classic poetry
RESUMÉ / RECAPITULARE
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian August 17, 2020
RESUMÉ / RECAPITULARERazors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.DOROTHY PARKER
…………………….
RecapitulareBriciul doare;
Apa-i jilava ;
Acizii-au culoare;
Pastila-i scarnava;
Armele-s ilegale;
Funia-i slaba;
Gazul miroase tare;
Traiesti, mai degraba..
Maria Magdalena Biela
THEORY / TEORIE
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian August 17, 2020
THEORY / TEORIEInto love and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen-
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?DOROTHY PARKER
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TEORIEBa iubesc, ba nu iubesc,
Asa plec, asa reviu.
Tine-ti vorba si stiloul –
Cu amar toate le stiu
Canturi ce-au tot zis sa zica,
Vorbe ce s-au repetat;
Oare, cand am fost mai mica
Cineva-n cap m-a scapat?
Maria Magdalena Biela
Nocturne, Eino Leino
POSTED IN classic poetry July 6, 2020
NocturneRuislinnun laulu korvissani,
tähkäpäiden päällä täysi kuu;
kesä-yön on onni omanani,
kaskisavuun laaksot verhouu.
En ma iloitse, en sure, huokaa;
mutta metsän tummuus mulle tuokaa,
puunto pilven, johon päivä hukkuu,
siinto vaaran tuulisen, mi nukkuu,
tuoksut vanamon ja varjot veen;
niistä sydämeni laulun teen.Miksi metsän tummuus sävelehen?
Kosk’ on mustaa murhe ylpeäin.
Miksi juova päivän laskenehen?
Koska monta nuorta unta näin.
Miksi etäisien vuorten siinto?
Koska sinne oli silmäin kiinto.
Miksi vanamoiden valjut lemut?
Koska päättyneet on päivän kemut.
Mutta miksi varjot virran veen?
Kosk’ on mieli mulla siimekseen.Sulle laulan neiti, kesäheinä,
sydämeni suuri hiljaisuus,
uskontoni, soipa säveleinä,
tammenlehvä-seppel vehryt, uus.
En ma enää aja virvatulta,
onpa kädessäni onnen kulta;
pienentyy mun’ ympär’ elon piiri;
aika seisoo, nukkuu tuuliviiri;
edessäni hämäräinen tie
tuntemattomahan tupaan vie.
Eino Leino
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Nocturne
Moor hen’s song dwells lonely in my ears,
above the spikes the full moon is burning;
summer night is my own happiness
on the valleys clearing smoke is shrouding.
I’m not happy, I’m not sad, I don’t sigh
Bring me of the woods the darkness high
the dark cloud, in which the day is sinking
vagueness of the windy hill that’s sleeping
twinflower’s smell and of the water shadows
I make the song of my heart out of those.Why the darkness of my melody?
For the sorrow of the proud is dark.
Why is gone down the streak of the day?
For my young dreams never could be lark.
The vagueness of the distant mountains, why?
Because there was the aim of my eye.
Why the pale and candid flowers’ scent?
For the party of the day to end.
Why the shadows of the water stream?
For just shadow in my mind or dream.I sing to you, maiden of summer-hay
you, the deepest silence of my soul,
my religion, singing in my way
you, oak-leaf crown, green, new and whole.
I’m not wandering for magic fire,
For I hold the gold of my desire.
Life around me narrows tight and deep,
time stands still. The weather vane’s asleep.
In front of me a dark way, many shadows,
that’s leading me to an unknown house.
translated by Maria Magdalena Biela
Oda (In Metru Antic) / Ode (In Antique Meter)
POSTED IN classic poetry January 15, 2020
Oda (In Metru Antic) / Ode (In Antique Meter)Nu credeam să-nvăţ a muri vrodată;
Pururi tânăr, înfăşurat în manta-mi,
Ochii mei nălţam visători la steaua
Sîngurătăţii.Când deodată tu răsărişi în cale-mi,
Suferinţă tu, dureros de dulce…
Pân-în fund băui voluptatea morţii
Ne’ndurătoare.Jalnic ard de viu chinuit ca Nessus.
