March, 2019
Vor der Nacht / Before Night
POSTED IN Roland, translated German-English March 23, 2019
Vor der Nacht / Before Night
Die fast blinde Fensterscheibe
über dem wüsten Garten
blinkt auf einmal,
woher rührt das
seltsame Licht.
Ich seh noch einmal hinaus
und bin für Sekunden erstaunt,
alles wie tot, wie
verrammelt,
Freund und Feind immer
so fern, heftig agierend
irgendwo im
zerstückten Terrain.Das hässliche schwärzliche
Grün
vor der Nacht.
Doch dieses Licht da
im Fenster.ROLAND ERB
……………………………………….
BEFORE NIGHT
The almost blind windowpane
over the desert garden
blinks at once,
where does
the strange light come from?
I look out again
and am amazed for seconds
everything as dead, how
barricaded
Friend and foe always
to act violently
somewhere in the
dismembered terrain.The ugly blackish one
green
before the night.
But this light there
in the window.
translated by Maria Magdalena
Fellini Face
POSTED IN Roland, translated German-English March 23, 2019
Fellini FaceReines junges Gesicht,
retuschiert
zur Trauermaske
eines alternden Clowns.Aufgestörte Finger,
zaghaft die weiße
Papierblume
schwenkend.ROLAND ERB
…………………………..
Fellini FacePure young face,
retouched
into the funeral mask
of an ageing clown.Disturbed fingers,
tentatively the white
paper flower
waving.translated by Maria Magdalena
Cos’è mai la Poesia…? / What is Poetry …?
POSTED IN essays March 23, 2019
Cos’è mai la Poesia…? / What is Poetry …?
Cos’è mai la Poesia
se non un’emozione
del cuore, scritta
con l’inchiostro
dell’anima,
nel intonso bianco cielo
d’un foglio?Si sveglia nel
cuore della notte
e pulsa, e freme
impaziente al lume di candela
o ai primi cinguettio del mattino:
come uccellino ancora implume
dal nido vuol alzarsi
e in un canto alto levarsi in volo.Nell’albe d’ogni età
e d’ogni tempo
è impaziente…
Germoglia con il gelo o in pieno sole
ti grandina nell’anima
nel tormento di un’insonnia.
Ha sembiante di rondine.
Ma a volte no:
A volte è nera
come un corvo
ed esala tristezza e pena.Altre, ha levità e colori
di farfalla a primavera.
Si posa e s’annida
su ogni ramo d’anima
su ogni fiore che l’accoglie
come un’ape la feconda
con la sua gioia:
la tormenta di melanconia.Instancabile.
Immortale.
Nasce ovunque,
senza distinzioni
nel cuore di una capanna
tra i marmi di un palazzo
nelle piazze affollate
o negli ermi in riva al mare.
Non distingue tra le genti
contagia e vaga senza sosta.Ogni tanto presa da improvvisa urgenza
senza un foglio e con un lapis inumidito
al primo passante che incontra chiede:
“permette la sua mano…
mi sta nascendo una poesia!”Grazia Montanaro Lombardi
————————————-
What is Poetry …?What is Poetry?
if not an emotion
of the heart, written
with ink
soul,
in the blank white sky
of a sheet?it wakes up in the
middle of the night
and pulses, and quivers
looking forward to candlelight
or the first morning chirping:
as a featherless bird
from the nest it wants to get up
and in a high song take flight.In the dawn of every age
and every time
is impatient …
Sprouts with frost or in full sun
hails you in the soul
in the torment of an insomnia.
It has the appearance of a swallow.
But sometimes not:
Sometimes it’s black
like a crow
and exhales sadness and pain.Other time, it has the levity and colours
of butterfly in spring.
It rests and nests
on each soul branch
on every flower that welcomes it
like a bee fertilizes it
with his joy:
the storm of melancholy.Tireless.
Immortal.
Born everywhere,
without distinction
in the heart of a hut
among the marbles of a palace
in crowded squares
or in the golden sand by the sea.
