Poetry again, but for work!

One of the projects I'm working on involves a translation of some verse from Bulat Okujava, a Soviet-era singer-songwriter (the word бард is used in Russian, which has an English cognate—bard—that means little to the modern (American) English ear). The translation was apparently taken from an online source, and its only saving grace is that (in my opinion) it sounds even clunkier than my attempt below.

Живописцы

Живописцы, окуните ваши кисти
в суету дворов арбатских и в зарю,
чтобы были ваши кисти словно листья.
Словно листья, словно листья к ноябрю.

Окуните ваши кисти в голубое,
по традиции забытой городской,
нарисуйте и прилежно и с любовью,
как с любовью мы проходим по Тверской.

Мостовая пусть качнется, как очнется!
Пусть начнется, что еще не началось!
Вы рисуйте, вы рисуйте, вам зачтется...
Что гадать нам: удалось - не удалось?

Вы, как судьи, нарисуйте наши судьбы,
наше лето, нашу зиму и весну...
Ничего, что мы - чужие. Вы рисуйте!
Я потом, что непонятно, объясню.

* * *Painters

Painters, load your brushes
In the buzzing Arbat courtyards and the dawn,
So that your brushes be like the leaves,
Like the leaves, like the November leaves.

Load your brushes in the blue of sky,
In keeping with the city's lost tradition.
Paint with diligence and loving affection,
The way we fondly stroll along Tver Street.

Let the pavement tremble as it wakes,
Let commence what has not yet begun.
Paint on! Paint on! You'll be rewarded...
Who’re we to say it’s brilliant or fell short?

Be you like judges, depict our Fates,
Our summer, our winter, and spring...
Never mind that we're strangers. Keep on painting!
And then I’ll explain what’s not clear.

(Translated by Alexpgp)

In other news, last night was another of those go-to-sleep-at-10-wake-up-at-2 nights. I rattled around until 4 am and then went back to sleep.

The plate is well piled with work. I had better get to it.

Cheers...

Fatigue, thy name is... I forget...

I took on the larger of the two items due Friday and managed to commit 4500 words to phosphor. (Yes, I realize the information I created is stored as magnetic fields on a metal platter, and that phosphor isn't what makes my LCD monitor screens light up. There are probably about a dozen more problems with the expression, but I like it. So there. <grin>)

It's Drew's birthday today. I think I'll head on over and wish him a good one and give him his present.

Cheers...