Ир-чан случайно нашла файлик, который я заныкал еще на 4-ом курсе инста. Эта милая переделка "Ворона" вдохновила нас на великий подвиг - сдачу экзамена по истории инглиша. Надо сказать, это был самый поганый предмет из всех, потому что он самый бесполезный в жизни, а учить надо было море бессистемной инфы - трансформацию звуков и не только во времени и пространстве. Временами казалось, что там не только без полллитры не разобраться, но и со всем литром.
Кстати, герой или героиня этого стиха тоже это понял/поняла)) И да, Ленор тут тоже будет.
Осторожно: многа страшных аглицких букаф и незнакомых словей.читать дальше
It was the year Armageddon was near. Group of the interpreter’s department were taking their History of English Exam.
Note: Everything contained herein is a work of fiction and beer vapors. Should any character herein be perceived as bearing any resemblance to any living person therein, the responsibility shall rest with the above living person.
Once upon a midnight snoozing I was sitting up and boozing
And the booze was quickly oozing into the inside of mine
While I slumbered, nearly snoring, all around me was so boring
And somehow very foreign to my soul and state of mind
Just so boring and deploring to my soul and state of mind
Just teen spirit. Never mind.
I was sitting up and boozing, taking pleasures in perusing
Of the History of English. I don’t really know hat for
What I really for sure’s that my brain’s no longer pure
It’s a mess and there’s no cure. It’ll be forever sore
I’ll be living like a Down, with my brains forever sore.
Crazy. Dumb. Forevermore.
Gently were the pages flapping. Suddenly I heard a rapping.
As a whole army stepping, marching on the wooden floor
God, I suffered like a martyr. “Blacks”, I thought, “are having party.
Come on here, Uncle Arty, and a couple of people more.
Let’s together rock this rapping. Doom and Death. That’s what we are for.”
Rap is nothing. Nevermore.
Back again my senses drifted, why the vowels were shifted,
Through the book again I sifted, to the weariness deaf
But I soon began to tire and my ass was like on fire
I decided to retire, what the hell, I told myself
All this history of English is no good, I told myself
It’s just the SHIFT without the F.
All this palatalization, and the vowel gradation
And the consonant mutation, breaking, voicing, Verner’s law.
Hardening, simplification, shortening, diphthongization,
Lengthening, assimilation, all that had I to explore
I don’t wanna no more.
Having made such exclamation thus I started my vacations
Plunging into exultation I had never known before
Am I dead? Or am I dreaming? I am violently screaming.
I am drunk. My ass is steaming. I got home and shut the door.
No fear. Only beer. I got home and shut the door.
Sat and drank. And nothing more.
But again I heard a tapping. “Hey”, I shouted, “No crapping!
I am mucking tired of rapping. Listen, bastards, stop this roar!”
At some idiot was I yelling, and my voice was quite compelling
But that maniac was telling that he was the lost Lenore.
“Fine”, I said, “Now listen baby. Roll your ass out of my door
Thank you. Madame. Nothing more.”
Suddenly I was aware that behind the door, right there
I had seen mysterious glare, dazzling, coming to the fore
Just like that. And then still cuter: to the chamber stepped the tutor
With him bringing a computer (just for counting the score)
“I’ve brought back all your corrections. Now you’ll have to write some more.
Write again. Forevermore.”
Nothing could I do but stare. Maybe he’s just a nightmare?
But the tutor was still there, ruthless, like a knight of war
Suddenly the indignation gripped me hard. I asked the question:
“Be so kind, mister tutor, tell me, what’s my current scores?”
Do it baby, yes, come on now, tell me what’s my current score
Silence there. And nothing more.
To be continued… if I survive the thesis.
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