March, 2022
RUKOUS / RUGACIUNE / PRAYER
POSTED IN Eeva Liisa Manner March 24, 2022
RUKOUS / RUGACIUNE / PRAYERTein sanoja savesta
Ja sanani olivat kuolleita.Puhalla niihin henkesi tuli, Mestari!
Anna minun käteeni voima
ja sydämeeni rakkaus –
ja kenties silloin
savi elää.EEVA-LIISA MANNER
…………………
RUGACIUNE
Am făcut cuvinte din lut
Și cuvintele mele au fost moarte.Sufla-ți sufletul asupra lor, Stăpâne!
Dă putere mainii mele
si inimii mele dragoste –
si poate atunci
lutul va trai.………………..
PRAYER
I made words out of clay
And my words were dead.Blow your spirit on them, Master!
Give strenght to my hand
and love to my heart –
and maybe then
the clay will live.traducere, M. M. Biela
Maisema Summasta (1940) / Landscape of Summa / Peisajul Summei
POSTED IN Eeva Liisa Manner March 24, 2022
Maisema Summasta (1940) / Landscape of Summa / Peisajul Summei
Taistelukentällä vallitsee rauha,
synkkä rauha.Kranaattien kyntämän pellon
ja terässateen kaataman metsän yllä
riippuvat pimeät pilvet,
Suomen kohtalon pilvet,
ja aution maan ja uhkaavan taivaan välillä
hengittää vain syvä murhe ja ahdistus.Rauha?
Ei, tämä taistelu ei ole vielä lopussa!
Jonakin päivänä
vavahtelee maa taaskin kuolemantuskasta,
jonakin päivänä yhtyy lumeen vajonnut,
ruostunut tykki
sodan ukkospauhuun.
Kerran koetaan täällä jälleen suomalaisen sisun
ihme,
Summan ihme.Mutta siihen asti
kaikuu rikkiammuttujen juoksuhautojen
syvyydestä
aavetaistelun melske ja kuolleiden korina,
ja runneltu maa näkee yhä painajaisuntaan:
varjot iskevät yhteen ja tuhoavat toisiansa.EEVA-LIISA MANNER
………………
Landscape of Summa
(1940)There is peace on the battlefield,
a gloomy peace.Over the field plowed by grenades
and the forest felled by steel rain
dark clouds are hanging
clouds of Finnish destiny,
and between the desolate earth and the threatening heaven
only deep sorrow and anxiety are breathingPeace?
No, this battle is not over yet!
One day
the earth will tremble again with the agony of death,
one day a rusty cannon buried in the snow
will join the thunder of war.
Once again, will be proved here again the wonder
of Finnish spirit,
The wonder of Summa.but until then
is echoing out of the depths of trenches shot broken
the tumult of the ghost battle and the rattle of the dead,
and the ruined earth is still dreaming its nightmare:
shadows are clashing together and destroying each other.………………
Peisajul Summei
(1940)
E pace pe câmpul de luptă,
pace mohorâtă.Deasupra câmpului arat de grenade
si pădurii prăbușite de ploaia de oțel
atârna norii întunecați
norii destinului finlandez,
și între pământul pustiu și cerul amenințător
respira doar tristețe profundă și anxietate.Pace?
Nu, această bătălie nu s-a încheiat încă!
Într-o zi
pământul va tremura din nou de agonia morții,
într-o zi un tun ruginit scufundat în zapada va participa
la tunetul războiului.
Încă o dată, din nou va fi dovedita aici minunea
spiritui finlandez,
Minunea Summei.Dar până atunci
rasuna din transee distruse cu impuscaturi
zgomotul bataliei fantomă si horcăitul mortilor,
iar pământul ruinat vede in continuare coșmarul sau:
umbrele lovesc împreună și se distrug între ele.traducere, M. M. Biela
Pro Viipuri (1940) / Pro Vyborg
POSTED IN Eeva Liisa Manner March 24, 2022
Pro Viipuri (1940) / Pro Vyborg
Yli paikan ja ajan
nään sinut, poltettu, hävitetty, ylpeä kaupunki:
polttoroviostasi, yli lieskan ja pauhun
roihuaa taivaalle Suomen leijona,
jonka tuliharjaa vasten
piirtyy Torkkelin linnan ja sinivalkoisen viirin
ylväs taru:
me kestämme.Läpi aution maiseman,
Kranaatinräjähdysten saattelemana
Kuljen savunsyömälle kotipihalle.