It does not distinguish between people
infects and wanders without pause.Every now and then taken by sudden urgency
without a sheet and with a wet pencil
the first passer-by met, it is asked:
“allow your hand…
a poem is being born to me!”…
translated by Maria Magdalena
somewhere i have never travelled / undeva unde n-am calatorit niciodata
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian March 22, 2019
somewhere i have never travelled /
undeva unde n-am calatorit niciodata
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too nearyour slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first roseor if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small handse. e. cummings
……………………………………………..
undeva unde n-am calatorit niciodata
undeva unde n-am calatorit niciodata, bucuros dincolo
de orice experienta, ochii tai au tacerea lor:
in gestul tau cel mai fragil sunt lucruri care ma include,
ori pe care nu le pot atinge deoarece sunt prea aproapeprivirea ta cea mai mica ma include cu usurinta
desi m-am inchis precum degetele,
tu ma deschizi mereu petala cu petala precum Primavara deschide
(atingand abil, misterios ) primul sau trandafirsau daca vrei sa ma inchizi, eu si
viata mea ne-om inchide foarte frumos, brusc
ca atunci când inima acestei flori își imaginează
zapada cazand cu grija peste tot;nimic din ceea ce noi trebuie sa percepem in aceasta lume egaleaza
puterea intensei tale fragilitati: a carei textura
mă obligă cu culoarea țărilor sale
traducand moartea și pentru totdeauna cu fiecare respirație(nu știu ce este despre tine care închide
si deschide; doar ceva in mine intelege
vocea ochilor tai este mai adanca decat toti trandafirii)
nimeni, nici chiar ploaia, nu are maini asa mici
Maria Magdalena
Fumo di sigarette / Cigarette smoke
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Italian-English March 22, 2019
Fumo di sigarette / Cigarette smoke
Fumo di sigarette.
Accenno di sorriso.
E di nuovo fumo,
spire leggere,
dalle mie labbra,
tutte le sere
qualche minuto,
dal suo balcone,
dalla mia finestra,
spire leggere,
sbocciar di sorriso,
e non sa la mia voce
e non so la sua,
solo,
traverso le spire di fumo
i suoi occhi mi piacciono,
gli piacciono i miei occhi,
tutte le sere
qualche minuto,
un saluto
di spire di fumo,
lievità graziosa di gesto,
silenzioso punto di fuoco
alto su l’addormentato cortile,
e niente più,
così,
mentre presso la lampada
il lavoro attende,
qualche minuto
tutte le sere
per qualche sera,
spire leggere
spire leggere.
SIBILLA ALERAMO
—————————-Cigarette smoke
Cigarette smoke.
Hint of a smile.
And smoke again,
light coils,
from my lips,
every evening
a few minutes,
from his balcony,
from my window,
light spirals,
smile,
and he doesn’t know my voice
and I don’t know his,
only,
through the coils of smoke
I like his eyes,
he likes my eyes,
every evening
a few minutes,
A greeting
of spirals of smoke,
graceful lightness of a gesture
silent point of fire
high on the sleeping courtyard
and nothing more,
so,
while at the lamp
work awaits,
a few minutes
every evening
for a few nights
light spirals
light spirals
Maria Magdalena
Silenzio, tepore… / Silence, warmth…
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Italian-English March 21, 2019
Silenzio, tepore…/ Silence, warmth …
C’è silenzio, e tepore,
in questa romita stanza ov’io ti attendo,
e una purpurea rosa,
già stanca, sul ciglio di languire,
anch’essa ansiosa del tuo bruno sguardo,
così tenera è l’ora
ch’io mi trasmuto in taciturna grazia,
mite rosa,
tepore sulle tue palpebre, carezza d’ombra.
Sibilla Aleramo
———————————————-Silence, warmth …
There is silence, and warmth,
in this hermit room I’ll wait for you,
and a pink purple rose
already tired, on the edge of languishing,
also anxious of your brown look,
so tender is the time
that I transmute myself in taciturn grace,
gentle rose,
warmth on your eyelids, caress of shadow.