Ori ca Hercul înveninat de haina-i;
Focul meu a-l stinge nu pot cu toate
Apele mării.De-al meu propriu vis, mistuit mă vaiet,
Pe-al meu propriu rug, mă topesc în flăcări…
Pot să mai re’nviu luminos din el ca
Pasărea Phoenix?Piară-mi ochii turburători din cale,
Vino iar în sân, nepăsare tristă;
Ca să pot muri liniştit, pe mine
Mie redă-mă!MIHAI EMINESCU
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Ode (in antique meter)Didn’t believe I’d ever learn to die;
Forever young, veiled in my toga,
My dreamy eyes I’ve raised to the star
Of solitude.When suddenly you emerged in my way,
deep agony, you, painfully sweet…
To the bottom I drank the drought of death
merciless.Doleful I burn alive tortured like Nessus.
Or like Hercules poisoned by his cloak;
My ardor to quench I cannot with all
waters of the sea.By my own dream devoured, I sigh and moan,
On my own pyre, I am melting in flames…
May I resurrect luminous from it, like
the Phoenix Bird?Perish from my way the bewildering eyes,
Return to my heart, sweet indifference;
So I may peacefully die,
Myself give back to me!English version, Maria Magdalena Biela
Bieguni, Olga Tokarczuk
POSTED IN classic poetry October 11, 2019
The book “Flights” kept me reading without breaks. The title in English didn’t catch the real meaning of BIEGUNI. I would rather have called the book “Pilgrimages”. Anyway, this book isn’t an “116 stories” traveler’s atlas and Olga Tokarchuk isn’t a storyteller nor a pilgrim. I swallowed this book first to last page as a pilgrimage inside our brain to every cell of our body, the most marvelous map of the most marvelous world. I traveled helped by the pituitary gland and the amygdala to the most interesting landscape of our nerves, blood vessels, the smallest muscle – the tongue, and I kept near me the Cairos God, having Chopin’s heart and Filip Verheyen amputated leg.
BIEGUNI is a circle: no beginning and no end. All the so called stories intertwine in a timeless and spaceless time, no past nor future between HERE I AM and I’M HERE.
The human body, the most interesting planet, it is traveled by a pilgrim mind in a static motion, having a world in my head and under the command: “Citizens of the World Pick up Your Pens!”. I salivated at Swastikas and I understood that I myself am in constant motion to escape the Evil, I myself see an “Amphitheatre in Sleep”everywhere I am.
Yes, the geography of our brain is in a constant motion: we are pilgrims in our own bodies.https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3008600384
Maria Magdalena Biela
Grazia Montanaro Lombardi, may God rest you in peace!
POSTED IN classic poetry September 4, 2019
Possa la tua eternità essere pacifica e piena di poesia, mia cara amica … Dio benedica il tuo cuore , Grazia!
Fie-ti Eternitatea linistita si plina de poezie, prietena draga…Dumnezeu sa-ti binecuvanteze sufletul!“Certo che potevo attendere…”/ “Bien sûr que je pourrais attendre …”
Certo che potevo attendere
l’autunno e le castagne
o forse quel fiorir di crisantemi
petali sfrangiati di memorie…Ma io volevo sentire il succo dolce
del chicco d’uva tra le labbra
[…lasciando ai ritardatari
castagne e crisantemi…]Certo che potevo attenderti
al museo d’Orsay, davanti
all “Impression Soleil levant”
di MonetMa io volevo vedere il sole
mentre nasceva
nella foschia di un mare
tutto mio…
[…Monet e Parigi potevano aspettare…]Certo che avrei potuto aspettarti
accendendo
i silenzi del mattino
nelle distese viola di lavanda
in Provenza…Ma io volevo
sentirti sulla pelle
soffiarmi brividi
come il vento di Mistral
accoglierti come il prato accoglie
la prima foglia
che si stacca dal ramo..Volevo averti addosso
come il primo freddo di settembre…
[….della lavanda e della Provenza
non me ne importava niente…!!!]Grazia Montanaro Lombardi
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“Bien sûr que je pourrais attendre …”Bien sûr que je pourrais attendre
automne et châtaignes
ou peut-être que la fleur de chrysanthème
pétales effrayants de souvenirs …Mais je voulais sentir le jus sucré
de jus de raisin entre les lèvres
[… laissant les retardateurs
châtaignes et chrysanthèmes …]Bien sûr que je pourrais t’attendre
au musée d’Orsay, en face
Tous “Impression Soleil Levant”
de MonetMais je voulais voir le soleil
comme il est né
dans la brume d’une mer
tout mon …
[… Monet et Paris pourraient attendre …]Bien sûr j’aurais pu t’attendre
brûlant
le silence du matin
dans la lavande violette
en Provence …Mais je voulais
sentir sur la peau
souffle moi des frissons
comme le vent de Mistral
vous accueillir comme le pré accueille
la première feuille
sortant de la branche.Je voulais t’avoir
comme le premier rhume de septembre …
[…. De lavande et de Provence
Je me fichais de rien … !!!]
