Пишу о Набокове стихи на английском, или по стопам Мастера

На семинар по английскому было задано написать эссе о человеке, который меня вдохновляет. У меня не гуманитарное образование, (Космические Исследования, МГУ) язык на уровне B2 в плане грамматики и C1 в плане говорения и чтения, насколько я могу судить обо мне, так что темы, очевидно, не самые комплексные.

Решил писать о Набокове, разумеется. Он в принципе мой любимый русский писатель и очень сильно повлиял как на мой стиль, так и на мое восприятие реальности. У меня с ним есть на самом деле некоторые сходства: я тоже синестет (ассоциирую буквы, цифры, вкусы, звуки с цветами), знаю... в какой-то мере русский, английский и французский — вот его бы мне подтянуть на самом деле, а то А2 ни в какие ворота, — происхожу из города, основанного Петром (не Петербург, а Таганрог, но засчитано, полагаю). Ну и пишу, да, есть грешок, ха-ха. Не так же хорошо, разумеется, но коль гора не идет к Магомеду...

Начал писать и вдруг пришло осознание следующего толка: о Набокове написать обыкновенное сухое эссе было бы преступным. "Аду", "Бледный огонь" и поэмы покороче в оригинале я все ж таки не зря почитывал, так что принялся вплетать в эссе внутристроковую рифму, фонетическую игру, каламбуры и подобное. В какой-то момент абзац эссе обратился целиком стихами "лесенкой" и вдруг поэзия совершенно одолела мою способность писать прозой. Лесенку я убрал, начал глаголать ямбом.

Спустя 8 часов и двухчасовой перерыв на секцию танцев (вступительные я провалил с треском — нетанцевальность у меня "потомственная") поэма была готова. 77 строк, на мой взгляд, неплохих стихов со стилизацией под The Man of To-Morrow's Lament.

Публикую здесь, ссылка:
https://author.today/work/492559

Так же текст, если не хотите переходить и читать там:

You’re asking me to mind an imbuing man.
I look inside my sense but I see nothing. Then
In silence memory is speaking and arises Him:
The greatest inspiration of my soul, my action and my pen:
Nabokov, Vladimir.

Of course he is reckoned and widely known.
Wherever you may look, you see some seed he sown.
His boundless heritage. Unconsciously we keep it
‘Cause there is a thing in our lives: he scripted
It as a scenario of absurd film.
And this is why… I’m loving him.

His life was long (long love the King!)
And I am feeling the connection as to kin,
Somehow, in strangest way. I shall explain
But later. Everything began on that one day:

On April, twenty-second, eighteen ninety nine
When he was born in Petrograd. Aside
This place, the Moscow’s ancient town by itself
On the Onega’s shallow shelf.

He was a synesthete (as well as me!):
Nabokov saw the colours, nobody could see,
In symbols of the alphabets: he was a trílingual
And English, Russian, French were kneeling before one.

So, he became a student of an elite school
And angered the teachers with his texts that should,
Young Vladimir suspected, be in every tongue
He spoke. And didn’t matter how
The professor must put the mark “Five plus”
To an essay on literature of Russia class.

The coup d'état begins — he’s moving to Crimea
And his first literary success is coming here.
Then Cambridge University where he translates
The Anya in the Wonderlands.

In nineteen twenty two — Berlin.
That was a town of Nabokov’s soul to cling.
So, there he got married to his Hope:
His Vera Slonim, from the Jewish home.

Then the campaign of Artist — the bad one.
They had to move to Paris and spent time in Cannes.
But in a couple years — one more time, again:
When War came on the heels of them.

In the US he teaches in Wesley College
His! Russian literature relying on the knowledge.
Nabokov tells about Gogol, Leo Tólstoy
And writes Bend Sinister — his brilliant novel.

He’s fond of butterflies and even some — discovers!
Releasing masterpiece Lolita earns great money:
Eight million dollars, that’s enough to live
His life, until it ends, in Switzerland of which he dreamed.

Throughout his time Nabokov did a lot of things
That make him great and it inspires me.
He wrote in Russian and then switched the speech
To English yet became both súccessful and rich.

In foreign land did not betray
The culture of birthpláce that became fade.
Before his precise eyes the past.
I say, he did the only thing he must.

Eight times he was a nominee of Nobel Prize
Bit never held it ‘cause unwise
Commission-man rejected candidate:
A better than decisions made.

Let’s talk about things Nabokov changed in me.
At first — the way of listening the languages I speak.
I started hearing the play on words of pale world
And sonorous combining of consonants someone told.

The second — Gogol and Tolstoy again.
This isn’t great? I finished my Karenina this May
And bought book Taras Bulba resent week.
I should confess: those two are ones to make me weak.

The third — unaforementioned Pushkin and James Joyce.
They are, some way, — peculiarity of choice
If literature to read when you’re eighteen.
But look and see anew — these all because of Him.

Nabokov influenced not only me but World.
And not just Russia or America yet whole.
So true: in every land and every language
I find ones to read him with the great encourage.

Если понравилось — не поленитесь, пожалуйста, зайти по ссылочке и поставить сердечко. Или хоть плюс на этот пост. И комментарий))