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PanDoktor
Tu mourras, Tu brûleras, Ukraine
Taras Chevtchenko
By PanDoktor Posted in Lettres, Traduction littéraire on 9 mars 2017 3 min read
Elysée Reclus Previous Monde Russe Next
En bon lecteur de la Bible, Taras Chevtchenko s'inspire ici du Livre d'Osée au chapitre XIV. Son imitation reprend le style prophétique des bibles en slavon, mais pour servir une idée tout à fait nouvelle, qui hélas à ce jour ne perd rien de son actualité... Pour en savoir davantage sur ce sublime poète, une page spéciale vous attend, ainsi que d'autres textes.

Osée XIV

Tu mourras, tu brûleras, Ukraine,
Jusqu’à ne plus laisser de trace.
Et dire que tu pouvais te complaire
Jadis dans ta païenne débauche! ô Ukraine,
Mon cher, mon innocent pays !

Pourquoi le Seigneur te châtie,
Te châtie si durement? Sous Bohdàn,
Et sous Pierre de rage abruti,
Et sous ces ignobles pàns,
D’un bout à l’autre il t’anéantit… 1

Il t’immolera encore, aveuglément
Et dûment, car dans sa grande clémence,
Sans mot dire, le Très-Patient patiemment
Mirait tes coupables entrailles
Avant de t’avertir crûment :

« Ne restera de toi que cendraille.
De ta beauté, de tes tenues,
Je consumerai tout, et toi-même
Pour l’holocauste te mettras nue.
Tes premiers-nés, de colère blêmes,
T’opprimeront, et tes bâtards comme d’innocents
Poussins, crèveront en ton flanc.
Villes et campagnes je noierais
Sous les larmes des mères éplorées,
Ainsi verra la terre déflorée
Que j’en suis le Maître qui voit tout. »

Ressuscite, ô Mère! Et rentre
Chez toi ; sous ton lustre pose-toi,
Car à force d’endosser la coulpe
De tes fils, tu croulais sous son poids.

Après cette trêve, pauvre Mère, annonce
Et révèle à ta vile engeance qu’elle périra
La cruelle ; dis-leur, à ces indignes rejetons
Que leur vice, leur ruse, leur trahison
Marquent les âmes par le feu et le glaive sanglant,
Flamboyant ; que les cris de supplices incessants
Se feront entendre; dis-leur que rien n’émeut leur bon tsar,
Leur gentil trinqueur de gospodar, 2
Qui jamais ne leur donnera ni à boire ni à manger,
Ni même une monture pour échapper au danger.

Nul refuge vous ne trouverez, en tout lieu
La loi du talion vous poursuivra ; et ceux
Qui auront guetté vos pas, un beau jour
Par surprise vous captureront,
Sans procès vous enchaîneront,
A la foire vous montreront,
Puis sur la croix, sans bourreau et sans tsar,
Démoniaques larrons, ils vous découperont,
Vous hacheront, vous crucifieront,
Après quoi, chiens, votre sang
Aux chiens sera jeté…

Tu ajouteras encore ceci, ajoute-le
Sans sermon. ‒ Vous avez, – dis-leur sans détour –
De vos mains souillées, donné jour
A votre propre espoir ; et vous faites
Accroire que le tsar est notre dieu, notre espoir;
Qu’il prend toujours soin
De la veuve et de l’orphelin. ‒ Non, en fait
Dis-leur plutôt ceci : ‒ Les dieux sont des menteurs,
Des idoles, dans d’impénétrables palais,
Dis-leur que la vérité revivra,
Qu’elle inspirera, appellera, attirera
Non l’ancienne, l’antique et malsaine
Parole, mais la Parole nouvelle
Qui la fera d’un seul cri résonner
Et sauvera le monde prisonnier
De la grâce tsarienne…

St-Pétersbourg, 25 décembre 1859

 

