Journal room.

I remember that in the eighth grade we learned this poem by heart. Then I moved to another school where there was no German class. Gradually, all German disappeared from my head, but the Lorelei remained. Now wake me up in the middle of the night, I will give out without hesitation:

Ich weiβ nicht, was soll es bedeuten
Daβ ich so traurig bin;
Ein Marchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.

Die Luft ist kühl, und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig flieβt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.

Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.

Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme,
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.

Den Schiffer in kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Hoh'.

Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem singen
Die Lorelei getan.

Heinrich Heine
Die Heimkehr, 1823-1824

One of the first translations of Lorelei into Russian belongs to Lev Mey:

God knows why so suddenly
Longing hurts my whole soul,
And in memory so relentlessly
Is there an old song?

Coolness and dusk blows;
The day waited for the evening time;
The Rhine rolls quietly and blushes,
All in sparks, the top of the mountain.

Climbed steep cliffs
And the beautiful girl sat down,
And scratches his golden ones,
What a sunbeam, hair.

She scratches them, singing, -
And her comb is golden,
And the song is so amazing
That there is no other in the world.

And the belated fisherman froze
And, having heard that song,
Forgot about underwater rocks
And looks up there...

I think that's how it goes
Shuttle, because the fisherman is crazy,
After all, the song inviting beckons
His Lorelei herself.

Alexander Blok in his translation sought to achieve maximum rhythmic closeness to the German text. Each line of his translation is exactly equal to the corresponding line of the original, so that we can fully appreciate all the originality of German poetry with its pulsating rhythms:

I don't know what it means
That I am embarrassed by grief;
For a long time does not give peace
I'm a fairy tale of the old days.

Cool twilight is blowing,
And the Rhine is quiet space;
In the evening rays they glow
Tops of distant mountains.

Above the terrible height
Beautiful beauty girl
Clothes burn with gold
Plays with gold braids.

Cleans with a golden comb
And she sings a song:
In her wonderful song
The alarm is muted.

Small boat swimmer
Filled with wild melancholy;
Forgetting underwater rocks,
He only looks up.

Swimmer and boat, I know
Will perish among the swells;
And everyone dies
From Lorelei songs.

But most of all I like Samuil Marshak's translation:

I don't know what I'm sad about.
There is no rest for my soul.
I can't forget for a moment
A legend from a long time ago.

It's cold, it's getting dark.
The river flows in silence.
The top of the mountain is on fire
Over the Rhine at sunset.

Girl in light dress
Sitting over a steep cliff
And shine like gold strands
Under her golden crest.

Sweeps over the gold with a comb
And she sings a song.
And the power and the power of magic
The calling song is complete.

A swimmer in a defenseless canoe
He gazes longingly into the sky.
He rushes to the granite rocks,
But he sees her alone.

And the rocks all around are steeper,
And the waves are steeper and meaner.
And will surely destroy the song
Swimmer and shuttle Lorelei.

The following translation is much weaker; I put it here solely for the sake of completeness of the collection:

What do you mean I don't understand...
The soul is troubled by melancholy.
Worries me relentlessly
An old fairy tale.

Chilly. All in the evening light
Mysteriously illuminated.
Mountain peaks above the Rhine
Sunset drink wine.

On the throne - a beautiful maiden,
And the throne is a high cliff.
Flames her rings hotter
Red gold braid.

Unraveled golden braids
And she sings a song
which is irresistible,
Full of bewitching power.

A rower in his little boat
That song calls and beckons.
He does not see foam breakers,
He only looks up.

The rower will inevitably die
In his fragile boat,
Will die, captivated by the song
Wizard Lorelei.

N. Volpin

The collection of translations is replenished. It is amazing how the same work in a foreign language is embodied in a multitude of reflections.

I don't know what happened to me
The soul is troubled by sadness.
Everything does not give me peace
An old fairy tale.

The air is cold, it's getting dark
And Rhine fell asleep in the darkness.
Flaming with the last ray
Sunset on the coastal cliff.

There is a girl singing a song
Sits on top of a steep.
Her clothes are golden
And the comb in his hand is golden.

And her gold braid curls,
And she scratches them with a comb,
And the magic song flows
Full of unknown power.

The thoughtless is seized with longing,
The rower does not look at the wave,
He does not see the rocks before him,
He looks over there.

I know the river is ferocious
Forever will close over him,
And it's all Lorelei
Made her singing

Wilhelm Levick

Is it a problem, is it a prophecy...
My soul is so sad
And the old, scary tale
Follows me everywhere...

Everything seems to be a fast-flowing Rhine,
Above him, the fogs are already flying,
And only the rays of the sunset
The cliff tops are on fire.

And a wonderful beauty maiden
Sitting there in the glow of the dawn,
And she scratches with a golden comb
Your golden curls.

And everything shines and shines,
And he sings a wonderful song:
Powerful, passionate song
Rushing across the mirror of water...

Here comes the shuttle... And suddenly,
Covered by her song,
The swimmer forgets about the steering wheel
And just looking at her...

