classic poetry
Новолунье / Luna plina
POSTED IN classic poetry April 9, 2019
НоволуньеНовый месяц встал над лугом,
Над росистою межой.
Милый, дальний и чужой,
Приходи, ты будешь другом.Днем — скрываю, днем — молчу.
Месяц в небе, — нету мочи!
В эти месячные ночи
Рвусь к любимому плечу.Не спрошу себя: «Кто ж он?»
Все расскажут — твои губы!
Только днем объятья грубы,
Только днем порыв смешон.Днем, томима гордым бесом,
Лгу с улыбкой на устах.
Ночью ж… Милый, дальний… Ах!
Лунный серп уже над лесом!Марина Цветаева
—————————–
Luna nouaPeste lunca-i luna noua
Peste limita de roua.
Vino, prieten fac din tine,
Draga, departat, straine.Ziua ma ascund si tac
Luna de sus – nu am vlaga!
asta noapte-n luna vaga
fug la umarul cel drag.“Cine-i el?”, nu-ntreb nicicand
Ce-as sti, buzele-ti or spune!
E vulgar in brate-ti stand
Ziua ne-om potrivi bine.Ziua-mi spune duh de moarte
Zambind sa aleg minciuna.
Noaptea…dragule, departe…
Peste creste-i semiluna.Maria Magdalena
The End / Sfarsit
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 9, 2019
The End / SfarsitNot every man knows what he shall sing at the end,
Watching the pier as the ship sails away, or what it will seem like
When he’s held by the sea’s roar, motionless, there at the end,
Or what he shall hope for once it is clear that he’ll never go back.When the time has passed to prune the rose or caress the cat,
When the sunset torching the lawn and the full moon icing it down
No longer appear, not every man knows what he’ll discover instead.
When the weight of the past leans against nothing, and the skyIs no more than remembered light, and the stories of cirrus
And cumulus come to a close, and all the birds are suspended in flight,
Not every man knows what is waiting for him, or what he shall sing
When the ship he is on slips into darkness, there at the end.MARK STRAND
——————————————–
SfarsitNu tot omul stie ce va canta la sfarsit,
Privind tarmul pe cand nava se-ndeparteaza, ori cum va fi
Cand va fi-mbratisat de vuietul marii, nemiscat, acolo la capat.
Ori ce-ar mai spera cand va fi clar ca nu se va mai intoarce.Cad va fi trecut timpul sa curete trandafirul ori sa mangaie pisica,
Cand apusul incendiind iarba si luna plina inghetand-o
Nu mai apar, nu tot omul stie ce va descoperi in loc.
Cand greutatea trecutului se sprijină pe nimic, si cerulNu mai este decat o lumina amintire, si povestile despre cirrus
Si cumulus se sfarsesc, si toate pasarile sunt nemiscate in zbor
Nu tot omul stie ce-l asteapta, ori ce-ar trebui sa cante
Cand nava pe care este aluneca in intuneric, acolo la capat.Maria Magdalena
SOLITUDE / SINGURATATE
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 6, 2019
SOLITUDE / SINGURATATE
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.ELLA WHEELER WILCOX
……………………
SINGURATATERazi, si lumea cu tine va rade ;
Plangi si singur vei plange;
Caci tristul pamant ras imprumutand,
Necazul si pe el il ajunge.
Canta, si colinele-or raspunde;
Ofteaza si-i in aer pierdut;
Ecouri raspund unui raset profund,
Insa la necaz au tacut.Fii vesel, si lumea te cata,
Fii trist, ei se-ntorc si dispar ;
Ei vor participa la fericirea ta,
Insa n-au treaba cu-al tau amar.
Razi, si prieteni sunt multi;
Fii trist, si cu totii vor piere,-
Nu-i unul sa refuze vinu-ti nectar pe buze,
Insa singur vei bea-a lumii fiere.
Petrece, si casa ti-e plina;
Posteste, si lumea-i trecuta.
Parvine si daruie, si viata te-nvaluie
Insa nimeni cand mori nu te-ajuta.
Pentru-un tren larg si arogant,
Este loc in sala placerii
Insa unul cate unu toti tre’ sa facem drumu’
Prin colturile-nguste ale durerii.