ОСІЯ. ГЛАВА XIV

Погибнеш, згинеш, Україно,
Не стане знаку на землі,
А ти пишалася колись
В добрі і розкоші! Вкраїно!
Мій любий краю неповинний!
За що тебе Господь кара,
Карає тяжко? За Богдана,
Та за скаженого Петра,
Та за панів отих поганих
До краю нищить… Покара,
Уб’є незримо і правдиво;
Бо довго Довготерпеливий
Дивився мовчки на твою,
Гріховную твою утробу
І рек во гніві: — Потреблю
Твою красу, твою оздобу,
Сама розіпнешся. Во злобі
Сини твої тебе уб’ють
Оперені, а злозачаті
Во чреві згинуть, пропадуть,
Мов недолежані курчата!..
І плача, матернього плача
Ісполню гради і поля,
Да зрить розтлєнная земля,
Що я Держитель і все бачу.
Воскресни, мамо! І вернися
В світлицю-хату; опочий,
Бо ти аж надто вже втомилась,
Гріхи синовні несучи.
Спочивши, скорбная, скажи,
Прорци своїм лукавим чадам,
Що пропадуть вони, лихі,
Що їх безчестіє, і зрада,
І криводушіє огнем,
Кровавим, пламенним мечем
Нарізані на людських душах,
Що крикне кара невсипуща,
Що не спасе їх добрий цар,
Їх кроткий, п’яний господар,
Не дасть їм пить, не дасть їм їсти,
Не дасть коня вам охляп сісти
Та утікать; не втечете
І не сховаєтеся; всюди
Вас найде правда-мста; а люде
Підстережуть вас на тоте ж,
Уловлять і судить не будуть,
В кайдани туго окують,
В село на зрище приведуть,
І на хресті отім без ката
І без царя вас, біснуватих,
Розтнуть, розірвуть, розіпнуть,
І вашей кровію, собаки,
Собак напоять…
І додай, такеє слово їм додай
Без притчі. — Ви, — скажи, — зробили,
Руками скверними створили
Свою надію; й речете,
Що цар наш Бог, і цар надія,
І нагодує і огріє
Вдову і сирот. — Ні, не те,
Скажи їм ось що: — Брешуть боги,
Ті ідоли в чужих чертогах,
Скажи, що правда оживе,
Натхне, накличе, нажене
Не ветхе[є], не древлє слово
Розтлєнноє, а слово нове
Меж людьми криком пронесе
І люд окрадений спасе
Од ласки царської…

25 грудня 1859 р., С.-Петербург

 

Déclamation, par Andriy Sereda

 

 

 

 

  1. Les pàns, riches colons ou seigneurs polonais en Ukraine. Pierre, le tsar Pierre 1er, vainqueur de Mazepa à Poltava. Bohdàn, l’Hetman ukrainien Bohdan Khmelnytsky, signataire de « l’Union » entre l’Ukraine et la Russie en 1654. A ce propos, le dessin en couverture qui est de Chevtchenko lui-même, décrit la mort de l’Hetman.
  2. Hospodar, puissant seigneur, souverain, mais aussi chef de famille, voire simple maître de ferme. Ironie.

Lettres poésie Taras Chevtchenko traduction


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  1. Une traduction vers l’anglais, signée Watson Kirkconnell et Constantin Andrusyshen, parue en 1964 au Canada.

    HOSEA, CHAPTER XIV (AN IMITATION)

    You will be wrecked and perish, O Ukraine!
    No trace of you will tarry on the earth!
    Once you took pride in your prosperity
    And luxury! Dear land and innocent!
    Why does the Lord afflict you, why so harshly
    Lay punishment upon you? For Bohdan
    And rabid Peter and those wicked lords
    He is intent to devastate your fields
    And punish you till not a trace remains .. .
    But in his righteousness! Throughout long years
    He has looked down upon your sinful womb
    In his long-suffering. He said in wrath:
    “I shall destroy your grace, your ornament;
    You will be moved to crucify yourself!
    Your full-fledged sons in wickedness will slay you;
    And those who were conceived in sinfulness
    Will perish in your womb and will be lost
    Like chicks that never warmed enough to hatch;
    And I shall fill the cities and the fields
    With lamentation and the sobs of mothers,
    That all the devastated land may know
    I am the Omnipotent and see all things!”

    Be resurrected, Mother! And return
    To your bright habitation, there to rest!
    You have o’ertoiled yourself in carrying
    The terrible transgressions of your sons.
    Then, having rested, O afflicted one,
    Speak forth and to your children prophesy
    That they will perish in their evil-doing,
    That all their shame and treachery and sin
    Have been incised with fire on human souls,
    Yea, with a bloody sword of living flame;
    That punishment will shout relentlessly;
    That their kind tsar, their meek and drunken master,
    Will never save them from the hand of God!
    The tsar will not supply their meat and drink;
    He will not grant a steed, that you may flee
    On its bare back, for you will not escape
    Nor hide yourselves! Justice and pure revenge
    Will find you out, wherever you may be;
    People will spy you out, and seize you too,
    And without any hint of legal trial
    Will-chain you fast and bring you to a village
    To be a spectacle; upon a rack,
    Without a hangman and without a tsar,
    The people in their rage will quarter you,
    Tear you apart and nail you to the cross,
    And with your flowing blood, you evil curs,
    Will slake the thirsty muzzles of their hounds! . . .

    And add this word, this bitter word for them,
    Without a parable; express it well:
    You have prepared your hope with filthy hands,
    And you declare the tsar is now your God,
    The tsar your hope, and that he’ll feed and warm
    Your widows and your orphans. . . . No, not that!
    But tell them this: Those gods of theirs are lying,
    Those idols in an alien’s sumptuous chambers!
    Tell them that Truth and Justice will revive,
    Will summon, will inspire, will conjure up
    Not the dull, ancient Word that has decayed
    But a new Word, and this, with mighty clamour,
    It will bring bravely in the midst of us
    And save our people, stripped and destitute,
    From the unseemly favours of the tsar.. . .