And fast waters rush...
The swimmer among the swells will die!
Kill him Lorelei
With his wonderful song! ..

Apollo Maykov

Who can help me explain
Where did the longing come from?
The same comes to mind
An old story.

It's getting dark, it's getting cold
The wave runs lazily
The top of the mountain is shining
Illuminated by the sunset.

On this coastal mountain -
The fairest of the maidens.
From the lips of her sad, gentle
And the imperious chant flies.

Sailor sailing by
And hearing a lovely voice,
It can't be that he didn't raise
On the mountain and the maiden eye.

And immediately forgetting about rowing,
About rocks, about sails,
Follows the flashing of the comb
In loose hair.

Not a miracle, in the end if
The water will swallow it up.
That's how much from a wondrous song
Sometimes there is harm.

Viktor Schneider

Well, this is just a curiosity:

And mourn and mourn
What are my dreams full of?
I can't forget everything
Fable of antiquity.

Quiet Rhine flows,
The evening was bright without clouds,
And shines and burns
On the rocks of the sun is a ray.

Sat on a steep rock
Virgin, all doused with it;
She combs her golden braid,
Scratches with a golden comb.

Combing a golden braid
And sings at the splash of water
A song like unearthly
He sings a wonderful song.

And a swimmer with passionate longing
Amazed and drunk
Does not look at the dangerous path,
He only sees the girl.

Waves coming soon. ferocious,
They will break the shuttle with the swimmer;
And the singer Lorelei
It will be to blame.

Karolina Pavlova

Although, they say, her translations of Pushkin into German are very successful (I cannot judge this).

I don't know what happened to me.
Something must have happened.
Maybe just tired
Or maybe God's old age?
And all the people around every day
All younger, younger
And the circle of the best closes
And the most similar...

The thread breaks
Like a bare wire buzzing.
Oh, how ashamed I am to live not in love,
Not in love at all!
But I look around
And I will not meet a similar look,
That's why this sadness
I carry sweet poison in me.

I wash myself
Bit by bit old years.
My golden ones are noisy
Spring nights.
And tired of wandering the earth
And count the losses.
And I'm tired of waiting
And I'm tired of believing, believing.

Why does it carry me in the evening
Back to the pier?
Like someone I haven't met
Suddenly today will moor.
He will go to the shore
And he will wave his hand to me, as once.
And I'll say, "My God,
How guilty I am to you! »

Lights roam the sea, like wanderers,
Eternal people.
They promise: "Something will be more,
Something will…”

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DEUTSCHE KLASSIK IN KLASSISCHEN ÜBERSETZUNGEN

Heinrich HEINE

ICH WEISS NICHT,

WAS SOLL ES BEDEUTEN
Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
Daß ich so traurig bin;
Ein Marchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Die Luft ist kühl und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig fließt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.
Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar;
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.
Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme
Und singt ein L ied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.
Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh".
Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem singen
Die Lorelei getan.
GERMAN CLASSICS IN THE MIRROR OF RUSSIAN CLASSICS
Heinrich Heine

God knows why so suddenly
Longing hurts my whole soul,
And in memory so relentlessly
Sounds like an old song...

Coolness and dusk blows;
The day waited for the springtime;
The Rhine rolls quietly - and blushes,
All in sparks, the top of the mountain.

I climbed the steep cliffs
And the beautiful girl sat down,
And scratches his golden ones,
What a sunbeam, hair.

She scratches them, singing,
And her comb is golden,
And the song is so amazing a I.
That there is no other in the world.

And the belated fisherman froze,
And, having heard that song,
Forgot about underwater rocks
And looks up there...

It seems to me: so here it goes
Shuttle: after all, the fisherman is crazy,
After all, the song inviting beckons
His Lorelei herself.

Translation by Lev Mey

And mourn and mourn
What are my dreams full of?
I can't forget everything
Fable of antiquity.

Quiet Rhine flows,
The evening was bright without clouds,
And shines and burns
On the rocks of the sun is a ray.

Sat on a steep rock
Virgin, all doused with it;
She combs her golden braid,
Scratches with a golden comb.

Combing a golden braid
And sings at the splash of water
A song like unearthly
He sings a wonderful song.

And a swimmer with passionate longing
Amazed and drunk
Does not look at the dangerous path,
He only sees the girl.

Waves coming soon. ferocious,
They will break the shuttle with the swimmer;
And the singer Lorelei
It will be to blame.
Translation by Karolina Pavlova

I don't know what it means
That I am embarrassed by grief:
Hasn't rested for a long time
I'm a fairy tale of the old days.

Cool twilight is blowing,
And the Reina is quiet space.
In the evening rays they glow
Tops of distant mountains.

Above the terrible height
Beautiful beauty girl
Clothes burn with gold
Plays with gold braids.

Cleans with a golden comb
And she sings a song:
In her wonderful singing
The alarm is muted.

Small boat swimmer
Filled with wild melancholy;
Forgetting underwater rocks,
He only looks up.

Swimmer and boat, I know
Will perish among the swells;
And everyone dies
From Lorelei songs.
Translation by Alexander Blok

I don't know what happened to me
My heart is full of sadness.
Everything does not give me peace
An old fairy tale.

