b_a_n_s_h_e_e (b_a_n_s_h_e_e) wrote,

Вот такую прелесть я нашла, когда копалась в антологии по английской литературе. Это пародия Уэнди Коуп - как Уордсворт написал бы детское стихотворение :)))

Wendy Cope (b. 1945)
A Nursery Rhyme (as it might have been written by Wordsworth)
The skylark and the jade sang loud and long,
The sun was calm and bright, the air was sweet,
When all at once I heard above the throng
Of jocund birds a single plaintive bleat.

And, turning, saw, as one sees in a dream,
It was a Sheep had broke the moorland peace
With his sad cry, a creature who did seem
The blackest thing that ever wor a fleece.

I walked towards him on the stony track
And, pausing for a while between two crags,
I asked him, "Have you wool upon your back?"
Thus he bespake, "Enough to fill three bags."

Most courteously, in measured tones, he told
Who would receive each bag and where they dwelt;
And oft, now years have passed and I am old,
I recollect with joy that inky pelt.

А само детское стихотворение можно посмотреть под катом (хотя думаю, что вы уже догадались). Так же под катом еще две пародии - на Горация и на Шескпира.

Стихотворение, разумеется, вот это :)

Bah, bah, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, many have I,
Three bags full;
One for my master,
One for my dame,
But none for the little boy
Who cries in the lane.


Ода Горация I-XI Carpe Diem - текст на латыни, в переводе E.A. Robinson и пародия New Year's Toast

Tu ne quaesieris - scire nefas - quem mihi, quem tibi
finem di dederint, Leuconoë, nec Babylonios
temptaris numeros. ut melius, quicquid erit, pati!
seu plures hiemes, seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
Tyrhenum. Sapias, vina liques, et spatio brevi
spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida
aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

Horace to Leuconoe

I PRAY you not, Leuconoe, to pore
With unpermitted eyes on what may be
Appointed by the gods for you and me,
Nor on Chaldean figures any more.
'T were infinitely better to implore
The present only: -- whether Jove decree
More winters yet to come, or whether he
Make even this, whose hard, wave-eaten shore
Shatters the Tuscan seas to-day, the last --
Be wise withal, and rack your wine, nor fill
Your bosom with large hopes; for while I sing,
The envious close of time is narrowing; --
So seize the day, -- or ever it be past, --
And let the morrow come for what it will.

A.E. Stallings
A New Year's Toast (2000)

Blanche - don't ask - it isn't right for us to know what ends
Fate may have in store for us. Don't dial up Psychic Friends.
Isn't it better just to take whatever the future sends,
Whether the new millenium goes off without a hitch
Or World War III is triggered by an old computer glitch?
Wise up. Have a drink. Keep plans to a modest pitch.
Even as we're talking here, we spend the time we borrow.
Seize Today - trust nothing to that sly old cheat, Tomorrow.


18й Соннет Шекспира и пародия на него, на мой взгляд, довольно неудачная.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Howard Moss (1922 - 1987)

Who says you're like one of the dog days?
You're nicer. And better.
Even in May, the weather can be gray,
And a summer sub-let doesn't last forever.
Sometimes the sun's too hot;
Sometimes it is not.
Who can stay young forever?
People break their necks or just drop dead!
But you? Never!
If there's just one condensed reader left
Who can figure out the abridged alphabet,
After you're dead and gone,
In this poem you'll live on!
Tags: nursery rhymes, poetry

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