Maria Magdalena Biela
Vaalin valta / Puterea de a alege
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Finnish-Romanian July 6, 2019
Vaalin valta / Puterea de a alege
Muilla olkoon vaalin valta,
mull’ ei ollut milloinkaan;
kuljin yltä taikka alta,
itseäni täytin vaan;
minkä tein, mun tehdä täytyi,
mit’ en tehnyt, voinut en;
vihdoin ilta hämärtäytyi,
lankes hetki hiljainen.Pankaa patsas haudalleni,
kiveen tämä kirjoitus:
”Synkkä niinkuin sydämeni
oli mulle sallimus.
Itse iskin piistä tulta,
sytyin, hehkuin tuokion,
paloi paras laulu multa,
tässä tuhka tumma on.”Eino Leino
———————–
Puterea de a alegePoata altii sa aleaga,
eu nicicand nu am putut;
zbor, taras, o viata-ntreaga
doar pe mine m-am nascut;
ce-am facut, a fost porunca,
ce n-am facut, n-am putut;
in sfarsit in mine-i seara,
si-n tacere am cazut.Pe mormant sa-mi puneti piatra,
si pe ea puneti a scrie:
“Ca si inima-mi amara
mi-a fost soarta pe vecie.
Singur cremenea am ars-o
ca sa luminez o clipa,
mi s-a ars al vietii cantec,
sunt cenusa din aripa”In romaneste, Maria Magdalena
In un momento / In a moment / Intr-un moment
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Italian-English, translated Italian-Romanian May 21, 2019
In un momento / In a moment / Intr-un moment
per Sibilla AleramoIn un momento
Sono sfiorite le rose
I petali caduti
Perché io non potevo dimenticare le rose
Le cercavamo insieme
Abbiamo trovato delle rose
Erano le sue rose erano le mie rose
Questo viaggio chiamavamo amore
Col nostro sangue e colle nostre lagrime facevamo le rose
Che brillavano un momento al sole del mattino
Le abbiamo sfiorite sotto il sole tra i rovi
Le rose che non erano le nostre rose
Le mie rose le sue roseP. S. E così dimenticammo le rose.
DINO CAMPANA
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In a moment
for Sibilla AleramoIn a moment
The roses have faded
The petals fallen
Because I could not forget the roses
We were looking for them together
We found some roses
They were her roses they were my roses
This journey we called love
We made the roses with our blood and our tears
That shone for a moment in the morning sun
We have faded them under the sun among the brambles
The roses that were not our roses
My roses her rosesP. S. And so we forgot the roses.
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Intr-un moment
pentru Sibilla AleramoIntr-un moment
Trandafirii s-au vestejit
Petalele au cazut
Pentru ca n-am putut uita trandafirii
Ii cautam impreuna
Am gasit cativa trandafiri
Erau trandafirii ei erau trandafirii mei
Aceasta calatorie numita iubire
Din sangele nostru si lacrimile noastre am facut trandafirii
Au lucit pentru un moment in soarele diminetii
I-am vestejit sub soare printre maracini
Trandafirii care nu erau ai nostri
Trandafirii mei, trandafirii ei.P.S. Si astfel am uitat trandafirii
Maria Magdalena
La sera di fiera / Fair evening / Seara de balci
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Italian-English, translated Italian-Romanian May 20, 2019
La sera di fiera / Fair evening / Seara de balciIl cuore stasera mi disse: non sai?
La rosabruna incantevole
Dorata da una chioma bionda:
E dagli occhi lucenti e bruni colei che di grazia imperiale
Incantava la rosea
Freschezza dei mattini:
E tu seguivi nell’aria
La fresca incarnazione di un mattutino sogno:
E soleva vagare quando il sogno
E il profumo velavano le stelle
(Che tu amavi guardar dietro i cancelli
Le stelle pallide notturne):
Che soleva passare silenziosa
E bianca come un volo di colombe
Certo è morta: non sai?
Era la notte
Di fiera della perfida Babele
Salente in fasci verso un cielo affastellato un paradiso di fiamma
In lubrici fischi grotteschi
E tintinnare d’angeliche campanelle
E gridi e voci di prostitute
E pantomime d’Ofelia
Stillate dall’umile pianto delle lampade elettriche
……………………………………………………………………
Una canzonetta volgaruccia era morta
E mi aveva lasciato il cuore nel dolore
E me ne andavo errando senz’amore
Lasciando il cuore mio di porta in porta:
Con Lei che non è nata eppure è morta
E mi ha lasciato il cuore senz’amore:
Eppure il cuore porta nel dolore:
Lasciando il cuore mio di porta in porta.DINO CAMPANA
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Fair eveningThe heart said to me tonight: don’t you know?