Maria Magdalena
Palme delle mani / Palms of hands / Palme ale mainilor
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Italian-English, translated Italian-Romanian April 6, 2019
Palme delle mani / Palms of hands / Palme ale mainilor
Oh palme delle mani iscritte di segni,
triangoli, rami, croci, stelle,
tutta la mia vita ch’è stata e sarà,
il punto ch’io ignoro della morte e non temo,
e altri, altri che sembrano di confitti chiodi,
ma intorno vi raggiano ali di gloria,
oh palme delle mani vi guardo come specchi,
così umane e così arcane,
appannati specchi che la luce più indora,
brevi e morbide, e tanto destino inciso,
immagini d’immensi spazi e musiche,
e fantasia e follia e solitudine e carità,
linee linee in catena in croce in danza,
oh palme delle mie mani, scrittura d’astri!
SIBILLA ALERAMO
—————————-Palms of hands
Oh palms of hands with signs inscribed,
triangles, branches, crosses, stars,
all my life that has been and will be,
the moment of death that I ignore and I don’t fear,
and other, other that look like nailed nails,
but around you they gleam wings of glory,
oh palms of hands I look at you like in the mirrors,
so human and so occult,
misted mirrors so light shines more,
short and soft, and much engraved destiny,
images of immense spaces and music,
and fantasies and madness and loneliness and charity,
lines lines in chain on the cross in dance,
oh palms of my hands, writing of stars!…………………………….
Palme ale mainilorOh palme ale mainilor inscrise cu semne
triunghiuri, ramuri, cruci, stele,
toata viata mea care a fost si care va fi,
momentul mortii pe care il ignor si de care nu ma tem
si altele, altele care seamana a cuie batute,
dar în jurul vostru sclipesc aripi de slava,
oh palme ma uit la voi ca in oglinzi,
atat de umane si atat de oculte,
oglinzi estompate ca lumina sa straluceasca mai mult
scurte si moi, si mult destin gravat,
imagini de spatii imense si muzica,
si fantezii si nebunie si singuratate si mila,
linii linii în lant pe crucea în dans,
o palme ale mainilor, scriitura a stelelor!
Maria Magdalena
Spring is like a perhaps hand / Primavara este precum o mana poate
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 6, 2019
Spring is like a perhaps hand / Primavara este precum o mana poateSpring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look (while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here) andchanging everything carefully
spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)andwithout breaking anything.
e.e.cummings
————————————-
Primavara este precum o manaPrimavara este precum o mana poate
(care vine cu grija
deodata) aranjand
a window,into which people look(while
o fereastra, prin care oamenii privesc (in timp ce
oamenii privesc fix
aranjand si schimband asezand
cu grija ici un lucru ciudat
dincoace un lucru stiut) si
schimband totul cu grija
primavara este precum o poate
mana in fereastra
( grijulie incoace
si incolo miscand lucruri Noi si
Vechi, in timp ce
oamenii privesc fix cu grija
mutand o poate
fractiune de floare ici asezand
o frantura de aer dincolo) si
fara sa sparga nimic.Maria Magdalena
SMÄRTAN / THE PAIN / DUREREA / KIPU
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Finnish-English, translated Finnish-Romanian April 5, 2019
SMÄRTAN / THE PAIN / DUREREA / KIPULyckan har inga sånger, lyckan har inga tankar, lyckan har ingenting.Stöt till din lycka att hon går sönder, ty lyckan är ond.Lyckan kommer sakta med morgonens susning i sovande snår,lyckan glider undan i lätta molnbilder över djupblå djup,lyckan är fältet som sover i middagens glödeller havets ändlösa vidd under baddet av lodräta strålar,lyckan är maktlös, hon sover och andas och vet av ingenting…Känner du smärtan? Hon är stark och stor med hemligt knutna nävar.Känner du smärtan? Hon är hoppfullt leende med förgråtna ögon.Smärtan ger oss allt vad vi behöva –hon ger oss nycklarna till dödens rike,hon skjuter oss in genom porten, då vi ännu tveka.Smärtan döper barnen och vakar med modernoch smider alla de gyllene bröllopsringarna.Smärtan härskar över alla, hon slätar tänkarens panna,hon fäster smycket kring den åtrådda kvinnans hals,hon står i dörren när mannen kommer ut från sin älskade…Vad är det ännu smärtan ger åt sina älsklingar?Jag vet ej mer.Hon ger pärlor och blommor, hon ger sånger och drömmar,hon ger oss tusen kyssar som alla äro tomma,hon ger den enda kyssen som är verklig.Hon