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        Энтони Бёрджесс ПроизведенияA Clockwork Orange
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Энтони Бёрджесс

«A Clockwork Orange»

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Out of one glazz I could read like headlines which were sort of
trembling in the rooker of the chelloveck that held them, like BOY VICTIM OF
CRIMINAL REFORM SCHEME and GOVERNMENT AS MURDERER and there was like a
picture of a veck that looked familiar to me and it said OUT OUT OUT, and
that would be the Minister of the Inferior or Interior. Then the nurse
ptitsa said:
"You shouldn't be exciting him like that. You shouldn't be doing
anything that will make him upset. Now come on, let's have you out." I tried
to say:
"Out out out," but it was er er er again. Anyway, these three political
vecks went. And I went, too, only back to the land, back to all blackness
lit up by like odd dreams which I didn't know whether they were dreams or
not, O my brothers. Like for instance I had this idea of my whole plott or
body being like emptied of as it might be dirty water and then filled up
again with clean. And then there were really lovely and horrorshow dreams of
being in some veck's auto that had been crasted by me and driving up and
down the world all on my oddy knocky running lewdies down and hearing them
creech they were dying, and in me no pain and no sickness. And also there
were dreams of doing the old in-out in-out with devotchkas, forcing like
them down on the ground and making them have it and everybody standing
around claping their rookers and cheering like bezoomny. And then I woke up
again and it was my pee and em come to viddy their ill son, my em boohooing
real horrorshow. I could govoreet a lot better now and could say: "Well well
well well well, what gives? What makes you think you are like welcome?" My
papapa said, in a like ashamed way:
"You were in the papers, son. It said they had done great wrong to you.
It said how the Government drove you to try and do yourself in. And it was
our fault too, in a way, son. Your home's your home, when all's said and
done, son." And my mum kept on going boohoohoo and looking ugly as
kiss-my-sharries. So I said:
"And how beeth the new son Joe? Well and healthy and prosperous, I
trust and pray?" My mum said:
"Oh, Alex Alex. Owwwwwwww." My papapa said:
"A very awkward thing, son. He got into a bit of trouble with the
police and was done by the police."
"Really?" I said. "Really? Such a good sort of chelloveck and all.
Amazed proper I am, honest."
"Minding his own business he was," said my pee. "And the police told
him to move on. Waiting at a corner he was, son, to see a girl he was going
to meet. And they told him to move on and he said he had rights like
everybody else, and then they sort of fell on top of him and hit him about
cruel."
"Terrible," I said. "Really terrible. And where is the poor boy now?"
"Owwwww," boohooed my mum.




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Тем временем:

...
Then they started questioning-
Had he noticed anything?
First, in prayer he bent his head,
Through his teeth, he slowly said
(After bowing left and right):
"Why, I never slept all night!
And I really wonder whether
There was ever colder weather!
It was cold, I'd have you know-
I kept running to and fro-
Wasn't it a chilly night!
But, then, everything's all right.
" And his father said with pleasure:
"You, Gavrilo, are a treasure."

Evening once again drew near,
Now the third should don his gear,
But he never turned a hair,
Sitting on the oven there,
Singing with his foolish might:
"0, you eyes, as black as night!"
Then to coax and beg Ivan
Both the elder sons began;
Bade him go and guard the grain;
They grew hoarse-but all in vain.
Father finally said: "Here,
You just listen, Vanya dear,
Go on watch, and if you do,
This is what I'll do for you:
I shall give you beans and peas,
And some pictures, if you please."

At these words, Ivan climbed down,
Donned his coat of russet brown,
Pocketed a lump of bread
And on sentry-go he sped.

Night fell and the white moon rose.
On his beat Ivan now goes,
Looking sharply all around;
Then he sits upon the ground,
Munching slowly at his bread,
Counts the bright stars overhead.
Suddenly, a neigh resounded-
To his feet our sentry bounded;
Peering round with shaded eyes,
In the field a mare he spies.
Now, this mare, I'd have you know,
Whiter was than whitest snow,
Silken mane in ringlets streaming
To the ground, all golden gleaming...

Ершов Петр Павлович   
«Pyotr Yershov. The little humpbacked horse»





Смотрите также:

Биография Энтони Бёрджесса

Рецензия на книгу «Долгий путь к чаепитию»

«Заводной Апельсин» -- рецензия Л.Вагуриной

Заводной Энтони Бёрджесс

Заводной Энтони Бёрджесс


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