classic poetry
Varpunen jouluaamuna / The sparrow in the Cristmas morning
POSTED IN classic poetry, Music, translated Finnish-English December 16, 2017
Varpunen jouluaamuna / The sparrow in the Cristmas morning
Lumi on jo peittänyt kukat laaksosessa,
järvenaalto jäätynyt talvipakkasessa,
varpunen pienoinen syönyt kesäeinehen,
järvenaalto jäätynyt talvipakkasessa.Pienen pirtin portailla oli tyttökulta:
Tule varpu, riemulla, ota siemen multa!
Joulu on, koditon varpuseni onneton,
tule tänne riemulla, ota siemen multa!Tytön luo nyt riemuiten lensi varpukulta:
Kiitollisna siemenen otan kyllä sulta.
Palkita Jumala tahtoo kerran sinua.
Kiitollisna siemenen ota kyllä sulta.En mä ole, lapseni, lintu tästä maasta.
Olen pieni veljesi, tulin taivahasta.
Siemenen pienoisen, jonka annoit köyhällen,
pieni sai sun veljesi enkeleitten maasta.………………………………………………………………………
The Sparrow in the Christmas morning
Snow already covered all in the valley yonder
frozen is the wave of lake in the frost of winter.
Little sparrow sweet and good
eaten up his summer food.
Frozen is the wave of lake in the frost of winter.
On the stairs of little house stood a girl who plead:
Come dear sparrow and with joy take from me a seed!
It’s Christmas now and here
sparrow without home and cheer.
Come dear sparrow and with joy take from me a seed!
To the girl’s feet filled with joy flew the darling sparrow:
Gratefully I take from you seed of blood and marrow.
God will pay you threefold
darling girl with soul of gold.
Gratefully I take from you seed of blood and marrow.Dear child I’m not a bird from this world of strangers
I’m your little brother dead coming from the heavens.
When you fed the poor in need
you gave me a little seed.
I’m your little brother dead from the land of angels.
Zacharias Topelius
English version, Maria Magdalena Biela
Happy Independence Day, Finland! SUOMI 100!
POSTED IN classic poetry, essays December 6, 2017
Happy Independence Day, Finland! SUOMI 100!PYHÄ SYNNYINMAA
Sua muistamme ain, pyhä syntymämaa,
mikä lieneekin toimemme, työmme,
ylin onni Sa oot, minkä ihminen saa,
elon aurinko, tähtönen yömme;
Sun korpies kuisketta kuulimme lasna,
sitä unhota emme me harmajahasna,
Sun valtaasi tahdomme vahvistaa,
Sua lempien leipääsi syömme.
Oli kielesi kirkkaus jo vertaamaton,
kun soi sitä äiteimme huulet,
sen kauneus nyt karttunut, varttunut on,
tänä päivänä kun sitä kuulet:
se kaikuu nyt huipuilta valtion vapaan,
mut kaikuvi maammojen, taattojen tapaan,
käy tietona, taitona taistelohon,
miten muuttuukin maailman tuulet.Ja mielesi meille se suurna jo soi,
kun orjuus uhkasi maata,
se rintaamme rautaa ja rakkautta loi,
jok’ ei konsana sammua saata;
kun vallitsi kerskaten keisarivalta
ja uhrinsa otti jo orttemme alta,
me tunsimme: et sitä sietää Sa voi,
jos tahdo et voimasta laata.Siks syöksyimme kuin sinivirtaisi vyöt,
siks seisoimme kuin valon vahdit,
siks tulta ne tuprusi pohjolan yöt,
soi mielten ja miekkojen tahdit,
mut Sulta me tahtomme, tarmomme haimme,
Sult’ yksin me voimamme, voittomme saimme,
Sun hangistas nous unet, urhojen työt,
nous taattojen, maammojen mahdit.Ylt’ympäri Sun, nyt katso ja nää,
pyhä lippusi pystynä liehuu,
voi leijona viirinä lennähtää,
jos taas kirot sortajan kiehuu,
mut muuten se vapauden, rauhan on vaate,
kuin risti sen rinnassa rakkauden aate,
jos ei sitä turmele tuuliaispää,
ei riitojen myrsky, mi riehuu.Valan vannomme juurella viirisi sen
yht’ olla ain kansaa maamme,
tätä heimoa pohjolan pakkasien,
min tuskat ja riemut me jaamme,
mi talvessa taistellen itsensä nosti,
mi kalliisti kalleimman onnen sen osti
nyt seisoa parvessa parhaiden,
jost’ ylpeät olla me saamme!Suomen Tasavallan itsenäisyyspäivänä 6.12.1919.
EINO LEINO
La sorella della vita
POSTED IN classic poetry September 28, 2017
La sorella della vita – Sora vietii
Cu nimic nu se aseamana viata asa cum ii seamănă mortii.