ger oss våra sällsamma själar och besynnerliga tycken,hon ger oss alla livets högsta vinster:kärlek, ensamhet och dödens ansikte.EDITH SÖDERGRAN—————————-THE PAINHappiness has no songs, happiness has no thoughts, happiness has nothing.Smash your happiness until she breaks, for happiness is evil.Happiness comes slowly in the sleepy sighs of morning busheshappiness glides away in light clouds over deep blue depths,happiness is the field that sleeps in the glow of afternoonor the sea’s endless spirit under the bath of vertical rays,happiness is powerless, she sleeps and breathes and knows nothing …Do you feel the pain? she is strong and big with secretly clenched fists.Do you feel the pain? she is hopefully smiling with weeping eyes.The pain gives us everything we need –she gives us the keys to the kingdom of death,she pushes us through the gate, as we still hesitate.The pain baptizes the children and awakes with the motherand forges all the golden wedding rings.the pain rules over everyone, she caresses the forehead of the thinker,she fastens the jewelery around the loved woman’s neck,she stands in the doorway when the man comes out from his beloved …What else is the pain giving to her loved ones?I know no more.She gives beads and flowers, she gives songs and dreams,she gives us a thousand kisses that are all empty,she gives the only kiss that is real.she gives us our rare souls and strange things,she gives us all the highest benefits of life:love, loneliness and the face of death.———————————————-DUREREAFericirea nu are cântece, fericirea nu are gânduri, fericirea nu are nimic.Izbeste fericirea pana se face bucati , căci fericirea este diabolica.Fericirea vine liniștit in suspinul adormit al tufisurilor diminetii.,fericirea se îndepărtează în nori ușori peste adâncimile albastre,fericirea este câmpul care doarme în strălucirea amiezeisau spiritul infinit al mării scaldata in raze verticale,fericirea este neputincioasă, ea doarme și respiră și nu știe nimic…Simți durerea? E puternică și mare, cu pumnii stransi în secret.Simți durerea? Zâmbește sperand cu ochii umflati de plans.Durerea ne dă tot ce avem nevoie –ea ne dă cheile împărăției morții,ne împinge prin poarta, fiindcă încă ezităm.Durerea botează copiii și vegheaza cu mamași falsifica toate verighetele de aur.Durerea stă la dispoziția tuturor, mangaie fruntea gânditorului,ea leagă bijuteriile la gâtul femeii,ea sta in pragul ușii când bărbatul pleaca de la iubita sa …Ce altceva durerea dăruiește celor dragi?Nu mai știu.Oferă margele și flori, dă cantece și vise,ea ne dă o mie de sărutări care sunt toate goale,Ea dă singurul sărut care este real.Ea ne dă sufletele noastre rare și lucrurile ciudate,ea ne dă cele mai mari beneficii ale vieții:iubirea, singurătatea și fața morții.—————————————KIPUOnnella ei ole lauluja, onnella ei ole ajatuksia, onnella ei ole mitään.Tönäise onneasi niin, että se särkyy, sillä onni on paha.Onni tulee hiljaa aamun huokauksessa nukkuvissa pensaissa,onni liukuu pois kevyissä pilvissä yli syvänsinisen syvyyden,onni on tasanko, joka nukkuu keskipäivän hehkussatai meren loputon aava auringon pystysuorien säteiden paahteessa,onni on voimaton, se nukkuu ja hengittääeikä tiedä mistään mitään…Tunnetko kivun? Se on vahva ja iso ja sillä onkädet salaa nyrkissä.Tunnetko kivun? Se hymyilee toiveikkaastiitkettynein silmin.Kipu antaa meille kaiken, mitä tarvitsemme –se antaa meille kuoleman valtakunnan avaimet,se työntää meidät portista sisään,kun me vielä epäröimme.Kipu kastaa lapset ja valvoo äidin kanssaja takoo kaikki kultaiset vihkisormukset.Kipu hallitsee kaikkia, se siloittaa ajattelijan otsan,se kiinnittää korun halutun naisen kaulaan,se seisoo ovella, kun mies tulee ulos rakkaansa luota…Mitä muuta kipu antaa rakkailleen?En tiedä enää.Se antaa helmiä ja kukkia, se antaa lauluja ja unelmia,se antaa meille tuhat suudelmaa, jotka kaikki ovat tyhjiä,se antaa ainoan todellisen suudelman.Se antaa meille omalaatuiset sielumme jakummalliset mieltymyksemme,se antaa meille kaikki elämän parhaat edut:rakkauden, yksinäisyyden ja kuoleman kasvot.Maria Magdalena
Skönhet / Frumusetea / Beauty
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Finnish-English, translated Finnish-Romanian April 4, 2019
Skönhet / Frumusetea / BeautyVad är skönhet? Fråga alla själar –
skönhet är varje överflöd, varje glöd, varje överfyllnad och varje stort armod;
