Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Between rebellion as a private study and the public

Defiance is simple action only which will flicker

Catlike, for spring. Whether at nerve-roots is secret

Iron, there’s no diviner can tell, only the moment can show.

Simple and unclear moment, on a morning utterly different

And under circumstances different from what you’d expected.

Your flag is public over granite. Gulls fly above it.

Whatever the issue of the battle is, your memory

Is public, for them to pull awry with crooked hands,

Moist eyes. And villages’ reputations will be built on

Inaccurate accounts of your campaign. You’re name for orators,

Figure stone-struck beneath damp Dublin sky.

In a delaying action, perhaps, on hillside in remote parish,

Outposts correctly placed, retreat secured to wood, bridge mined

Against pursuit, sniper may sight you carelessly contoured.

Or death my follow years in strait confinement, where diet

Is uniform as ceremony, lacking only fruit.

Or on the barrack square before the sun casts shadow.

Name, subject of all-considered words, praise and blame

Irrelevant, the public talk which sounds the same on hollow

Tongue as true, you’ll be with Parnell and with Pearse.

Name aldermen will raise a cheer with, teachers make reference

Oblique in class, and boys and women spin gum of sentiment

On qualities attributed in error.

Man, dweller in mountain huts, possessor of coloured mice,

Skilful in minor manual turns, patron of obscure subjects, of

Gaelic swordsmanship and mediaeval armoury,

The technique of the public man, the masked servilities are

Not for you. Master of military trade, you give

Like Raleigh, Lawrence, Childers, your services but not yourself.