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O Captain! My Captain!




Additional task

Compare and comment on R.Frost’s verse and its translation (Ap.3)

Appendix 1

Robert Frost

 

The Road Not Taken


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

 

Then took the other, as just as fair

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear,

Though as for that, the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back,

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 


 

Appendix 2

Walt Whitman

 

O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

 

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up – for you the flag is flung – for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths – for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mess, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dead father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck

You’ve fallen cold and dead.

 

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

 

 

Appendix 3

 

Robert Frost   The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;   Then took the other, as just as fair And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that, the passing there Had worn them really about the same,   And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back,   I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.   Роберт Фрост   Другая дорога В осеннем лесу, на развилке дорог, Стоял я, задумавшись, у поворота; Пути было два, и мир был широк, Однако я раздвоиться не мог, И надо было решаться на что-то.   Я выбрал дорогу, что вправо вела И, повернув, пропадала в чащобе. Нехоженей, что ли, она была И больше, казалось мне, заросла; А впрочем, заросшими были обе.   И обе манили, радуя глаз Сухой желтизною листвы сыпучей. Другую оставил я про запас, Хотя и догадывался в тот час, Что вряд ли вернуться выпадет случай.   Еще я вспомню когда-нибудь Далекое это утро лесное: Ведь был и другой предо мною путь, Но я решил направо свернуть – И это решило все остальное.   (пер. Григория Кружкова)  

 


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