Here's another offbeat entry into the Hamlet world. A poetic "Hamlet" appears in Boris Pasternak's novel, Doctor Zhivago. An English translation of the poem is presented in the Bloom anthology. After reading it and deciding that it was post-worthy, I made a quick Internet search to find the poem for shameless cutting-and-pasting. I found the Russian version, but my ability to read Cyrillic is a bit rusty (i.e., completely nonexistent). English translations abound, but they also differ in text. Presented below are two variations, one by Ann Pasternak Slater and the other by Eleanor Rowe. (Incidentally, neither is an exact replication of the version I read originally.)
Version I: Ann Pasternak Slater translation
The murmurs ebb; onto the stage I enter.
I am trying, standing in the door,
To discover in the distant echoes
What the coming years may hold in store.
The nocturnal darkness with a thousand
Binoculars is focused onto me.
Take away this cup, O Abba, Father,
Everything is possible to thee.
I am fond of this thy stubborn project,
And to play my part I am content.
But another drama is in progress,
And, this once, O let me be exempt.
But the plan of action is determined,
And the end irrevocably sealed.
I am alone; all round me drowns in falsehood:
Life is not a walk across a field.
(http://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/nov/06/saturday-poem-hamlet-boris-pasternak)
Version II: Eleanor Rowe translation
The rumbling has grown quiet. I walk out on the stage.
Leaning against a door jamb,
I try to catch in a distant echo
What will happen in my lifetime.
At me is aimed the murkiness of night;
I'm pinned by a thousand opera glasses.
If only it is possible, Abba, Father,
May this cup be carried past me.
I cherish your stubborn design
And am agreed to play this role.
But now a different drama is underway;
This time, release me.
But the order of the acts has been determined,
And the ending of the journey cannot be averted.
I am alone; all drowns in Pharisaism.
To live life is not to cross a field.
(http://www.johnderbyshire.com/Readings/hamlet.html)
Version I: Ann Pasternak Slater translation
The murmurs ebb; onto the stage I enter.
I am trying, standing in the door,
To discover in the distant echoes
What the coming years may hold in store.
The nocturnal darkness with a thousand
Binoculars is focused onto me.
Take away this cup, O Abba, Father,
Everything is possible to thee.
I am fond of this thy stubborn project,
And to play my part I am content.
But another drama is in progress,
And, this once, O let me be exempt.
But the plan of action is determined,
And the end irrevocably sealed.
I am alone; all round me drowns in falsehood:
Life is not a walk across a field.
(http://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/nov/06/saturday-poem-hamlet-boris-pasternak)
Version II: Eleanor Rowe translation
The rumbling has grown quiet. I walk out on the stage.
Leaning against a door jamb,
I try to catch in a distant echo
What will happen in my lifetime.
At me is aimed the murkiness of night;
I'm pinned by a thousand opera glasses.
If only it is possible, Abba, Father,
May this cup be carried past me.
I cherish your stubborn design
And am agreed to play this role.
But now a different drama is underway;
This time, release me.
But the order of the acts has been determined,
And the ending of the journey cannot be averted.
I am alone; all drowns in Pharisaism.
To live life is not to cross a field.
(http://www.johnderbyshire.com/Readings/hamlet.html)
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