It is fragments from the letters to Lauren, who lives in Canada. She is my friend and great girl. She is also an author of HP fic translated by me (
http://www.fanrus.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=4924).
Spring
It is morning now, huge snowflakes are flying swiftly and peering into my window ;)
***
I am not studying at the (Far Eastern State) University, I am working there, as a laboratory assistant ^_^: the Institute of Foreign Languages, the sub-faculty – History of English language. I am a journalist by profession, but I do not want working in the field. Now my salary is sparing, but I like my work, because every day I get in touch with English.
***
I have always loved literature, as I remember, since kindergarten! In childhood I loved fairy tales so much, some of them I knew by heart and told them to other children word for word. Incidentally my favourite writer is J. R. R. Tolkien. When I was a child, my mum read «The Hobbit» to me… I had read «The Lord of the Rings» and fell in love with the book…
My main passion (after literature) is singing. I have been learning to sing in a folk ensemble. I am going to sew a traditional clothing ;)
I like to weave bracelets, using the variegated threads.
I am an Aquarius, so I love lowering sky and rain.
***
Yesterday in a big grocery store, I won a rosy crunch apple, and now I am eating it! To say the truth I didn’t merit this dainty, it is just a nice girl, one from conducting a promotional action, liked me. I took part, playing toy darts (with magnets) and wasted three tries (at first attempt I almost did it). “You have hit! – she smiled and held out the apple!
***
“Princess”
It is veritable romance for me.
I shall try to reproduce the matter of the song though it is mostly a metaphrase, sorry:
I was singing about gods and heroes,
about clank of blades and sanguinary battles.
When my falcon was with me,
devotions was replaced by his scream.
But a year elapsed since he went –
he was taken away by the miraculous snowstorm.
The snowstorm, from distant lands,
purloined my dear friend.
After that I haven’t been myself and keep being,
In the sky seagulls are crying, crying.
In fog I’ll see only eyes of gentian’s color
Ah! How I would like to see through falcon’s eyes,
How I would like to flush on falcon’s wings
In that strange falcon’s land, not in dream, but somewhere near:
Be my soul, bird, give me wind in my wings for a while.
Every night I see the flight in my dreams –
cold fjords, mile by mile;
Princess, your sleeves are embroidered in silk,
mountains are embroidered in white heather,
Know, I have never been there,
and, if I was, I was to my misfortune.
How I would like to recall,
what happened, but not with you and me,
I am tossing about, like a fallen leaf,
And my soul doesn’t know repose;
You pay in a full moon for a song,
Like others pay in a hard cash;
In the distant land, sheltered by winter
You are more beautiful then spring,
And you are headier (more heady) then summer.
Princess, wake up, put on your feathering,
I and you shall fly in bad weather –
Ice of your wrists is thin;
Princess, your sleeves are embroidered in silk,
The feathers are embroidered in gold and silver,
I am laughing and shooting upwards in the sky,
Even I don’t believe myself.
Come to me closer, let me touch your feathering,
Every night I see the mountains,
Every morning I fail eyesight;
Princess, your sleeves are embroidered in silk,
The sky are embroidered in clear moon,
Northern wind, take me away into that lands,
where the pain and tall tale.
It is so painful to know,
all that didn’t happen to you and me,
The time did`t linger to peer in the carved window;
My gladness, I dreamed about you through the nights,
But you are in cloak of sorrow,
I shall sing at parting, of cause,
But leave your house with the first beam of dawn.
Princess, your dreams are roaming somewhere;
Is it far till spring in ancient herbage…
I can only repeat - a few words,
it is such a smallness –
Princess, wake up,
put on your feathering…
Who if not me must know,
All that didn’t happen to you and me,
Your charity hurts my heart, like an arrow.
You pay in a moon for a song,
Like others pay in a cash;
I can abandon everything to be with you,
But may be you don’t exist…
You pay in a moon for a song,
Like others pay in a cash;
I can abandon everything to be with you,
But may be you don’t exist…
If you will not be able to understand anything, don’t be afflicted, because I don’t see the text fully…
***
Summer
About the festival:
I love traveling over long distances (sometimes in the city I go from beginning to ending stop by bus for joy). I had a splendid rest: participants of the festival (it was common, not only folklore) lived in recreation department – there were many wooden two(or one)-storey houses in the middle of thin wood on the sea shore. It was very civilized ;) rest: all people had drinking water in a tank and two new clear wooden toilets. Dear, could you imagine I was such an important person: no one in “Tradition”, except me (!), can use a gas-stove (there is an gas-stove in my mum’s flat)! I want saying: I am only an ‘apprentice’, on the stage I was only for scenery. The second night (before Sunday) we didn’t sleep till 6 a.m.: we sat on porch, drank tea or beer (not me:)), were in jest and sang folklore songs! But on Sunday it was the second and last day of the trip I sang with mic (with two other women)! It was a traditional Slavic woman's song about water-nymphs. Anyone can hear me!!!
And they are alive! Yeah!!!