Mitä talojättiläisen hiiltynyt luuranko,
Kauhun kivettymä, vartioi.
Pari mustaa savupiippua,
Hiekkaa, soraa, tiilimurskaa,
Kellarinikkunain onton silmäparin synkkä tuijotus
Kivijalan matalasta otsasta –
Ei elämää mitään.
Ja kuitenkin:
Raunioilta versoo vaivaiskoivu!
Kuolemaa ja hävitystä uhmaten,
keinuen hiljaa tuulessa
suhisee se korvaani:
katso aurinkoon!Sädehtivänä nousee tulipallo
Kaupungin rikkinäisen siluetin takaa
Ja valaa kirkastuneen avaruuden hehkun
kotikaupungin rakkaille äidinkasvoille.
Kuinka kauniit ne ovatkaan,
vaikka sodan veriset vaunut ovat vierineet
niiden ylitse
ruhjoen ne muodottomiksi –
kauniimmat kuin koskaan ennen,
rakkaammat kuin koskaan ennen.Ja minä näen:
idän uhkan pimeä pilvi
väistyy kaupungin paljon kärsineeltä otsalta,
tuhannet auringot nousevat sen tumman
varjokuvan takaa,
uudet sukupolvet kulkevat vanhan Viipurin
katuja,
voimakkaat kädet rakentavat kaupunkia.
Se nousee, kasvaa, elää!
Vesiportin tornikello mittaa ikuista aikaa…EEVA-LIISA MANNER
………………….
Pro Vyborg
(1940)Over the place and time
I see you, burned, destroyed, proud city:
from your pyre, over the flame and roar
blazes in the sky the Finnish lion,
on whose mane of fire
the glorious fable of Torkkeli Castle and the blue-white flag
are projected:
we will endure.Through the desolate landscape,
Accompanied by grenade explosions
I walk into a smoky backyard.
Guarded by the charred skeleton of the giant house,
a petrification of horror.
A pair of black chimneys,
Sand, gravel, crushed brick,
A gloomy stare of the hollow pair of eyes of the basement windows
from the low forehead of the stone foundation –
There is no life at all.
And still:
The birch shoots from the ruins!
Defying death and destruction,
swinging quietly in the wind
it whispers in my ear:
look at the sun!A fireball rises radiantly
Behind the broken skyline of the city
And sheds the glow of brightened space
to the beloved mother face of the hometown.
How beautiful it is,
although the bloody chariots of war have rolled
over it
crushing it formless –
more beautiful than ever before
dearer than ever before.And I see:
the dark cloud of the eastern threat
moves away from the city’s hard-hit forehead,
thousands of suns rise from behind
its dark shadow,
new generations pass through the old Vyborg’s
streets,
strong hands build the city.
It rises, grows, lives!
The Watergate tower clock measures eternal time …………………..
Pro Vyborg
(1940)Peste loc și timp
Te văd pe tine, oras ars, distrus, mândru:
din rugul tau, peste flacara și vuiet
mistuie pe cer leul finlandez ,
pe-a cărui coamă de foc
se proiecteaza glorioasa fabula Castelului Torkkeli si fanionul albastru-alb:
vom îndura.Prin peisajul deșert,
Însoțit de explozii de grenade
Mă îndrept spre o curte consumată de fum.
Pazită de scheletul carbonizat al casei uriase,
o petrificare a groazei.
O pereche de hornuri negre,
Nisip, pietriș, cărămidă zdrobită,
Privirea posomorâtă a perechii de ochi goale de la ferestrele de la subsol
De la fruntea joasă a temeliei de piatră –
Nu este nimic în viață.
Și totuși:
Mesteacanul trage din ruine!
Sfidând moartea și distrugerea,
legănându-se liniștit în vânt
îmi șoptește la ureche:
uite la soare!O minge de foc se ridică radiant
În spatele orizontului spart al orașului
Și revarsă strălucirea spațiului luminat
pe fata iubita de mama a orasului natal.