Este sora ei. Nici o diferentă.
O iei de mână, ii asezi părul, o mângâi.
Ea iti dăruieste o floare si iti zâmbeste.
Ii ascunzi fata la piept
si-i auzi vocea : să mergem, este timpul.
Dar nu-ti vorbeste despre o deosebire.
Moartea nu se asază cu fata la pământ
verde si alba, si nu se culca într-un cosciug
alb. Se întoarce cu o figură imbietoare
ca să vorbească cu toată lumea.
Are trasaturi delicate si o fată dulce.
Maini usoare, tăiate în inima ta.
Cine simte în inimă acea mână
usoara nu mai ajunge să-l încălzească soarele.
Este la fel de rece ca gheata, si fără dragoste.
Edith Sodergran
In romaneste, Catalina Franco
………………………………………………………
A niente come alla morte rassomiglia la vita.
E’ sua sorella. Senza differenze.
La prendi per mano, le lisci i capelli, le fai una carezza.
Lei ti regala un fiore e ti sorride.
Le nascondi la faccia dentro il petto
e senti la sua voce: andiamo, e’ l’ora.
Ma non ti parla di una differenza.
La morte non si stende faccia a terra
verde e bianca, o supina in una bara
bianca. Va in giro con un volto vivido
a parlare con tutti.
Ha tratti delicati, e un volto tenero.
Mani lievi, posate sul tuo cuore.
Chi si sente sul cuore quella lieve
mano, non giunge piu’ a scaldarlo, il sole.
E’ freddo come il ghiaccio, e senza amore.
L.Koch, Italian version
Ma vie c’est toi
POSTED IN classic poetry September 17, 2017
Et si tu n’existais pas
Et si tu n’existais pas
Dis-moi pourquoi j’existerais
Pour traîner dans un monde sans toi
Sans espoir et sans regret.
Et si tu n’existais pas
J’essaierais d’inventer l’amour
Comme un peintre qui voit sous ses doigts
Naître les couleurs du jour
Et qui n’en revient pas.Et si tu n’existais pas
Dis-moi pour qui j’existerais
Des passantes endormies dans mes bras
Que je n’aimerais jamais.
Et si tu n’existais pas
Je ne serais qu’un point de plus
Dans ce monde qui vient et qui va
Je me sentirais perdu.J’aurais besoin de toi
Et si tu n’existais pas
Dis-moi comment j’existerais
Je pourrais faire semblant d’être moi
Mais je ne serais pas vrai.Et si tu n’existais pas
Je crois que je l’aurais trouvé
Le secret de la vie, le pourquoi
Simplement pour te créer
Et pour te regarder.Et si tu n’existais pas
Dis-moi pourquoi j’existerais
Pour traîner dans un monde sans toi
Sans espoir et sans regret.
Et si tu n’existais pas
J’essaierais d’inventer l’amour
Comme un peintre qui voit sous ses doigts
Naître les couleurs du jour
Et qui n’en revient pas.
Joe Dassin
The Autumn
POSTED IN classic poetry September 1, 2017
The Autumn
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them —
The summer flowers depart —
Sit still — as all transform’d to stone,
Except your musing heart.
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!The dearest hands that clasp our hands, —
Their presence may be o’er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh’d our mind,
Shall come — as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.Hear not the wind — view not the woods;
Look out o’er vale and hill-
In spring, the sky encircled them —
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn’s scathe — come winter’s cold —
Come change — and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne’er be desolate.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Mary Magdalene
POSTED IN classic poetry July 22, 2017
Mary MagdaleneAs soon as night descends, we meet.
Remorse my memories releases.
The demons of the past compete,
And draw and tear my heart to pieces,
Sin, vice and madness and deceit,
When I was slave of men’s caprices
And when my dwelling was the street.The deathly silence is not far;
A few more moments only matter,
Which the Inevitable bar.
But at the edge, before they scatter,
In front of Thee my life I shatter,
As though an alabaster jar.O what might not have been my fate
By now, my Teacher and my Saviour,
Did not eternity await
Me at the table, as a late
New victim of my past behaviour!But what can sin now mean to me,
And death, and hell, and sulphur burning,
When, like a graft onto a tree,
I have-for everyone to see-
Grown into being part of Thee
In my immeasurable yearning?When pressed against my knees I place
Thy precious feet, and weep, despairing,
Perhaps I’m learning to embrace
The cross’s rough four-sided face;
And, fainting, all my being sways
Towards Thee, Thy burial preparing.
One perfect rose / Un trandafir perfect
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian May 27, 2017
One perfect roseA single flow’r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet –
One perfect rose.I knew the language of the floweret;
‘My fragile leaves,’ it said, ‘his heart enclose.’
