Login form

Section categories

Poems [6] Stories [3] Jokes [1] Songs [1]
Pictures [6] Videos [2] Translations [3] Essays [1]
Crosswords [0] Puzzles [0] Brochures [4] Presentations [2]
Recipes [8]

Search

Calendar

«  July 2010  »
SuMoTuWeThFrSa
    123
45678910
11121314151617
18192021222324
25262728293031

Our poll

Rate my site
Total of answers: 309

Tag Board

Site friends

  • Create a free website
  • Statistics


    Total online: 1
    Guests: 1
    Users: 0
    Sunday, 2024-05-19, 1:16 AM
    Welcome Guest | RSS
    "Troyeshchyna" Gymnasium Land
    Main | Registration | Login
    Blog/Creativity


    Main » 2010 » July » 10 » J. Thurman. Poems
    12:37 PM
    J. Thurman. Poems

    Judith Thurman began contributing to The New Yorker in 1987, and became a staff writer in 2000. She writes about fashion and books, and her subjects have included André Malraux, Elsa Schiaparelli, and Cristóbal Balenciaga. Thurman is the author of "Isak Dinesen: The Life of a Storyteller,” which won the 1983 National Book Award for Non-Fiction, and "Secrets of the Flesh: A Life of Colette,” (1999), winner of the Los Angeles Times Book Award for Biography, and the Salon Book Award for biography. The Dinesen biography served as the basis for Sydney Pollack’s movie "Out of Africa.” A collection of her New Yorker essays, "Cleopatra’s Nose,” was published in 2007.
    Thurman lives in New York.

    Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/bios/judith_thurman/search?contributorName=judith%20thurman#ixzz0tGcHWq00

     
    Rags

     
    The night wind

    rips a cloud sheet

    into rags,

    then rubs, rubs

    the October moon

    until it shines

    like a brass doorknob.

     

     Spill

     

     the wind

    scatters

    a flock of sparrows –

    a handful

    of small change

    spilled suddenly

    from the cloud’s pocket.

     
    My translations

     
    Ганчірки

     

    Нічний вітер

    Розриває

    захмарене простирадло

    на ганчірки,

    потім тре ними

    жовтневий місяць,

    аж поки він не засяє,

    як мідна ручка дверей.

     

    Розсип

    Вітер

    розганяє

    зграю горобців –
     
    жменя дрібних монет

    посипалася раптом

     з кишені хмари.

     

    First published:


     
    Category: Translations | Views: 530 | Added by: MsByzova | Rating: 5.0/1
    Total comments: 0
    Name *:
    Email *:
    Code *:

    Copyright MyCorp © 2024