Продолжая известную вам уже серию, выкладываю переложение одной очень старой лоркиной песни. Все фотографии сделаны именно там, где происходили события.

Вначале ссылка на оригинал, после английский текст, в конце - видео, чтобы было понятно, как именно английский вариант ложится на мелодию.



Cсылка на оригинал.

Heavy pyres clad in chill release a sliver of gray…
It would crawl up the hill, by a desolate trail,
It would silently steal up the mountain to roam…
Pray tell me, where is our home?

Are we caught in a mesh, do we have to walk blind,
To drag the burden of flesh through the flame and the spurn?
Does the thatch have to burn at the end of the thrash?
It’s over: we’re not confined!

Sword of night
Left its sheath
This is death -
Black-clad valiant knight
Will lead us skyward,
Where the psalms entwine,
Where the good people dine,
Like the Knights of King Arthur, around the Table,
At the Chalice of wine.

And they will greet us as friends and they will give us a place;
While Chalice-bearer descends to those, who dare to call,
And what emerged from the gall shall than expire with a grace!
We’re summonsed once and for all…

Above the mesh-work of roads, above the frost-bitten sprouts,
Above the haze that enshrouds our smoking wasted abodes
Above the clatter or horseshoes over ashes and hoar
There shines an aisle in the clouds…

Say your creed:
Knight is near.
He shall lead,
And the gate would appear,
And there would greet us
Those, who had our love,
Those, who waited above,
Those, who roamed just as we did, in slivers of smoke
From here…