skönhet är att vara sommaren trogen och naken intill hösten;
skönhet är papegojans fjäderskrud eller solnedgången som bebådar storm;
skönhet är ett skarpt drag och ett eget tonfall: det är jag,
skönhet är en stor förlust och ett tigande sorgetåg,
skönhet är solfjäderns lätta slag som väcker ödets fläkt;
skönhet är att vara vällustig som rosen eller att förlåta allting för att solen skiner;
skönhet är korset munken valt eller pärlbandet damen får av sin älskare,
skönhet är icke den tunna såsen i vilken diktare servera sig själva,
skönhet är att föra krig och söka lycka,
skönhet är att tjäna högre makter.EDITH SÖDERGRAN
—————————–
FrumuseteaCe-i frumusetea? Intreaba orice suflet-
frumusetea este fiece revarsare, fiece stralucire, fiece abundenta
si fiece saracie mare;
frumusetea este sa fii credincios verii si sa mergi goala spre toamna;
frumusetea este penajul unui papagal ori apusul ce prevesteste furtuni;
frumusetea este o trasatura accentuata si tonul personal : Eu sunt
frumusetea este o grea pierdere si o procesiune funerala tacuta,
frumusetea este usoara miscare a evantaiului care trezeste briza destinului:
frumusetea este sa fii voluptuoasa precum un trandafir
ori sa ierti totul pentru ca soarele sa straluceasca;
frumusetea este crucea aleasa de calugar ori margelele
pe care o doamna le are de la iubitul ei
frumusetea nu este sosul fin din care care poetii se servesc,
frumusetea este sa porti un razboi spre a cauta fericirea,
frumusetea este sa servesti puteri mai inalte
——————————————–
Beauty
What is beauty? Ask All Souls –
beauty is every abundance, every glow, every overflow
and every great poverty;
beauty is to be faithful to the summer and go naked to the fall;
beauty is the parrot’s spring thrust or the sunset that invokes storm;
beauty is a sharp feature and its own tone: I am,
beauty is a great loss and a silent funeral,
beauty is the light stroke of the fan that awakens the fate;
beauty is to be voluptuous as the rose or to forgive everything for the sun to shine;
beauty is the cross chosen by a monk or the beaded
a lady gets from her lover,
beauty is not the thin sauce in which poets serve themselves,
beauty is to wage war and seek happiness,
beauty is to serve higher powers.
Maria Magdalena
Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi / Death will come and have your eyes
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Italian-English April 2, 2019
Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi / Death will come and have your eyes
Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi
questa morte che ci accompagna
dal mattino alla sera, insonne,
sorda, come un vecchio rimorso
o un vizio assurdo. I tuoi occhi
saranno una vana parola
un grido taciuto, un silenzio.Così li vedi ogni mattina
quando su te sola ti pieghi
nello specchio. O cara speranza,
quel giorno sapremo anche noi
che sei la vita e sei il nulla.Per tutti la morte ha uno sguardo.
Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi.
Sarà come smettere un vizio,
come vedere nello specchio
riemergere un viso morto,
come ascoltare un labbro chiuso.
Scenderemo nel gorgo muti.CESARE PAVESE
—————————-Death will come and have your eyes
Death will come and have your eyes-
this death that accompanies us
from morning to evening, sleepless,
deaf, like an old remorse
or an absurd vice. Your eyes
they will be a vain word
a silent cry, a silence.So you see them every morning
When you lean over alone
in the mirror. O dear hope,
that day we will also know
that you are life and you are nothing.Death has a face for everyone.
Death will come and will have your eyes.
It will be like giving up a vice,
Like seeing in the mirror
emerging a dead face,
like listening to closed lips.
We will descend into the silent whirlpool.
Maria Magdalena
Romance sonámbulo / Somnambulist Romance / Romanta somnambula
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Spanish-English, translated Spanish-Romanian March 31, 2019
Romance sonámbulo / Somnambulist Romance / Romanta somnambulaVerde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas le están mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.*
Verde que te quiero verde.
Grandes estrellas de escarcha,
vienen con el pez de sombra
que abre el camino del alba.
La higuera frota su viento
con la lija de sus ramas,
y el monte, gato garduño,
eriza sus pitas agrias.
¿Pero quién vendrá? ¿Y por dónde…?
