Words and Verse
From Eugene Onegin (Translation-Russian)
This is a translation of the first six stanzas of Pushkin's Eugene Onegin: A Novel In Verse.
I
My uncle, morally perfected,
When in good earnest he fell sick
Won praise, and could not have selected
A better way to do this trick.
His act is an example given...
But what a bore! Dear God in heaven!
To tend a sick man night and day
And never move a step away.
Is there worse cunning degradation
Than to amuse a man half dead,
Adjust his pillow, sheets and bed,
And sadly bring him medication,
While sighing, thinking this thought too:
“Will Satan please come soon for you!?”
II
Thus one young dandy mused while flighty
His post-steeds kicked dust through the air
He was, by word of Zeus almighty,
His kinsmen's only extant heir.
Friends of Ruslan's and of Ludmilla's
Allow me, with no boring feelers
To forthwith now present to you
The hero of my novel new.
Eugene Onegin- my good friend
Born by Neva's great flowing blue
And where perhaps, you, reader, too
Were wont your days of old to spend...
There I myself once used to dwell,
The north, though, doesen't suit me well.
III
With his carreer of honor finished,
His father lived indebted o'er
With each triannual ball diminnished
His pocket, till he gave no more.
Fate saved Eugene from cruel perdition
At first Madame gave him tuition.
Then by Monsieur was she replaced.
The youngster was quite wild, but graced.
Monsieur l'Abbé, the French dispecture!
Not wont to tire the little bloke
He gave leçons as though a joke.
He punished with no moral lecture
A little sternness, then a scold
And then through Letny park they strolled.
IV
But when upon Eugene descended
Youth's bloom in all its turbulence
With longing, tender hope appended...
Monsieur was sent off packing hence.
Now my Eugene found freedom's passion;
Dressed in the latest western fashion;
Like Danny-dandy dressed was he
And soon the whole world did he see.
He had acheived a fair perfection
In speech and writing en français,
Good dance steps, and he knew the way
To make societal connection.
No more was needed; for its part
The world thought him quite nice and smart.
V
We all let our school days go flying-
Learned some-such-things by some-such-way
So one (thank God!) without much trying
Can seem to us as culturé.
Onegin was believed by many
(Objective judges, strict as any)
As pedant, but indeed well read
He had a knack, it must be said,
For staying light in conversation
And speaking idly, but with grace,
Presenting a mute expert's face
When arguments bore confrontation
And lighting up the ladies' smiles
With firey epirammic wiles.
VI
The Latin vogue is now receded,
And not to brag, without a doubt,
He had the Latin that was needed
To figure short Carminae out,
Cite Juvenal in conversation,
Write Vale as a salutation,
Of Virgil's Aenid he knew
With some mistakes, a verse or two.
To burrow through the hoar collection
Of ancient Chronologic waste
Was quite ill-suited to his taste
But anecdotal recollection
From Romulus to days just past-
To this his youthful mind held fast
I
My uncle, morally perfected,
When in good earnest he fell sick
Won praise, and could not have selected
A better way to do this trick.
His act is an example given...
But what a bore! Dear God in heaven!
To tend a sick man night and day
And never move a step away.
Is there worse cunning degradation
Than to amuse a man half dead,
Adjust his pillow, sheets and bed,
And sadly bring him medication,
While sighing, thinking this thought too:
“Will Satan please come soon for you!?”
II
Thus one young dandy mused while flighty
His post-steeds kicked dust through the air
He was, by word of Zeus almighty,
His kinsmen's only extant heir.
Friends of Ruslan's and of Ludmilla's
Allow me, with no boring feelers
To forthwith now present to you
The hero of my novel new.
Eugene Onegin- my good friend
Born by Neva's great flowing blue
And where perhaps, you, reader, too
Were wont your days of old to spend...
There I myself once used to dwell,
The north, though, doesen't suit me well.
III
With his carreer of honor finished,
His father lived indebted o'er
With each triannual ball diminnished
His pocket, till he gave no more.
Fate saved Eugene from cruel perdition
At first Madame gave him tuition.
Then by Monsieur was she replaced.
The youngster was quite wild, but graced.
Monsieur l'Abbé, the French dispecture!
Not wont to tire the little bloke
He gave leçons as though a joke.
He punished with no moral lecture
A little sternness, then a scold
And then through Letny park they strolled.
IV
But when upon Eugene descended
Youth's bloom in all its turbulence
With longing, tender hope appended...
Monsieur was sent off packing hence.
Now my Eugene found freedom's passion;
Dressed in the latest western fashion;
Like Danny-dandy dressed was he
And soon the whole world did he see.
He had acheived a fair perfection
In speech and writing en français,
Good dance steps, and he knew the way
To make societal connection.
No more was needed; for its part
The world thought him quite nice and smart.
V
We all let our school days go flying-
Learned some-such-things by some-such-way
So one (thank God!) without much trying
Can seem to us as culturé.
Onegin was believed by many
(Objective judges, strict as any)
As pedant, but indeed well read
He had a knack, it must be said,
For staying light in conversation
And speaking idly, but with grace,
Presenting a mute expert's face
When arguments bore confrontation
And lighting up the ladies' smiles
With firey epirammic wiles.
VI
The Latin vogue is now receded,
And not to brag, without a doubt,
He had the Latin that was needed
To figure short Carminae out,
Cite Juvenal in conversation,
Write Vale as a salutation,
Of Virgil's Aenid he knew
With some mistakes, a verse or two.
To burrow through the hoar collection
Of ancient Chronologic waste
Was quite ill-suited to his taste
But anecdotal recollection
From Romulus to days just past-
To this his youthful mind held fast
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From Eugene Onegin (Translation-Russian)
From Eugene Onegin (Translation-Russian)