Ce frumoasa e,
deşi s-au rostogolit carele sângeroase de război
peste ea
zdrobindu-i forma –
mai frumoasa ca oricând
mai dragă decât oricând.Si vad:
norul întunecat al ameninţării răsăritene
face loc frunții puternic lovite a orașului,
mii de sori răsar din spatele
siluetei lui întunecate
noile generații trec prin ale vechiului Vyborg
strazi
mâini puternice construiesc orașul.
Se ridică, crește, trăiește!
Ceasul turnului de la Poarta apei masoara timpul etern…traducere, M. M. Biela
Valkea uni / White sleep / Somn alb
POSTED IN Eeva Liisa Manner March 24, 2022
Valkea uni / White sleep / Somn albNäin äsken kaunista unta:
Tuli luokse mun äitini,
Minun valkea äitini.
Hän minua kädestä talutti.
Oli Jumalan valtakunta
nyt saapunut luokseni
mukana äitini.
Hän minua hiljaa hyväili.Hän katseli kirkkaudesta
Niin kauan ja hellästi
mua, etäinen äitini.
Hän minua otsalle suuteli.Hän, kotoisin valkeudesta,
minun korvaani kuiskasi:
”Sinä väsynyt lapseni,
Olen vaikeilla teillä sun kanssasi.”
EEVA-LIISA MANNER
………………White sleep
A beautiful dream I just had:
My mother came to me,
My pure mother dreamy.
By the hand she led me.
It was the kingdom of God
now arrived at me
with my mother it’d be.
She caressed me quietly.She watched me from the brightness
So long and affectionately
my mother distant to see.
On the forehead she kissed me.She, from the lightness,
whispered in my ear:
“You tired child, dear
I’m with you on the road of fear.”
…………….Somn alb
Tocmai am avut un vis frumos:
A venit la mine mama mea,
Alb luminoasa mama mea.
Mi-a luat mâna spre-a ma ghida.
Era împărăția lui Hristos
acum la mine binevenit
de mama mea insotit.
M-a mângâiat si linistit.Ea ma privi cu drag, indelungat
din lumina binecuvantata
mama mea îndepărtată.
Ea pe frunte m-a sarutat.Ea, din stralumina-i binevenita,
la ureche imi sopoti:
„Tu, copila prea obosita,
Pe drumurile grele alaturi ti-o-i fi.”traducere, M. M. Biela
MAHNUNG / WARNING / AVERTIZARE
POSTED IN Roland March 18, 2022
MAHNUNG / WARNING / AVERTIZARE
Deine beharrliche Stimme spricht mir zu,
unversöhnlich die herben Vokale,
der prallende Auslaut der Worte.
Bruder, ich glaube, wir erleben noch andere Zeiten,
wenn Hände sich pressen hart wie Stein,
wenn Schritte strauchelnd ins Leere gehn.
Bruder, noch andere Zeiten.ROLAND ERB
………….
WARNING
Your persistent voice speaks to me,
the unforgiving harsh vowels,
the resounding finale of the words.
Brother, I believe we live in other times
when hands press hard as stone,
when steps stumble into emptiness.
Brother, other times.
………….AVERTIZARE
Vocea ta persistentă îmi vorbește,
vocalele dure neiertatoare,
finalul rasunator al cuvintelor.
Frate, cred că trăim in alte vremuri
când mâinile apasă tare ca piatra,
când pașii se poticnesc în gol.
Frate, alte vremuri.
traducere, M. M. Biela
EXEKUTION / EXECUTARE / EXECUTION
POSTED IN Roland March 15, 2022
EXEKUTION / EXECUTARE / EXECUTIONSymphonien im Schatten, geschrieben, exekutiert,
verhaltenes Spiel, ein Sturz, ein Notenblatt-Reißen,
oder jäh ein Geschoss aus hundertsechs Pauken,
dass die Wogen zerspringen, ihr Pulsen-Strömen
glasig der Spiegel glättet.
Lichtkegel, richten sie aus, zerblenden
das Werk dieser Hände, ihr Abstufen sorgsam,
und die Bogen-Ideen mit den glitzernden Schatten.
ROLAND ERB……………..
EXECUTARE
Simfonii în umbră, joc scris, executat,
retinut, o cădere, o partitura rupta,
sau dintr-o data un proiectil din o sută șase tobe,
incat valurile izbucnesc, undele lor pulsande
sunt netezite sticlos de oglinda.
