classic poetry
Afternoon On A Hill / Amiaza pe-o colina
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 17, 2019
Afternoon On A Hill / Amiaza pe-o colinaI will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Amiaza pe-o colinaVoi fi cea mai fericita
in asta lume!
Voi alinta sute de flori
Neculegand anume.Voi privi dealuri si nori
cu ochi tacand
Privind vantu-nclinand iarba,
Si-iarba crescand.Cand lumini dinspre oras
vor straluci,
Voi sti care-o fi a mea,
Si-oi cobori!Maria Magdalena
“Hope” is the thing with feathers – / “Speranta”-i ceva cu pene –
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 16, 2019
“Hope” is the thing with feathers – / “Speranta”-i ceva cu pene –“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
Emily Dickinson
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“Speranta”-i ceva cu pene –
“Speranta”-i ceva cu pene –
Ce-n suflet e-ncuibata –
Si fredoneaza-o melodie –
Far-a se-opri vreodata –
Dulce-n – Vant tare – se-aude –
Si-amar-o fi furtuna –
Ce umileste-un Cant ce-n trude
Ferici multi intruna –
L-auzii pe-un rece pamant
Si pe-o Mare straina –
Dar orisicat a suferit
Nu mi-a cerut farama.
Maria Magdalena
Wild nights – Wild nights! / Salbatice nopti – salbatice!
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 16, 2019
Wild nights – Wild nights! / Salbatice nopti – Salbatice!Wild nights – Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!Futile – the winds –
To a Heart in port –
Done with the Compass –
Done with the Chart!Rowing in Eden –
Ah – the Sea!
Might I but moor – tonight –
In thee!Emily Dickinson
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Salbatice nopti – Salbatice!Salbatice nopti – Salbatice!
Cu tine de-as fi
Noptile-ar deveni
doar frenezii!Zadarnic – vanturile –
Pentru o inimă-n port –
De Compas nu-i nevoie-
Nici de Harta raport!
Cu barca prin Eden –
Ah – Marea!
As putea-n noaptea asta –
In tine acosta!
Maria Magdalena
If I can stop one Heart from breaking / De-as opri-ntr-o inima plansul
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 15, 2019
If I can stop one Heart from breaking / De-as opri-ntr-o inima plansul
If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one PainOr help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.
by Emily Dickinson————————-
De-as opri-ntr-o inima plansulDe-as opri-ntr-o Inima plansul
Degeaba n-as trai;
De-as usura-ntr-o Viata påsul,
ori Durerea de-as opri,
Ori s-ajut un Prihor
‘Napoi in cuib de-a fi,
Degeaba n-as trai.Maria Magdalena
My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun / Viata-mi statu – ‘ncarcat pistol
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 15, 2019
My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun / Viata-mi statu – ‘ncarcat pistol
My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –
In Corners – till a Day
The Owner passed – identified –
And carried Me away –
And now We roam in Sovreign Woods –
And now We hunt the Doe –
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply –
And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow –
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through –
And when at Night – Our good Day done –
I guard My Master’s Head –
’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s
Deep Pillow – to have shared –
To foe of His – I’m deadly foe –
None stir the second time –
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye –
Or an emphatic Thumb –
Though I than He – may longer live
He longer must – than I –
For I have but the power to kill,
Without – the power to die –
EMILY DICKINSON
———————————Viata-mi statu – ‘ncarcat pistol
Viata-mi statu – ‘ncarcat pistol
In colt – pan-ntr-o zi –
Cand posesorul – cel stiut –
Ca sa ma ia veni –
Si hoinarim prin mari paduri –
Caprioara vanand –
Si oricand pentru el vorbesc
Muntii ecou raspund –
Si cand zambesc, scantei lumina
Peste vale luceste –
Precum o fata vezuviana
Placerea-si domoleste –
Si-n Noapte, cand – satisfacuti –
Pazesc Stapanu-mi inca –
Mai bine ‘cat sa-mpartasim
O perna moale, -adanca –
Dusmanul lui – e-al meu dusman
unu-nu mai misca – moare –
pe cine pun un lucind Ochi –
Ori degetu-mi cel mare –
Desi eu oi trai mai lung
El trebuie-a trai –
Eu-am doar puterea sa ucid,
Fara-a putea muri –
Maria Magdalena
Her smile was shaped like other smiles—/ Surasu-i ca altele era—
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 14, 2019
Her smile was shaped like other smiles—/ Surasu-i ca altele era—Her smile was shaped like other smiles—
The Dimples ran along—
And still it hurt you, as some Bird
Did hoist herself, to sing,
Then recollect a Ball, she got—
And hold upon the Twig,
Convulsive, while the Music broke—
Like Beads—among the Bog –A happy lip—breaks sudden—
It doesn’t state you how
It contemplated—smiling—
Just consummated—now –
But this one, wears its merriment
So patient—like a pain—
Fresh gilded—to elude the eyes
Unqualified, to scan—EMILY DICKINSON
