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Поскольку с ютуба я ушел, первоначальная цель данного сообщества потеряла смысл. Но, поскольку в моем журнале комменты закрыты (и открыть их для отдельных постов не позволяет движок, а для всех - не хочу), создаю отдельный пост, через который можно писать мне, здесь. Естественно, тролли и вата банятся сразу по обнаружении, флудеры и демагоги - после предупреждения. И предпочтительной формой связи со мной остается е-мэйл.Пишите сюда только в том случае, если вы уверены, что ваш коммент может быть интересен не только мне.

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From:

yury_nesterenko

М-да. Как будто 3 разные программы работали. Тэм Гринхилл - полный 0, тупой гуглоперевод без рифмы и размера. Щербаков - попытки рифмовать там, где в оригинале рифмы нет (причем - не везде!), но не в размер. А вот "Маленькая девочка" (кстати, это "Крематорий", до Грпбенщикова вы так и не добрались) неожиданно хорошо, с минимальной правкой даже можно спеть на правильный мотив, только последнее "your loss" не в кассу.
Попробуйте http://tem-collection.narod.ru/4-text/songs06.htm#1 тут проще размер. И укажите явно, что рифма должна быть АБАБ, раз оно само не понимает. Ну и http://tem-collection.narod.ru/4-text/songs03.htm#1 тут вообще его любимое ААББ.

From:

hudoi_ochkarik

Я переведу эти песни, но на этом всё.

http://tem-collection.narod.ru/4-text/songs03.htm#1

In silver played, like streams between your fingers,
A song of yours that scarcely seems to linger.
With silent wave, with noiseless wings of night,
Into the unlocked house, it creeps from sight.

The light will fade, the candle's glow will wane,
A gentle touch upon the shoulder, a quiet strain.
And once again, the stream of strings will play,
Inaudible sighs, as silence fades away.

In green eyes, the centuries are frozen,
Sad melody, the distant star is chosen.
In tangled words, a vague reply is met,
Behind a cold window, the fading light is set.

An alien tune, a sightless gaze, unclear,
There will be no more path to journey back from here.
The mark of wanderings, the call of memory,
A life balanced on one scale, a mystery.

The soul is weary, but the road still calls,
Forgotten goal, no peace before night falls.
The breath of words, the beating of hearts combine,
Uncertain at times, where enemy or friend align.

A peaceful night, a transparent dawn is near,
In cold water, shimmering light appears.
Blades of steel and strings of silver too,
The blurred line, where evil and good once knew.

Silent darkness will enshroud the home,
The frozen star in icy stillness looms.
In silver played, like streams between your fingers,
A song of yours that scarcely seems to linger...

http://tem-collection.narod.ru/4-text/songs06.htm#1

How many ages passed,
What day lies at the pane?
Light pattern of verse amassed
In a long and troubled dream.
Perhaps it is a myth,
Or love and fear entwined.
The world reflects upon the width
Of slender, tender hands of thine.

On the road to Legend's fame, we'll find no fortune near,
And by forgotten stars, we won't return, I fear.
At our final plea, the springtime rain will shed its tears,
Before ice and Midnight mirror in our eyes so clear.

How many losses have we faced,
No longer caring for life's grace?
Who'll knock upon the door,
To chase away the sorrow's trace?
Who'll call a name in night,
A sign of protection, at that?
But silence holds its bite,
And darkness hugs us back.

On the road to Legend's fame, we'll find no fortune near,
And by forgotten stars, we won't return, I fear.
At our final plea, the springtime rain will shed its tears,
Before ice and Midnight mirror in our eyes so clear.

Who shall carry the candle high,
Through the valley of the winds?
Stars run along the sword's line,
With ancient bonfires' fiery tinge.
Spring shall hide soul's wounds away,
Beneath the grass from prying eyes.
War is raging in world's play,
Yet still, you are alive.

On the road to Legend's fame, we'll find no fortune near,
And by forgotten stars, we won't return, I fear.
At our final plea, the springtime rain will shed its tears,
Before ice and Midnight mirror in our eyes so clear.