Ella sigue en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
soñando en la mar amarga.*
Compadre, quiero cambiar
mi caballo por su casa,
mi montura por su espejo,
mi cuchillo por su manta.
Compadre, vengo sangrando,
desde los montes de Cabra.
Si yo pudiera, mocito,
ese trato se cerraba.
Pero yo ya no soy yo,
ni mi casa es ya mi casa.
Compadre, quiero morir
decentemente en mi cama.
De acero, si puede ser,
con las sábanas de holanda.
¿No ves la herida que tengo
desde el pecho a la garganta?
Trescientas rosas morenas
lleva tu pechera blanca.
Tu sangre rezuma y huele
alrededor de tu faja.
Pero yo ya no soy yo,
ni mi casa es ya mi casa.
Dejadme subir al menos
hasta las altas barandas,
dejadme subir, dejadme,
hasta las verdes barandas.
Barandales de la luna
por donde retumba el agua.*
Ya suben los dos compadres
hacia las altas barandas.
Dejando un rastro de sangre.
Dejando un rastro de lágrimas.
Temblaban en los tejados
farolillos de hojalata.
Mil panderos de cristal,
herían la madrugada.*
Verde que te quiero verde,
verde viento, verdes ramas.
Los dos compadres subieron.
El largo viento, dejaba
en la boca un raro gusto
de hiel, de menta y de albahaca.
¡Compadre! ¿Dónde está, dime?
¿Dónde está mi niña amarga?
¡Cuántas veces te esperó!
¡Cuántas veces te esperara,
cara fresca, negro pelo,
en esta verde baranda!*
Sobre el rostro del aljibe
se mecía la gitana.
Verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Un carámbano de luna
la sostiene sobre el agua.
La noche su puso íntima
como una pequeña plaza.
Guardias civiles borrachos,
en la puerta golpeaban.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar.
Y el caballo en la montaña.FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA
————————————-Somnambulist Romance
Green how much I love you green.
The green wind. The green branch seen.
The boat out there on the sea
on the mount my horse to be.
With the shade around her waist
on the balcony she dreams
her green flesh, her green hair chaste
eyes of cold silver that beams.
Green how much I love you green
Under the gypsy moon, gem
things are watching her, unseen
and she can not look at them.X
Green how much I love you green
Great stars of the frost, unknown
on the fish of shadow lean
that opens the path of dawn.
The fig rubs the wind to harden
with sandpaper of its branch,
and the mountain, and the marten,
ruffle their sour patch.
But who’ll come? And from where haste…?
She’s still on her balcony,
her green flesh, her green hair chaste
dreaming of the bitter sea.X
– Man, I would like now to trade
my horse for your house, my friend
for your mirror, my old saddle
my knife for your blanket cuddle.
My friend, I am badly bleeding,
from the mount of Cabra riding.
– If I could, young man, I vow
that deal would be closed right now.
But no longer I’m myself ,
Nor is my house where I dwell.
My friend, I would like to die
in my bed and not astray
A bed of steel, to be mine
with the sheets of canvas fine
Don’t you see I’m wounded cold
from the chest up to the throat?
– Three hundred dark roses sad
on your white shirt blossomed fad.
Your blood oozes, smells like pelt
round the corners of your belt
But no longer I’m myself,
Nor is my house where I dwell.
Let me climb at least, you see
up to the high balcony,
let me go up there, let me,
up to the green balcony.
Balustrades towards the moon
where the waters sound in tune.X
The two friends already climb
to high balconies with chime.
Leaving trail of blood behind
Leaving trail of tears to hide.
The tin lanterns quite aloof
were trembling on the roof.
Crystal tambourines, thousands sight
were striking at the dawn light.X
Green how much I love you green.
The green wind. The green branch seen.
The two friends together climb.
The stiff wind, letting with grime
in their mouth a taste dazzles
of gall, of mint and of basil.
My friend! Where is she, now tell?
Where is she, my bitter girl?
How long did she wait for you!
How long would she still, who knew?
Her green flesh, her green hair dreams
eyes of cold silver that beams.X
On the water of the well
the gypsy girl swings in spell
Her green flesh, her green hair dreams
eyes of cold silver that beams.
An icicle of moon suave
holds her up, water above
The night intimate became
like a small piazza frame.
And the drunken civil guard
at the door were knocking hard..
Green how much I love you green.
The green wind. The green branch seen.
The boat out there on the sea
on the mount my horse to be.– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Romanta somnambula
Verde, cât te iubesc, verde!