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Surasu-i ca altele era—Surasu-i ca altele era—
Gropitele-i zambind –
si totusi te-a ranit precum
O pasarea cantand,
care un glont in piept primi-
Si Crenguta strangand,
brusc, pe cand cantul ii pieri-
ca-n mlastina matanii.O buza se-ntristeaza-
Nu spune ce si cum
Contemplatul zambet-
e consumat acum-
Acesta-si poarta rasul
rabdator – ca durerea –
o masca – spre-a scapa de ochii
ce nu merita vederea –Maria Magdalena
What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why / Ce buze buzele imi sarutara
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 13, 2019
What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why / Ce buze buzele imi sarutaraWhat lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sighUpon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Ce buze buzele imi sarutara
Ce buze buzele imi sarutara
si ce brate-au stiut sa ma alinte
unde, de ce, nu-mi mai aduc aminte
in noapte ploaia oftand ma-nfioara.Fantome-mi bat in geam iara si iara
Si-n inim-o durere stins s-aprinde
Caci n-or mai veni flacai ca-nainte
La miez de noapte sa planga pe-afara.Asa, in iarna, singur sta copacul,
Nestiind unde-si fac pasar’le placul
Cu crengi tot mai tacute ca-nainteNici eu nu stiu iubirea pleaca, vine
Stiu doar ca vara ce-a cantat in mine
doar pentru-o clipa, n-are sa mai cante.Maria Magdalena
Mirror / Oglinda
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Finnish-Romanian April 12, 2019
Mirror / OglindaA white room and a party going on
and I was standing with some friends
under a large gilt-framed mirror
that tilted slightly forward
over the fireplace.
We were drinking whiskey
and some of us, feeling no pain,
were trying to decide
what precise shade of yellow
the setting sun turned our drinks.
I closed my eyes briefly,
then looked up into the mirror:
a woman in a green dress leaned
against the far wall.
She seemed distracted,
the fingers of one hand
fidgeted with her necklace,
and she was staring into the mirror,
not at me, but past me, into a space
that might be filled by someone
yet to arrive, who at that moment
could be starting the journey
which would lead eventually to her.
Then, suddenly, my friends
said it was time to move on.
This was years ago,
and though I have forgotten
where we went and who we all were,
I still recall that moment of looking up
and seeing the woman stare past me
into a place I could only imagine,
and each time it is with a pang,
as if just then I were stepping
from the depths of the mirror
into that white room, breathless and eager,
only to discover too late
that she is not there.MARK STRAND
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OglindaO camera alba si o petrecere continuand
si eu stand in picioare cu cativa prieteni
sub o oglinda mare cu rama aurita
care se inclina usor inainte
peste semineu.
Beam whiskey
si unii dintre noi, nesimtind durere,
incercau sa decida
in ce nuanta precisa de galben
soarele apunand ne colora bautura.
Am inchis ochii scurt timp,
apoi am privit in sus in oglinda:
o femeie in rochie verde se rezema
de peretele departat.
Parea distrasa,
degetele de la o mana
se jucau cu colierul,
si ea privea fix in oglinda,
nu la mine, ci peste mine, intr-un spatiu
ce putea fi umplut de cineva
inca nesosit, care in acel moment
putea sa inceapa calatoria
care l-ar fi dus eventual spre ea.
Apoi, deodata, prietenii mei
au spus ca e timpul sa mergem.
Asta a fost cu ani in urma,
si desi am uitat
unde am mers si cine eram noi toti,
imi amintesc inca acel moment privind in sus
si vazand femeia privind fix peste mine
intr-un loc pe care mi-l puteam doar imagina,
si de fiece data simt o durere,
ca si cum chiar atunci as pasi
din adancurile oglinzii
in acea camera alba, fara suflare si dornic
doar sa descopar prea tarziu
ca ea nu este acolo.Maria Magdalena
Eating Poetry / Mancand Poezie
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 12, 2019
Eating Poetry / Mancand Poezie
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.MARK STRAND
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Mancand poezieCerneala-mi curge pe la colturile gurii
Nu exista fericire ca a mea.
Am mancat poezie.Biblitecara nu crede ceea ce vede.
Ochii ei sunt tristi.
si ea merge cu mainile-n rochie.Poemele-s duse.
Lumina-i vaga.
Cainii sunt pe scarile subsolului si vin sus.Pupilele lor se rotesc,
picioarele lor blonde ard precum o perie.
Sarmana bibliotecara incepe a-si sterge picioarele si plange.Ea nu-ntelege.
cand ma asez in genunchi si ii ling mana,
ea tipa.Sunt un om nou.
Marai la ea si latru.
Zburd bucuros in bezna livresca.Maria Magdalena
POEM OF THE DAY
POSTED IN classic poetry April 11, 2019
POEM OF THE DAYHappy!
April seems to bring me happiness :)! For a second time I have been chosen Poet of the day on Poem Hunter, this time as a translator of Mark Strand!!! I am really and deeply happy: THANK YOU, MARK STRAND! 🙂Maria Magdalena Biela