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
…………………………..
Un trandafir perfectDe cand ne stim o floare mi-a trimis;
Un tandru mesager fara defect,
Pur, parfumat, de roua inc-atins,
Un trandafir perfect.Limbajul florii scris ca filigranul,
“Eu iti aduc inima lui direct”.
Iubirea si-alesese talismanul :
un trandafir perfect.De ce n-am bafta sa primesc si eu
O masina perfecta, chiar discret ?
Nu, soarta-mi este sa primesc mereu
Un trandafir perfect.Romanian version, Maria Magdalena Biela
One Art / O arta
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian May 26, 2017
One artThe art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.Elizabeth Bishop
…………………………….. ……………
O arta
Arta de-a pierde nu-i greu a deprinde;
atatea lucruri par a fi menite
a disparea, incat nu mai surprinde.Sa pierzi zilnic ceva spre-a te destinde,
chei de la usa, ore ostenite.
Arta de-a pierde nu-i greu a deprinde.Apoi arta de-a pierde ti-o extinde:
locuri si nume sa le faci pierite;
Nimic nu-i un dezastru, doar depinde.Pierdui al mamei ceas si, far-a vinde,
doua din trei din casele iubite.
Arta de-a pierde nu-i greu a deprinde.Pierdui orase dragi, si cat cuprinde
un continent, tari, rauri mostenite.
Imi lipsesc insa drama nu s-aprinde.Te pierdui chiar pe tine (vocea cu ras, un gest
iubit) . N-ar trebui sa mint. Toate-s vadite.
Arta de-a pierde nu-i greu a deprinde
desi pare-a fi (Scrie!) ce pretinde.Romanian version Maria Magdalena Biela
Resitatiivi I / Recitativ 1
POSTED IN classic poetry April 28, 2017
Happy birthday in Eternity, Hilja Onerva Lehtinen
Resitatiivi I
Ei onnea luotu minulle,
se luotiin muita vasten,
se luotiin perhojen iloita
ja leikkiä nukkelasten!
Jos en sitä itse ma särkisikään,
sen särkevät multa toiset:
nuo sääntöjen säveät seuraajat,
nuo homeisten lakien loiset,
joiden järki on jäykkä ja pimeä
ja tunne kuin tahkottu kivi,
mielipitehet museon hyllyltä
ja sielu kuin kirjan rivi,
joiden silmät on kierot ja karvahat
sitä kaikkea kaunista kohti,
joka lainakaapuja halveksii
ja omilla liikkua tohtii.Te luulette, että mun henkeni
valeviisauteenne viihtyy:
mitä enemmän minua kiusaatte,
sitä enemmän mieleni kiihtyy.
Te luulette, että mun henkeni
veriottelussamme taipuu:
mitä enemmän minua sorratte,
sitä enemmän valtanne vaipuu.
Näennäisesti kenties taipua voin
yli voimien käypään valtaan,
mut kahleissakin minä säilytän
oman henkeni uhri-altaan;
ja jos ette elää salli mun,
niin tappakaa minut vainen:
minä olen vankina vaarallinen
ja kelvoton alamainen.…………………………………………………………….
Recitativ 1
Nu mie norocu-mi fu dat
ci altora fu harazit,
spre-a fluturilor bucurie fu creat
si copiilor-papusi spre joaca daruit.
Daca insami nu-mi sfaram norocul,
sa-l sfarame altii-s porniti:
cei ai regulilor fideli urmatori,
cei ai mucedelor legi paraziti,
a caror minte-i teapana, intunecata
si sufletul ca piatra polizoare,
idei din raftul de muzeu luate
si inima de carti ascultatoare,
ai caror ochi privesc viclean si had
spre tot ceea ce e frumos si care
dispretuieste haine de-mprumut
si sa se miste singur curaj are.Voi credeti ca gandirea mea
falsei voastre-ntelepciuni e fidela.
Cu cat voi ma chinuiti mai mult,
cu-atat mai mault mintea mea-i rebela.
Voi credeti ca spiritul meu
in lupta noastra sangeroasa se supune.
Cu cat voi ma oprimati mai mult,
cu-atat mai mult puterea voastra-apune.
Inselator sa ma supun as putea
puterii ce pe-a mea o depaseste
insa in lanturi tot pastrez
altarul unde spiritu-mi jertfeste.
Si daca nu-mi dati voie sa traiesc,
ucideti-ma atunci, macar.
Eu sunt periculoasa ca prizonier
iar ca supus sunt in zadar.
L.Onerva
Spring is the period
POSTED IN classic poetry April 24, 2017
Spring is the period
Spring is the Period
Express from God.
Among the other seasons
Himself abide,But during March and April
None stir abroad
Without a cordial interview
With God.
Emily Dickinson
