April, 2016

Te naiset / Voi Femei

POSTED IN classic poetry April 28, 2016

 

 

Preciosa Y El Aire

POSTED IN classic poetry April 27, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Preciosa Y El Aire
Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene
por un anfibio sendero
de cristales y laureles.
El silencio sin estrellas,
huyendo del sonsonete,
cae donde el mar bate y canta
su noche llena de peces.
En los picos de la sierra
los carabineros duermen
guardando las blancas torres
donde viven los ingleses.
Y los gitanos del agua
levantan por distraerse,
glorietas de caracolas
y ramas de pino verde.
*
Su luna de pergamino
Preciosa tocando viene.
Al verla se ha levantado
el viento que nunca duerme.
San Cristobalón desnudo,
lleno de lenguas celestes,
mira la niña tocando
una dulce gaita ausente.
Niña, deja que levante
tu vestido para verte.
Abre en mis dedos antiguos
la rosa azul de tu vientre.
*
Preciosa tira el pandero
y corre sin detenerse.
El viento-hombrón la persigue
con una espada caliente.
Frunce su rumor el mar.
Los olivos palidecen.
Cantan las flautas de umbría
y el liso gong de la nieve.
¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa,
que te coge el viento verde!
¡Preciosa, corre, Preciosa!
¡Míralo por dónde viene!
Sátiro de estrellas bajas
con sus lenguas relucientes.
*
Preciosa, llena de miedo,
entra en la casa que tiene,
más arriba de los pinos,
el cónsul de los ingleses.
Asustados por los gritos
tres carabineros vienen,
sus negras capas ceñidas
y los gorros en las sienes.
El inglés da a la gitana
un vaso de tibia leche,
y una copa de ginebra
que Preciosa no se bebe.
Y mientras cuenta, llorando,
su aventura a aquella gente,
en las tejas de pizarra
el viento, furioso, muerde.

 

Federico García Lorca
………………………………………………..

The gypsy and the wind

 

Playing her parchment moon
Preciosa comes
along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights.
The starless silence, fleeing
from her rhythmic tambourine,
falls where the sea whips and sings,
his night filled with silvery swarms.
High atop the mountain peaks
the sentinels are weeping;
they guard the tall white towers
of the English consulate.
And gypsies of the water
for their pleasure erect
little castles of conch shells
and arbors of greening pine.

Playing her parchment moon
Preciosa comes.
The wind sees her and rises,
the wind that never slumbers.
Naked Saint Christopher swells,
watching the girl as he plays
with tongues of celestial bells
on an invisible bagpipe.

Gypsy, let me lift your skirt
and have a look at you.
Open in my ancient fingers
the blue rose of your womb.

Preciosa throws the tambourine
and runs away in terror.
But the virile wind pursues her
with his breathing and burning sword.

The sea darkens and roars,
while the olive trees turn pale.
The flutes of darkness sound,
and a muted gong of the snow.

Preciosa, run, Preciosa!
Or the green wind will catch you!
Preciosia, run, Preciosa!
And look how fast he comes!
A satyr of low-born stars
with their long and glistening tongues.

Preciosa, filled with fear,
now makes her way to that house
beyond the tall green pines
where the English consul lives.

Alarmed by the anguished cries,
three riflemen come running,
their black capes tightly drawn,
and berets down over their brow.

 

Federico Garcia Lorca

Star light, star bright

POSTED IN classic poetry April 24, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Star light, star bright

 

Star, that gives a gracious dole,
What am I to choose?
Oh, will it be a shriven soul,
Or little buckled shoes?

Shall I wish a wedding-ring,
Bright and thin and round,
Or plead you send me covering-
A newly spaded mound?

Gentle beam, shall I implore
Gold, or sailing-ships,
Or beg I hate forevermore
A pair of lying lips?

Swing you low or high away,
Burn you hot or dim;
My only wish I dare not say-
Lest you should grant me him.

 

 

Dorothy Parker

A very short song

POSTED IN classic poetry April 23, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A very short song

 

Once, when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad-
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that is very bad.

Love is for unlucky folk,
Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
And that, I think, is worse.

 

 

Dorothy Parker

Oratie de nunta / Wedding chant

POSTED IN Stories, translated Romanian-English April 3, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oratie de nunta

Infloriti, flori, infloriti
ca mie nu-mi trebuiti,
ca voi cand imboboceati
mie-atunci imi trebuiati!
Infloriti, flori, infloriti!
Infloriti flori, stati parete
ca eu mi-am iesit din fete!
Plangeti ochi si lacrimati
ca voi sunteti vinovati
ca ce iubiti nu lasati
si ce vedeti nu uitati!
Cat sunt tineri se jucara
doi cu doi nu se luara.
Cat sunt tineri se iubira
doi cu doi nu se-ntalnira.
Foaie verde foaie lata
cand eram la maica fata
stiam floarea cum se poarta.
Of, foita de susai
dupa ce ma maritai
dupa usa-o aruncai.
……………………………..
Wedding chant

Blossom, flowers, blossom roar!
I don’t need you anymore,
only when your buds were new
then I would have needed you.
Blossom, flowers, blossom roar!
Blossom, flowers, like a wall
my hair girl covered by shawl!
Cry my eyes, be dried by tears
for the guilt is only yours
what you love to keep you swore,
what you see, forget no more.
While young only game allows
two and two did not take vows.
While young love was just a bet
two and two have never met.
Greenly leaflet, leafy purl,
when I was my mother’s girl,
I knew flower how to twirl.
Oh, magic sesame leaf,
after marriage disbelief,
I ditched you at door with grief.

English version Maria Magdalena Biela

A dream within a dream

POSTED IN classic poetry April 3, 2016

A dream within a dreamTake this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?Edgar Allan Poe