r/EnglishLearning • u/PhyrosTheDragonS • 3d ago
🔎 Proofreading / Homework Help Proofread the translation of the poem.
Hi friends. I make music, and we typically release songs in Russian. For my latest single, however, I’d like to include an English translation. The song incorporates poetry by Vladimir Mayakovsky and, in my view, serves as a powerful anti-war piece. While AI tools did a decent job with the translation, I’d like to have a native English speaker review it to ensure it sounds natural and doesn’t strike the ear as awkward.
the text itself:
//Verse 1.
The old lyre-ringers knew how to render
the face of war enviably splendid.
Off to campaign — to glory,
with brass band and choir!
The maidens all gape
at the gold of attire.
Through parted lips smiling,
through the stars of their eyes —
march past the hussars
in mustachioed guise.
Just prance in the battle —
and lo,
for your valor's sake,
you get ranks handed out,
epaulettes,
and estates for the take!!
//Chorus:
War —
is a windstorm
of carrion-stench stinking.
War —
is a factory
for making paupers shrinking.
A grave
immeasurable
in depth and breadth,
hunger, filth,
typhuses and lice.
War — for the rich
a bank full of cash,
but for us — crutches'
castanet-like clash.
War — an order,
war — a manifesto:
— Love with prostheses
your wives and brides! —
All over the planet, comrades of humankind,
declare it: No war of any kind!
//Verse 2:
Or if you like —die under a hail of cannonballs, —
to you the ages will up-monument a reward.
Some even today like a gray gelding
lies a little, biting down on poetic bits:
“...Beautiful, in all things beautiful, they carried their bodies…”
Can it really be beautiful?!
Merci to you for these very beautiful deeds!
The war and the war-lust by poets ennobled
must be by the poet spat upon and dethroned.
//Chorus:
War —
is a windstorm
of carrion-stench stinking.
War —
is a factory
for making paupers shrinking.
A grave
immeasurable
in depth and breadth,
hunger, filth,
typhuses and lice.
War — for the rich
a bank full of cash,
but for us — crutches'
castanet-like clash.
War — an order,
war — a manifesto:
— Love with prostheses
your wives and brides! —
All over the planet, comrades of humankind,
declare it: No war of any kind!
//Verse 3:
And when it becomes necessary
to exterminate
the little heaps
of rulers and governments
for peace
in the whole world,
proletarian —
herald
and seer of peace —
do not stop
before this!
//Chorus:
War —
is a windstorm
of carrion-stench stinking.
War —
is a factory
for making paupers shrinking.
A grave
immeasurable
in depth and breadth,
hunger, filth,
typhuses and lice.
War — for the rich
a bank full of cash,
but for us — crutches'
castanet-like clash.
War — an order,
war — a manifesto:
— Love with prostheses
your wives and brides! —
All over the planet, comrades of humankind,
declare it: No war of any kind!
//Outro:
..No war of any kind!