Verde vânt, ramura verde.
Barca pe-ale marii unde,
calul sus pe-un varf de munte.
valurita-n umbra tandra
ea viseaza pe veranda,
verde fata, parul verde,
ochi de-argint lumina vede.
Verde, cât te iubesc, verde!
Sub o luna de tiganca
lucrurile-o vad, dar ea
ea nu poate sa le vada.X
Verde, cât te iubesc, verde!
Stele mari ingeruite
vin cu pestele de umbra
calea zilei vor deschide.
Smochinul raneste vântul
cu creanga-i neslefuita,
iar muntele precum jderul
zbarleste acru vesmantul.
Cine-o veni? Si pe unde?
Pe veranda ea ramasa
verde fata, părul verde,
marea-amara ea viseaza.X
– Prietene, sa schimb as vrea
calul meu pe casa ta,
Saua mea pe-a ta oglinda
şi cuţitul pe manta.
Om bun, sangerand in sa
vin din muntii de la Cabra.
Tinere, dac-as putea,
acest targ l-as incheia.
Ce-am fost mi-este doar umbra
Casa-mi nu mai e a mea
-Prietene, sa mor lasat
Omeneste-n al meu pat
Din otel de-ar fi, ofranda,
cu cearsafuri de olanda.
Nu-mi vezi rana adancata
din piept pan’ la beregata?
– Trei sute de roze negre
alba ta camasa poarta.
Sangele ti se prelinge
Pan’ la brau, miroase-a soarta
Ce-am fost mi-este doar umbra,
Casa-mi nu mai e a mea
Sa urc, ma lasa macar
Pâna la veranda doar
Lasa-ma sa urc, ma crede
Pân’ sus, la veranda verde,
Balustrada catre luna
Unde apa tot rasuna.X
Cei doi greu se catarara
Pan’ la-naltele balcoane,
urma de sânge lasara
urma de lacrimi amara.
Tremurau pe-acoperisuri
felinarele din tabla.
Cristal tamburine, mii
bateau tare-n zori de zi.X
Verde, cât te iubesc, verde!
Verde vânt, ramura verde.
Cei doi împreuna urca
Vântul pe buze usuca
gust de fiere nenoroc
de menta si busuioc.
Prietene, unde e ea?
Unde-i trista, fata mea?
Cât timp ea te-a asteptat
Cat timp te-o mai astepta
Fata frageda, par smoala,
Pe veranda verde, goala!X
In adancul de fântâna
Privea tiganca nebuna
verde fata, parul verde,
ochi de-argint lumina vede.
pe-un turtur de noua luna
asupra apei atarna
Noaptea e intimitate
ca o mica piata-n noapte.
Garzile Civile, bete,
Loveau in poarta cu sete.Verde, cât te iubesc, verde!
Verde vânt, ramura verde.
Barca pe-ale marii unde,
calul sus pe-un varf de munte.Maria Magdalena
Casida IX DE LAS PALOMAS OSCURAS
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Spanish-English March 30, 2019
Casida IX
DE LAS PALOMAS OSCURASA Claudio Guillén
Por las ramas del laurel
vi dos palomas oscuras.
La una era el Sol,
la otra la Luna.
“Vecinitas”, les dije,
“dónde está mi sepultura?”
“En mi cola”, dijo el Sol.
“En mi garganta”, dijo la Luna.
Y yo que estaba caminando
con la tierra por la cintura
vi dos águilas de nieve
y una muchacha desnuda.
La una era la otra
y la muchacha era ninguna.
“Aguilitas”, les dije,
“dónde está mi sepultura?”
“En mi cola”, dijo el Sol.
“En mi garganta”, dijo la Luna.
Por las ramas del laurel
vi dos palomas desnudas.
La una era la otra
y las dos eran ninguna.(Diván del Tamarit)
FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA
———————————————
Casida IX
OF THE DARK DOVES
By the branches of the laurel
I saw two dark pigeons.
One was the Sun,
the other the Moon.
“Little neighbours,” I said,
“Where is my grave?”
“On my tail,” said the Sun.
“In my throat,” said the Moon.
And I was walking
with the earth by the waist
I saw two snow eagles
and a naked girl.
One was the other
and the girl was none.
“Little eagles,” I said,
“Where is my grave?”
“On my tail,” said the Sun.
“In my throat,” said the Moon.
By the branches of the laurel
I saw two naked pigeons.
One was the other
and both were none.
Maria Magdalena