    1. Une autre traduction anglaise, plus récente, signée Peter Fedynsky et parue en 2013 aux Etats-Unis.

      HOSEA, CHAPTER 14 (An Imitation)

      You’ll die, you’ll perish, O Ukraine,
      A trace will not be left on earth,
      Though you once gloried
      In luxury and goodness.
      O Ukraine!
      My land so dear and innocent!
      Why are you so punished,
      Punished harshly by the Lord?
      He inflicts a total ruin,
      For Bohdan, for rabid Peter,
      And those evil lords…
      He’ll punish, killing truly, imperceptibly;
      For it was long that the Long-indulgent
      Watched your sinful womb in silence,
      Then finally said in anger:
      “I will claim your beauty, your adornment,
      You will crucify yourself.
      You’ll be killed in malice by your full-fledged sons,
      And those conceived in evil will die and perish
      In the womb, like chicks not incubated by a hen!..
      I’ll fill the towns and fields with crying,
      The sound of mothers crying.
      So that the earth defiled may realize
      That I’m the Ruler, I see all.
      Be resurrected, mother! Go home,
      Go back to your parlor; rest,
      For you’ve grown too weary,
      Bearing all the sins of sons.
      Having rested, mournful one, speak out,
      Reveal to your evil progeny,
      That they, the wicked, all shall perish,
      That their deceit, dishonor and dishonesty
      Are carved into the souls of people
      With a flaming bloody sword;
      That there shall be the din of unrelenting punishment,
      That no good czar, their gentle drunken master,
      Will be there to save them,
      He’ll not give them food or drink,
      He won’t provide a bareback horse
      To allow for their escape;
      You’ll not run and you’ll not hide;
      Truth and retribution will find you in all places;
      You’ll be abruptly ambushed by the people,
      They will catch you, they won’t try you,
      They’ll tightly shackle you,
      They’ll lead you to the village
      And make a spectacle of you,
      Then on a cross without a czar or hangman,
      They’ll rend, cut and crucify you,
      And your blood, you dogs,
      They’ll give to dogs to drink…
      And add,
      Add this word for them without a parable:
      “With your impious hands,
      You — tell them — have created
      Your own hope;
      And proclaim the czar to be our God,
      The czar to be our hope.”
      No, not that. Here is what you tell them:
      “The gods are lying,
      Those idols found in foreign palaces.
      Tell them that again the truth will flourish,
      It will inspire, summon, and collect
      Not the old, not the ancient word defiled,
      It will spread instead among the people
      A new word with a shout,
      And it will save the cheated people
      From the czarist favor…”

      1. Vera Rich (dans les années 1990?) en a également donné une version, parue en 2013.

        HOSEA, CHAPTER XIV (Paraphrase)

        And thou shalt perish, Ukraina,
        Vanish, leave no trace on this earth.
        Yet once thou wert so proud, with wealth
        Of goods and splendour! Ukraina!
        Beloved land, innocent, sinless!
        Why does the Lord so chasten thee?
        Because of Bohdan and mad-dog Peter
        He chastiseth certainly,
        And for those evil lords he smiteth
        To utter ruin — chastens thee,
        And slays unseen.
        And He does justly!
        For long He did endure, long-suffering
        Beholding, silent, from on high
        Thy sinful womb. Then, patience ended,
        He spake in wrath: « I shall require
        Of thee thy beauty and thy splendour,
        And thyself crucified shall rent be,
        For thee thy vicious sons shall slay,
        And others, ill-conceived, dispatched
        In the womb, shall die away
        Like chicks that never shall be hatched.
        With tears, a mother’s tears that fall,
        I shall fill fields and cities so,
        That the whole earth may come to know
        That I am Lord, and I see all.
        Arise, O mother, and return now
        Back to your home, and there take rest.
        For too long thou hast borne this burden
        By the sins of thy sons oppressed.
        Take rest, sad mother, then begin,
        And prophesy to thy wicked offspring
        That they shall perish in their sin,
        That all their treason and dishonour
        And crooked soul
        The fire shall smite,
        That doom cries out beyond escaping,
        And their kind tsar no aid can bring,
        Their gentle, drunken, mighty king!
        No drink he’ll give, no food he’ll give them,
        No horse for you to seek deliverance
        In bare-back flight. You cannot flee,
        You cannot hide yourselves.
        Avenging Truth will find you, and intently
        People will watch for you, and seeing,
        Will catch you. To no trial they’ll bring you,
        But straightway into fetters fling you,
        Drag you to town and mock you there,
        Without a tsar or hangman nigh you,
        Upon the cross they’ll crucify you.
        Cut you to pieces, rend and tear,
        And your blood, curs, will be given
        To curs to drink…
        Go, give to them,
        This word once more go give to them,
        Free of all parables: “Ye made this.”
        Say plainly to them: « Ye have made this
        With your own unclean hands created
        Hope for yourself — and then proclaim
        Our tsar is God, our hope abiding,
        For widows, orphans aye providing
        Both food and warmth. »
        Not so, not so! Say thus:
        « Lies only the gods tell ye,
        Those idols in their foreign dwellings, »
        Tell them truth will rise from its grave.
        And a word not outworn, outdated,
        Corrupted, a word new-created
        Among the people it will raise then,
        And will the plundered people save
        From the Tsar’s favour…

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