The lovely dark rose
Golden by a blonde hair:
And she with bright and brown eyes whose imperial grace
Charmed the rosy
Freshness of the morning:
And you followed in the air
The fresh incarnation of a morning dream:
And he used to wander when the dream
And the scent veiled the stars
(That you loved to watch behind the gates
The nightly pale stars):
That used to pass silent
And white as a flight of doves
Surely it’s dead: don’t you know?
It was the fair night
Of the perfidious Babel
A paradise of flames rising in streams towards a bundled sky
In lewd grotesque whistles
And tinkling of angelic bells
And shouts and voices of prostitutes
And pantomimes of Ophelia
Exuding from the humble cries of electric lamps
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A vulgar little song was dead
And left my heart in sorrow
And I was wandering without love
Leaving my heart from door to door:
With her who was not born and yet is dead
And left my heart without love:
Yet the heart brings in sorrow:
Leaving my heart from door to door.
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Seara de balciInima-mi spuse asta seara: nu mai stii?
Minunatul trandafir negru
Aurit de blondul par:
Si ea cu ochii de chihlimbar lucind a caror gratie regala
A fermecat trandafiria
Prospetime a diminetii:
Si tu ai urmarit in aer
Proaspata incarnare a unui vis matinal:
Si obisnuia sa rataceasca pe cand visul
Si parfumul invaluiau stelele
(Pe care iti placea sa le privesti din spatele portilor
Stelele palide nocturne)
Care obisnuiau sa treaca in tacere
Si alb ca un zbor de hulubi
Cu siguranta e moarta: nu mai stii?
Era noaptea
De balci a perfidului Babel
Un paradis de flacari se ridica in fluxuri catre un cer inghesuit
In obscene grotesti fluieraturi
Si zornait de clopote angelice
Si strigate si voci de prostituate
Si pantomime ale Ofeliei
Emanand din umilele tipete ale lampilor electrice.
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Un cantec mic vulgar a murit
Si mi-a lasat inima in amar
Si eu fara dragoste-am ratacit
Din usa-n usa lasandu-mi inima-n zadar:
Cu ea ce nu-i nascuta si totusi a murit
Si mi-a lasat inima fara iubire-amar:
Totusi inima poarta durerea, ratacit
Lasandu-mi inima din usa-n usa-n zadar.Maria Magdalena
Jag / I / Eu
POSTED IN classic poetry May 17, 2019
Jag / I / Eu
Jag är främmande i detta land,
som ligger djupt under det tryckande havet,
solen blickar in med ringlande strålar
och luften flyter mellan mina händer.
Man sade mig att jag är född i fångenskap –
här är intet ansikte som vore mig bekant.
Var jag en sten, den man kastat hit på bottnen?
Var jag en frukt, som var för tung för sin gren?
Här ligger jag på lur vid det susande trädets fot,
hur skall jag komma upp för de hala stammarna?
Däruppe mötas de raglande kronorna,
där vill jag sitta och speja ut
efter röken ur mitt hemlands skorstenar…EDITH SÖDERGRAN
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I am foreign to this country,
which lies deep beneath the oppressive sea,
the sun glances in with swirling rays
and the air flows between my hands.
They told me I was born in captivity –
here is no face that would be familiar to me.
Was I a stone, one which was thrown here to the bottom?
Was I a fruit that was too heavy for its branch?
Here I am lying in wait at the foot of the booming tree,
how could I get up along the slippery trunk?
There, above, the rattling crowns meet,
there I want to sit and keep an eye on
the smoke from my country’s chimneys …
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EuSunt straina in asta tara
ce se intinde adanc sub marea apasatoare,
soarele priveste cu raze rasucite
si aerul curge printre mainile mele.
Mi-au spus c-am fost nascuta in captivitate –
aici nu-i nici o fata care mi-ar fi familiara.
Fost-am o piatra ce fu aruncata aici, in afund?
Fost-am un fruct prea greu pentru creanga-i?
Aici stau culcata asteptand la radacina copacului inflorind,
cum as putea urca de-a lungul trunchiului lunecos?
Acolo sus coroanele vociferand se intalnesc,
acolo as vrea sa stau si sa veghez
asupra fumului din hornurile tarii mele.
Maria Magdalena
