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I've been playing a lot of Dungeon Crawl: Stone Soup lately, and decided to write something for my favorite god therein. Hopefully some Russian-speakers will enjoy this.
Не очень рад своей фигуре,
На лужу направляя взор:
Плешив и вшив, в вонючей шкуре,
В руках ржавеющий топор.
Гляжу: в тени спригганы рыщут,
Все мозгляки и червяки.
Хотят растительную пищю,
Не замарать своей руки...
Да, я червяк, О Трог, мой боже,
Но стать могу великим вновь.
Про плешь никто не пискнет в рожу,
Когда на ней чужая кровь.
Горите ради света, книги.
Очки - для смерти и побед.
Долой, долой мои вериги!
Беру топор, ищу обед.
Топор да гнев да крик да злоба,
Плоть пополам и стали звон!
Я не боюсь кислот оклоба,
Как зажигалка мне дракон.
А если в угол загоняет
Коварный, гнусный супостат,
Мой бог великий выручает:
В бою поможет гневный брат.
О Трог, мой бог, кричу я гордо,
Я Зот ужасный покорил,
И кровь озерами пролил;
Сам Ад моей боится морды!
Прошу: с восхода до зари,
Ори: сорви, сожги, сожри!
 
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Austin10833 Posts
I hate that I can't enjoy this. Where've you been defenestrate?
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translation plzz!!!!
I WANNA READ IT TOO!
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Hey guys. Employed, too tired to write coherently most of the time.
Roughly:
I am not too happy with my figure
As I lower my gaze to a puddle:
Bald and lousy, clad in a stinking hide,
A rusting axe in my hands.
I see spriggans skulking in the shadows,
All brainy little worms,
Seeking their vegetarian food,
And avoiding sullying their hands (in melee).
Yes, I am a worm, O Trog, my god,
But I can become great again.
No one will utter a peep about baldness to one's face
When it is stained with others' blood.
Burn just for the light, o books,
Points are for death or victories*
Begone, begone my shackles!
I grab my axe, I seek my lunch.
Axe and rage and screams and hatred,
Flesh cut in half, the ring of steel!
I do not fear the oklob's acid,
A dragon is as a (cigarette) lighter to me.
And should I be cornered
By a treacherous, vile nemesis,
My great god will bail me out:
An enraged brother will assist me in battle.
O Trog, my god, I cry proudly,
I conquered the horrible Zot,
And spilled lakes of blood;
Hell itself fears my visage.
I beg, from sunrise till twilight,
Scream: Tear (off), burn, devour.
*The word for scored points and reading glasses is the same in Russian. No way to translate it properly.
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Glad to see you posting again, I enjoyed your occasional internal rhyme scheme (Russian adjectives are bomb as hell for this) and imagery. I was a bit confused as to what your intended 'point' was, could easily be my own shortcoming however (and poetry doesn't always have to have a point).
Otherwise, unless my screen is weird, be careful with your use of 'щ' (sch) as opposed to 'ш' (sh), you actually reversed their usages a few times. For example, 'hide' is 'shkura' not 'schkura' and 'food' is 'pischyu' not 'pishyu'.
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Austin10833 Posts
I miss your clever poetry! Are you employed in a creative field?
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Fortis: Thank you for your feedback. Will correct asap. The idea is that the narrator gave up his magical background to follow Trog for the duration of the Crawl, but has become completely absorbed by the tenets of the faith and cannot imagine living except as a bloodthirsty berserker even after the adventure is over.
BroOd - I teach math.
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If I could read that about twice as fast as I can, I'm sure I'd enjoy it a lot more.
I liked it though.
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EPT
