Ñòèõîòâîðåíèå Äèëàíà Òîìàñà, êîòîðîå öèòèðóþò â ôèëüìå Interstellar

Ñòèõîòâîðåíèå Äèëàíà Òîìàñà, êîòîðîå öèòèðóþò â ôèëüìå Interstellar

Äîñëîâíûé âàðèàíò ïåðåâîäà ñòèõîòâîðåíèÿ èç äóáëÿæà "Èíòåðñòåëëàðà":
Íå óõîäè ñìèðåííî, â ñóìðàê âå÷íîé òüìû,
Ïóñòü òëååò áåñêîíå÷íîñòü â ÿðîñòíîì çàêàòå.
Ïûëàåò ãíåâ íà òî, êàê ãàñíåò ñìåðòíûé ìèð,
Ïóñòü ìóäðåöû òâåðäÿò, ÷òî ïðàâ ëèøü òüìû ïîêîé.
È íå ðàçæå÷ü óæ òëåþùèé êîñò¸ð.
Íå óõîäè ñìèðåííî â ñóìðàê âå÷íîé òüìû,
Ïûëàåò ãíåâ íà òî, êàê ãàñíåò ñìåðòíûé ìèð.

Ïåðåâîä ñòèõîòâîðåíèÿ â áîëåå ñòèõîòâîðíîé ôîðìå:
Íå ñëåäóé ìèðíî â äàëü, ãäå ñâåòà íåò,
Ïóñòü ãíåâîì âñòðåòèò ñòàðîñòü ñâîé êîíåö.
Áóíòóé, áóíòóé, êîãäà ñëàáååò ñâåò.

Õîòü çíàþò ìóäðåöû, ÷òî òüìà – îòâåò
Íà ñâåò âñåõ ñëîâ, íå ñëåäóåò ìóäðåö
Áåçðîïîòíî òóäà, ãäå ñâåòà íåò.

È ïðàâåäíèê, ñäåðæàâøèé ñâîé îáåò
Íåñòè äîáðî êàê ñîëíå÷íûé âåíåö,
Ðûäàåò çëî, êîãäà ñëàáååò ñâåò.

Äèêàðü, ñâîáîäíûé ÷åëîâåê, ïîýò,
Ïðåêðàñíîãî ïåâåö, ëó÷åé ëîâåö,
Íå ïîáðåäåò òóäà, ãäå ñâåòà íåò.

Óâèäåâ ïåðåä ñìåðòüþ ðîé êîìåò
Ñêâîçü ñëåïîòó âñåõ ëåò áûëûõ, ñëåïåö
Áóíòóåò, åñëè óãàñàåò ñâåò.

Òû íå íà ñêëîíå – íà âåðøèíå ëåò.
Âñòðåòü ãíåâîì ñìåðòü, ïðîøó òåáÿ, îòåö.
Íå ñëåäóé ìèðíî â äàëü, ãäå ñâåòà íåò.
Áóíòóé, áóíòóé, êîãäà ñëàáååò ñâåò.

Åùå îäèí âàðèàíò ïåðåâîäà:
Íå ãàñíè, óõîäÿ âî ìðàê íî÷íîé.
Ïóñòü âñïûõíåò ñòàðîñòü çàðåâîì çàêàòà.
Âñòàíü ïðîòèâ òüìû, ñäàâèâøåé ñâåò çåìíîé.
Ìóäðåö òâåðäèò: íî÷ü — ïðàâåäíûé ïîêîé,
Íå ñòàâ ïðè æèçíè ìîëíèåé êðûëàòîé.
Íå ãàñíè, óõîäÿ âî ìðàê íî÷íîé.
Ãëóïåö, ïîáèòûé øòîðìîâîé âîëíîé,
Êàê â òèõîé áóõòå — ðàä, ÷òî â ñìåðòü óïðÿòàí...
Âñòàíü ïðîòèâ òüìû, ñäàâèâøåé ñâåò çåìíîé.
Ïîäëåö, æåëàâøèé ñîëíöå ñêðûòü ñòåíîé,
Ñêóëèò, êîãäà ïðèõîäèò íî÷ü ðàñïëàòû.
Íå ãàñíè, óõîäÿ âî ìðàê íî÷íîé.
Ñëåïåö ïðîçðååò â ìèã ïîñëåäíèé ñâîé:
Âåäü áûëè çâ¸çäû-ðàäóãè êîãäà-òî...
Âñòàíü ïðîòèâ òüìû, ñäàâèâøåé ñâåò çåìíîé.
Îòåö, òû — ïåðåä ÷¸ðíîé êðóòèçíîé.
Îò ñë¸ç âñ¸ â ìèðå ñîëîíî è ñâÿòî.
Íå ãàñíè, óõîäÿ âî ìðàê íî÷íîé.
Âñòàíü ïðîòèâ òüìû, ñäàâèâøåé ñâåò çåìíîé.

Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.