Conuri de lumină, aliniaza-le, orbesc
truda acestor mâini, gradarea lor atenta,
si ideile arc cu umbrele sclipitoare.
……………..EXECUTION
Symphonies in the shadows, written, executed,
restrained play, a fall, a sheet of music torn,
or suddenly a missile from a hundred and six drums
so that the waves burst, their pulsating streams
are smoothed glassily by the mirror.
Cones of light, align them, dazzle
the work of these hands, their careful grading,
and the arch ideas with the glittering shadows.
traducere, M. M. Biela
FOR THE GREATER GOOD
POSTED IN contemporary poetry March 15, 2022
FOR THE GREATER GOOD
The virtual is invaded once more: good Samaritans, so eager to offer their help yet having the time for a quick selfie ( just in case, incoming local elections, local celebrities, one could only hope for applause); artists having a new occasion to sell their products, the online mourners, the connoisseurs of history, the experts in psychology, war strategy, politics, everybody is an adhoc expert, everyone has opinions, but there is no freedom of opinion, there are only the FOLLOWERS, their opinion counts: who’s not with them, it’s naturally against…
What a farce. What a cosmic fiasco. What an incredible hypocrisy. Ever the hypocrites, aren’t we? WHY NOW? What’s happening now is an ENCORE going on and on since, I don’t know, Korea in the ’60s?
When Afghanistan happened, Irak, Kosovo, Syria ( let me count the wars! this is so far what I personally have witnessed working with immigrants 🙁 ), where were the tears? The appalled faces? The HORROR? Children died there too…pregnant women…refugees, people died…humans died…buildings were destroyed…thousands of years of history bombed…
Why then nobody blinked in Europe? When refugees drowned, children drowned under our nose, where were the tears then?
Do we all have selective feelings? Death isn’t death until it happens in our neighborhood? Did somebody write poetry about the children killed in Kosovo, Irak, Afghanistan, or drowned in the Atlantic, in the Mediterranean Sea? I didn’t read many. Nor was I suffocated by online psychosis, nor tears.
So, can anybody tell me what’s new now? Why this pain is greater than the others? Why now I’m forced to pick a side?
Macron copied Zelenski, Zelenski changed one stand up with another, from comedy to drama (audience to be and the stakes to be high, an electorate, an entry into the EU, NATO, something better for his country, everything what’s better for his country). He asks, pleads, interprets, quotes Churchill, Shakespeare, he gets a standing ovation, women want to be with him, men want to be him … He just wants what’s best for his country. His country is bleeding. PEOPLE ARE AT WAR. I write these words and it makes my skin crawl. Zelenski wants NATO help. If NATO intervenes, it will open the way for the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. China promises (even if it is still speculation) economic and military aid to Putin. But what does China want? It can’t make promises out of the kindness of its heart. China wants Taiwan. Taiwan is under US protection. The United States is … a major part of NATO. And here I am stuck. Furthermore, my mind refuses to see the move on the chessboard. Could it be avoided a checkmate on humanity?
Zelensky and Putin are now playing live, but their kibitzers are much stronger, more draconian, more greedy, impatient. How many sacrifices have been made in history FOR THE GREATER GOOD?
M. M. Biela
DURCH EINEN SCHACHT / PRINTR-UN TUNEL / THROUGH A SHAFT
POSTED IN Roland March 15, 2022
DURCH EINEN SCHACHT / PRINTR-UN TUNEL / THROUGH A SHAFTOh, wie uns die Knochen gefriern
in der unerbittlichen Eisluft,
die Haut spannt sich darüber
porenzerreißend.
Dein Atem verrinnt,
entbindende Wärme.ROLAND ERB
……………….
PRINTR-UN TUNEL
Oh, cum ne degeră oasele
în aerul de necrutator de gheata,
pielea se intinde peste el
rupand porii.
Rasuflarea-ti se scurge,
dand nastere caldurii.…………
THROUGH A SHAFT
Oh, how our bones freeze
in the relentless icy air,
the skin stretches over it
pore-tearing.
Your breath trickles away,
delivering warmth.
traducere, M. M. Biela
