سفر أيوب - بدر شاكر السياب ترجمة إنجليزي

 القصيدة مترجمة في عدة أماكن على النت وكل مترجم له رؤيته الخاصة حسب فهمه للتعابير

رأيت بعض التراجم ولم أقتنع بها إما فيها خروج عن النص أو عدم فهم النص
أدناه ترجمتي للقصيدة علما سبق لي وأن ترجمتها ولا أدري أين ذهبت تلك الترجمة
هذه ترجمة جديدة
كل الضمائر ( You ) المبدوءة بحرف كابتل تعود إلى الله سبحانه وتعالى
ملاحظة ( نحو ) : لمن مستواه ضعيف في الإنجليزية التعبير are but = ما هو إلا أو ليس سوى

Praise be to Allah , no matter whatever the misfortune is

and to what extent the pain overwhelming on me

Praise be to You; ordeals are but some gifts of You

Thankfully, some calamities are generosity

Didn't You give me this darkness?

And You gave me this twilight as well?

Wouldn't the earth praise the raindrops?

So why did earth get angry if were not quenched by clouds ?

Grammar : above : case of subjunctive, so were is used after if

Long months and I suffer from these wounds

Tearing up my waist like a knife

Neither does the ailment subside in the morning

Nor does the night rub off its pains with death

But if Job shouts and shouts…He would say

Praise be to You, the calamities are but dewdrops

And wounds are gifts from one's beloved

I hold tightly her bouquet to my chest

Your gifts in my heart I passionately reserve

Let me have! Your gifts are welcome

I bandage my wounds up

Crying out to those returnees

look on and envy me as much as you can

These are my lover's gifts

if the fire warmly touched my forehead

I would take it as if a burning kiss from you

What beautiful the sleeplessness is when…

I watch you over the sky until starts will vanish

And your bright shadow touches my window

What a beautiful night I heard its sound distantly recur

Like echo of an owl hooting and horns of cars

the wailing of sick people, and a mother repeating

the ancestors' myths to her newborn

the forests of sleepless night, are the clouds

that ultimately hide the face of the sky

revealing it under the moon to be seen

If Job shouted, the call would be

Praise be to You, Who fling by fate

In the end, You who discharge the ailment out

لكَ الحـَمدُ مهما إستطالَ البـــلاء
ومهمــا استبدَّ الألـم
لكَ الحمدُ إن ٌ الرزايـا عطـــاء
وإنٌ المَصيبــات بعض الكـَـــرَم
ألم تُعطني أنت هذا الظلام
وأعطيتني أنت هذا السّحر؟
فهل تشكر الأرض قطر المطر
وتغضب إن لم يجدها الغمام؟
شهور طوال وهذي الجـِـــراح
تمزّق جنبي مثل المدى
ولا يهدأ الداء عند الصباح
ولا يمسح اللّيل أوجاعه بالردى.
ولكنّ أيّوب إن صاح صــــــاح
لك الحمد، ان الرزايا ندى
وإنّ الجراح هدايا الحبيب
أضمٌ إلى الصدر ِ باقتــها
هداياكَ في خافقي لاتَغيــب
هاتها ... هداياكَ مقبولــةُ
أشد جراحي وأهتف
بالعائديــن
ألا فانظروا واحسدونــي
فهذى هدايا حبيبي
وإن مسّت النار حرّ الجبين
توهّمتُها قُبلة منك مجبولة من لهيب.
جميل هو السّهدُ أرعى سماك
بعينيّ حتى تغيب النجوم
ويلمس شبّاك داري سناك.
جميل هو الليل: أصداء بوم
وأبواق سيارة من بعيد
وآهاتُ مرضى، وأم تُعيد
أساطير آبائها للوليد
وغابات ليل السُّهاد، الغيوم
تحجّبُ وجه السماء
وتجلوه تحت القمر
وإن صاح أيوب كان النداء
لك الحمد يا رامياً بالقدر
ويا كاتبـا ً بعد ذاكَ الشفـــاء

The following translation is not mine. I copied from one book which is not free downloading but purchased
However, I think my translation is better and especially for these two lines
Wouldn't the earth praise the raindrops?]
[So why did earth get angry if were not quenched by clouds ?
For the reasons, I adapted the hypothetical condition [ that the earth once thanked ( praised) the raindrops but no longer it became angry because the clouds neglected it. It is perhaps due to the time converted hard ?] The considerable legitimacy , one should thank Allah through thick and thin and that's why I used the subjunctive mode with " if" to control the light on that contrary situations ( not real )

Thanks be to You, though the disease be prolonged
and despite the tyranny of pain,
thanks be to You! whatever You send is a gift
and catastrophes reveal Your benevolence.
Haven't You given me this darkness—
haven’t You given me this dawn?
And does the earth give thanks for raindrops?
Is it angered at the withholding of the clouds?
Long months and these wounds
tear my sides like knives;
the pain does not lift at daybreak,
and the night does not wipe pain away with death.
But if Job screams, his cry is:
‘Thanks be to You; all that You send is generous
and these wounds are a lover's gifts
I hold as a bouquet to my chest.
Your gifts abide in my heart,
Your gifts are accepted. Give them to me!’
I hold in my wounds, and call to visitors:
‘Look and envy me, these are my lover's gifts!’
And if fire singes my forehead
I think it your kiss of flame.
Beautiful the insomnia, I follow Your sky
with my eyes till the stars set,
until Your light touches the window of my house.
Beautiful is the night: the cries of owls,
the honking of a car from afar,
the moaning of the sick, and.a mother repeating
to her child the legends of her ancestors.
Forests of the sleepless night, the clouds
veil the face of the sky
and polish it under the moon.
And if Job screams, his cry is
‘Thanks be to You, O Destiny-thrower,
the One who signs the cure!’

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