The day is fading. Fresh in the valley
And the Rhine is drowsy.
Only on one peak
The sunset is still on.

There is a girl singing a song
Sits high above the water.
Her clothes are golden
And the comb in his hand is golden.

And her gold braid curls,
And she scratches them with a comb,
And the magic song flows
So strangely strong and tender.

And, captivated by mighty power,
The rower does not look at the wave,
He does not see reefs under the steep, -
He looks over there.

I know the wave is ferocious
Forever will close over him, -
And it's all Lorelei
She made her singing.
Translation by Wilhelm Levick

I can't understand why I
The sadness of the soul is oppressed;
Sometimes I lose my peace
The legend of ancient times:

The air is cool, dark
And in the evenings of that coldness
Cliff top above the Rhine
Shines in a golden dawn.

beautiful young maiden
Dressed in your gold
Against the background of the evening sky
Sits on a cliff on that.

Curls are scratching golden
With a golden comb and sings.
Greatness sounds simple
Spread across latitudes.

In a boat full of sorrow
A lone swimmer swims.
Does not look at reefs and rocks:
Looks straight up.

I'm sure the waters will swallow
A boat with a swimmer. Lorelei
A swimmer from this little boat
Melody destroys his own.
08.08.15
Boris Beriev - translator

In the picture from the Internet - the poet Heinrich Heine

NOTE: German poet Christian Johann Heinrich Heine
- was born on December 13, 1797 in Düsseldorf;
- died at the age of 59 on February 17, 1856 in Paris.
Heine is considered the last poet of the "romantic era" and at the same time its head. He made the spoken language capable of lyricism, raised the feuilleton and travelogue to an artistic form, and gave the German language a previously unfamiliar elegant lightness. Composers Franz Schubert, Robert Schumann, Richard Wagner, Johann Brahms, P. I. Tchaikovsky and many others wrote songs on his poems. (from Wikipedia)

Heinrich Heine. Die Lorelei

Ich weis nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
Das ich so traurig bin;
Ein Marchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.

Die Luft ist kuhl, und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig fliest der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.

Die schonste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kammt ihr goldenes Haar.

Sie kammt es mit goldenem Kamme,
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.

Den Schiffer in kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf, in die Hoh".

Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem singen
Die Lorelei getan.

Literal translation (not mine)

I don't know what it's supposed to mean
That I'm so sad
Tale from the old days
She doesn't go out of my mind.

The air is cool and dark
And the Rhine flows quietly;
The top of the mountain sparkles
In the light of the evening sun.

Beautiful young woman sitting
There in a wonderful height,
Her gold jewelery glitters
She combs her golden hair.

She combs them with a golden comb
And at the same time he sings a song;
It's amazing
Majestic melody.

Swimmer in a small boat
Covers wild melancholy;
He does not look at the reefs,
He looks only up, in height.

I'm sure the waves will swallow
Finally a swimmer and a boat;
And this with their songs
Made by Lorelei.

__________ *** __________

TRANSLATIONS OF OTHER POETS:

__________ *** __________

I don't know what it means
That I am embarrassed by grief;
Hasn't rested for a long time
I'm a fairy tale of the old days.

Cool twilight is blowing,
And the Reina is quiet space.
In the evening rays they glow
Tops of distant mountains.

Above the terrible height
Beautiful beauty girl
Clothes burn with gold
Plays with gold braids.

He cleans with a golden comb.
And she sings a song:
In her wonderful singing
The alarm is muted.

Small boat swimmer
Filled with wild melancholy;
Forgetting underwater rocks,
He only looks up.

Swimmer and boat, I know
Will perish among the swells;
And everyone dies
From Lorelei songs.

Marshak

I don't know what I miss.
There is no rest for my soul.
I can't forget for a moment
The legend of distant years.

Breathed cold. It's getting dark.
The river flows in silence.
The top of the mountain is on fire
Over the Rhine at sunset.

Girl in light dress
Sitting over a steep cliff
And shine like gold strands
Under her golden crest.

Sweeps over the gold with a comb
And she sings a song.
And the power and the power of magic
The calling song is complete.

A swimmer in a defenseless canoe
He gazes longingly into the sky.
He rushes to the granite rocks,
But he sees her alone.

And the rocks around are steeper,
And the waves are steeper and meaner.
And, of course, will destroy the song
Swimmer and shuttle Lorelei.

I don't know what happened to me
My heart is full of sadness.
Everything does not give me peace
An old fairy tale.

The day is fading. Fresh in the valley
And the Rhine is drowsy.
Only on one peak
The sunset is still on.

There is a girl singing a song
Sits high above the water.
Her clothes are gold
And a golden comb in his hand.

And her gold braid curls,
And she scratches them with a comb,
And the magic song flows
So strangely strong and tender.

And captivated by mighty power,
The rower does not look at the wave.
He does not see reefs under the steep,
He looks over there.

I know the river is ferocious
Forever will close over him, -
And it's all Lorelei
She made her singing.