dusty (upthera44) wrote,
dusty
upthera44

Новая версия перевода Веллера

Я исправил и улучшил несколько мест в переводе. Спасибо всем за ответы на предыдущий пост. Буду рад отзывам на новую версию. У меня есть один главный вопрос насчет этих сказок о висках. Это единственное место, и самое сложное, которое я пока не поправил. Мой вопрос о нем ниже на английском, место в переводе замечено звездочками: 

Why do they collect these fairy tales? Is it to praise and romanticize themselves (which they compare to wild horses)? Or to warn against their own mistakes and advise a more moderate, sensible lifestyle? I don't understand why they collect these fairytales -- in other words, what is being implied by this section of the text about the attitude of these people to their own lives?

 
I Want to be a Street Sweeper
by: Mikhail Veller

There are people who want to know everything, and there are those who are sick from what they know already. And so things don't get any worse, the latter keep quiet, while the former meddle in everything, hoping to make things better. Much to the irritation of those around them.

These people reject reality, as a fish rejects the frying pan. Burned by their encounters with the world, they think it fit that the world should also feel their presence. Their constant attempts to leave a mark aggravate the survival instincts of the world, embodied by wives and bosses, and result in a wide array of unpleasantness. This is called life experience. And when such persons decide they have enough life experience, they settle down and collect fairy tales about wild horses, tired and broken from running over mountain peeks--that no one drove them to--while normal horses trotted along normal roads, vigorously swishing their tails and eating oats at the roadside.*** 

And then they turn their gaze to children.


They--the adults--teach them--the children--as if they--adults--had achieved what ought to be achieved by them--children--since they--the adults--could have achieved it. This is called imparting wisdom.

For children a difficult life begins. I speak from experience.

Childhood dreams rarely come true. You want to be a street sweeper, but you become an academic. You want to wake up earlier than everyone, breathe the clean cool of dawn, rustle the autumn leaves with a broom, pour asphalt from a hose, pick up all sorts of interesting things lost by passersby the day before, greet neighbours on their way to work -- everyone knows you, everyone smiles, and you aren't afraid of your boss, there are plenty of bosses, but not enough street sweepers, they won't demote you -- there's nowhere to be demoted to, and they won't fire you--they would have to sweep the streets themselves, but instead you trudge with your violin to the music school, with an unwieldy portfolio--to art school, with a briefcase full of grammar books--to English language courses, and they trounce you after parent meetings, you march in formation at pioneer camps, you meet with tutors, tremble before graduation exams, become a nervous wreck from auditions, university finals, final papers, your thesis, get a government work assignment, your mom is in hysterics, your dad calls his old connections, you get married, stand in lines, get an apartment, buy furniture, defend your doctoral candidacy, and your children grow up, and your only wish is for them to be happy.

And without end: the boss needs articles, your wife-- a fur coat and a car, your children--jeans, bicycles, and later-- pocket money and freedom, then higher education, then they need wives and husbands, and you need medical attention.

Your children move away to other cities, get married, stand on their own two feet, stop writing to you, you're lucky if they still call on holidays, you become a grandfather, retire and are given the opportunity to do everything that your heart desires.

And having finally gotten the opportunity to do everything my heart desired, I went to ZhEK(1) and quickly got a job as a street sweeper. And now I get up earlier than everyone, breath the clean cool of dawn, rustle the autumn leaves with a broom, and all of the neighbours know me, and on their way to work they greet me and smile. And I pour asphalt from a hose and think, can it really be the way of the world that one has to spend his life going in a circle only to get back to what you wanted all along? Maybe something about this isn't right. And all my hope is that the mountain peaks won't break this wild horse.


1. ZhEK - Zhelishnaya ekspluatatsionnaya kontora is a Russian governmental department similar to Public Works

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