard in fields, as if I had a plough,
As tirelessly and selflessly I follow
The luminous procedure of creating dough,
But will the publisher distinctly borrow?

He sells my inspiration, telling me to step
Away from his diverse and wide intentions.
My interests with his could barely overlap,
But his approach is steady, comprehensive.

Go on and sell my musings, they are now for free
Part of a flow of Universe immeasured!
I focus on my sacred creativity,
And what I do is more than hiding treasures.

Beside themselves, let masses overturn my verse,
Let publishers mock and consider pointless
My own approach. I still will honour the diverse
Courageous authors from all social circles.

The autumn does its job, the contrast of blue sky
With gilded frames of leaves is so distinctive...
I will keep writing and my soul will magnify
Each moment, each emotion, so relictive.

I stroll the lonely road, with autumn in my pace,
So deeply I am drawn to self-negation,
Like tender zephyrs, I adorn my words with lace
Of sadness mixed with solemn, clear elation.

I cannot hide my feelings where the paper is,
I let them drop courageously on pages.
I let the letters cry and laugh contagiously,
The light within my soul turns into daydreams.

© Maryna Tchianova, 2021

* This poetic work is an adaptive translation of an elegy written by my father,  a doctor and a poet Victor Tchianov. 

From the point of view of literary theory, this approach to poetic translations - adaptive translation - is to be hopefully increasingly popular, as it helps 'localize' meanings and notions, including subtle 'undertones' of different moods merging one with another and a huge array of hidden allusions and images which arise in the reader's mind while a certain poem is being read or reviewed.

It is needless to say that in numerous cases the persona of the author might differ significantly from the reader's view of the lyrical hero.