Maria Magdalena
Ancora ascolto una rosa / I still listen to a rose
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Italian-English March 21, 2019
Ancora ascolto una rosa / I still listen to a rose
Ancora ascolto una rosa
per me sola nella notte.
Quante m’hanno parlato
con lor grazia sovrana
in stanze e giardini
sotto le più varie luci!
E questa è bianca e grande,
è tutta aperta, respira
l’ora sua miracolosa,
ma l’amato non è qui,
lui volevo ne gioisse…
Domani sarà tanto men bella.
Rosa alta su lo stelo!
La colsi al rorido fascio
che andava ad una sposa.
Nuovamente destinata all’amore,
all’amore nuovamente mancata.
Sola nella notte, le mie labbra
sconsolate la sfiorano.
Sibilla Aleramo
———————————————-I still listen to a rose
I still listen to a rose
for me alone in the night.
How many have spoken to me
with their sovereign grace
in rooms and gardens
under the most varied lights!
And this one is white and big,
it’s all open, breathe
her miraculous hour,
but the beloved is not here,
he wanted to rejoice …
Tomorrow it will be so less beautiful.
Rose high on the stem!
I caught it in the dewy beam
that was going to a bride.
Again destined for love,
by love again missed.
Alone in the night, my lips
desolate they touch it.
Maria MagdalenaEmptiness
POSTED IN contemporary poetry March 21, 2019
EmptinessIt was like a shell
without a pearl
like a tree
without buds
like a womb
without a child
like a chest
without soul
like a throat
without sound
like a mouth
without words
like eyes
without light
like ears
without hearing
like fingers
without caresses
like lips
without kisses
like hair
without wind
like the foot
without ground
like the sea
without waves
like the earth
without the dead
like Heaven
without God.Where? Where from? Where to?
Maria Magdalena
since feeling is first / intrucat sentimentul este primul
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian March 17, 2019
since feeling is first / intrucat sentimentul este primul
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the worldmy blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all the flowers. Don’t cry
– the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which sayswe are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraphand death i think is no parenthesis
e.e.cummings
———————————————–
intrucat sentimentul este primul
intrucat sentimentul este primul
care da vreo atentie
sintaxei lucrurilor
nu te voi saruta deplin nicicand:pe deplin sa fii un naiv
cand Primavara este in Lumesangele meu accepta,
si sarutarile sunt o soarta mai buna
decat intelepciunea
doamna jur pe toate florile. Nu plange
-cel mai bun gest al creierului meu este mai putin decat
tremurul pleoapele tale care spunesuntem unul pentru altul: atunci
razi, arcuieste-te in bratele mele
caci viata nu-i un paragrafsi moartea cred nu-i o paranteza
Maria Magdalena
may i feel said he / as putea simti spuse el
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian March 17, 2019
may i feel said he / as putea simti spuse elmay i feel said he
(i’ll squeal said she
just once said he)
it’s fun said she(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she(let’s go said he
not too far said she
what’s too far said he
where you are said she)may i stay said he
which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said shemay i move said he
is it love said she)
if you’re willing said he
(but you’re killing said shebut it’s life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she(tiptop said he
don’t stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you’re divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)
e.e.cummings
…………………………………………………….as putea simti spuse el
as putea simti spuse el
(voi tipa spuse ea
numai o data spuse el
e hazliu spuse ea)
(as putea atinge spuse el
cat de mult spuse ea
mult spuse el)
de ce nu spuse ea
(hai sa mergem spuse el
nu prea departe spuse ea
ce-i prea departe spuse el
unde esti tu spuse ea)as putea sta spuse el
cum spuse ea
asa spuse el
daca saruti spuse eaas putea sa ma misc spuse el
este dragoste spuse ea
daca vrei spuse el
(dar tu ucizi spuse eapai asta-i viata spuse el
dar sotia ta spuse ea
acum spuse el)
au spuse ea(perfect spuse el
nu te opri spuse ea
o nu spuse el)
usurel spuse ea(vvvvii? spuse el
Ummm spuse ea)
esti divina! spuse el
(esti al Meu spuse ea)
Maria Magdalena
