classic poetry

Jag / I / Eu

POSTED IN classic poetry May 17, 2019

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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
————————————————————

I

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 …
————————————————
Eu

Sunt 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

Min Själ / My soul / Sufletul meu

POSTED IN classic poetry May 17, 2019

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Min Själ / My soul / Sufletul meu

Min själ kan icke berätta och veta någon sanning,
min själ kan endast gråta och skratta och vrida sina händer;
min själ kan icke minnas och försvara,
min själ kan icke överväga och bekräfta.
När jag var ett barn såg jag havet: det var blått,
i min ungdom mötte jag en blomma: hon var röd,
nu sitter vid min sida en främling: han är utan färg,
men jag är icke mera rädd för honom än jungfrun var för draken.
När riddaren kom var jungfrun röd och vit,
men jag har mörka ringar under ögonen.

EDITH SÖDERGRAN
………………………………………………………
My soul

My soul can tell and know no truth,
my soul can only cry and laugh and twist its hands;
my soul cannot remember and defend,
my soul cannot consider and confirm.
When I was a child I saw the sea: it was blue,
in my youth I met a flower: it was red,
now by my side a stranger is sitting: he has no colour,
but I fear him no more than the maiden fears the dragon
When the knight came, the maiden was red and white,
but I have dark circles under my eyes.
————————————————–
Sufletul meu

Sufletul meu nu poate spune nici sti adevarul,
sufletul meu poate doar sa planga si sa rada si sa-si franga mainile;
sufletul nu-si poate aminti nici apara,
sufletul meu nu poate reflecta nici confirma.
Cand am fost copil am vazut marea: era albastra,
in tineretea-mi am intalnt o floare: era rosie,
acum langa mine sta un strain: el n-are culoare,
dar nu ma tem de el mai mult decat fecioara se teme de zmeu
Cand cavalerul veni, fecioara fu rosie si alba,
insa eu am cercuri negre sub ochi.

 

Maria Magdalena

Livet / Life / Viata

POSTED IN classic poetry May 17, 2019

life

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Livet / Life / Viata

Jag, min egen fånge, säger så:
livet är icke våren, klädd i ljusgrön sammet,
eller en smekning, den man sällan får,
livet är icke ett beslut att gå
eller två vita armar, som hålla en kvar.
Livet är den trånga ringen som håller oss fången,
den osynliga kretsen, vi aldrig överträda,
livet är den nära lyckan som går oss förbi,
och tusende steg vi icke förmå oss att göra.
Livet är att förakta sig själv
och ligga orörlig på bottnen av en brunn
och veta att solen skiner däruppe
och gyllene fåglar flyga genom luften
och de pilsnabba dagarna skjuta förbi.
Livet är att vinka ett kort farväl och gå hem och sova …
Livet är att vara en främling för sig själv
och en ny mark för varje annan som kommer.
Livet är att handskas vårdslöst med sin egen lycka
och att stöta bort det enda ögonblicket,
livet är att tro sig vara svag och icke våga.

EDITH SÖDERGRAN
——————————————————
Life

I, my own prisoner, say so:
life is not spring, dressed in light green velvet,
or a caress that one rarely gets,
Life is not a decision to go
or two white arms that hold one.
Life is the cramped ring that keeps us captive,
the invisible circuit, we never violate,
life is the close happiness that passes us by,
and a thousand steps we are unable to do.
Life is to despise yourself
and lie motionless on the bottom of a well
and knowing that the sun is shining up there
and golden birds fly through the air
and the quick days pass by.
Life is waving a short farewell and going home and sleeping …
Life is to be a stranger to himself
and a new land for everybody else coming.
Life is to deal carelessly with its own happiness
and to repel the only moment,
Life is believing to be weak and not daring
——————————————————–
Viata

Eu, propriul meu prizonier, spun astfel:
viata nu-i primavara, imbracata in catifea verde crud,
ori o mangaiere pe care cineva rareori o primeste.
Viata nu-i o hotarare de-a pleca
ori doua brate albe ce imbratiseaza.
Viata este inelul strans ce ne tine captivi,
cercul invisibil pe care niciodata nu-l incalcam,
viata este fericirea apropiata care trece pe langa noi,
si o mie de pasi pe care nu putem sa-i facem.
Viata este dispretuirea sinelui
si statul nemiscat pe fundul unei fantani
stiind ca soarele luceste sus
si pasari aurii zboara prin aer
si zilele repezi trec.
Viata este un semn de adio fluturat cu mana, si mersul acasa, si somnul…
Viata este instrainarea de tine insuti
si un nou pamant fiecaruia care vine.
Viata este nonsalanta cu care-ti tratezi propria fericire
si respingerea unicului moment,
Viata este credinta ca esti slab si neindraznet.

Maria Magdalena

Am obosit / I’m tired

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English May 4, 2019

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Am obosit / I’m tired

Am obosit să mă nasc din idee,
Am obosit să nu mor –
Mi-am ales o frunză,
Iată din ea mă voi naşte,
După chipul şi asemănarea ei, uşor
Seva răcoroasă o să mă pătrunză
Şi nervurile îmi vor fi fragede moaşte;
De la ea o să învăţ să tremur, să cresc,
Şi de durere să mă fac strălucitoare;
Apoi să mă desprind de pe ram
Ca un cuvânt de pe buze.
În felul acela copilăresc
În care
Se moare
La frunze.

ANA BLANDIANA
—————————————————
I’m tired

I’m tired of being born from idea,
I’m tired of not dying –
I chose a leaf,
Behold, I will be born from it,
In her image and likeness, easy
The cool vigour will penetrate me
And my nervures will be tender relics;
From it I will learn to tremble, to grow,
And of pain to become bright;
Then to get off the branch
Like a word from the lips.
In that childish way
In which
one dies
amongst leaves.

Maria Magdalena

Eu cred / I think

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English May 3, 2019

dans

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eu cred / I think

Eu cred ca suntem un popor vegetal,
De unde altfel linistea
În care asteptam desfrunzirea?
De unde curajul
De-a ne da drumul pe toboganul somnului
Pâna aproape de moarte,
Cu siguranta
Ca vom mai fi în stare sa ne nastem
Din nou?
Eu cred ca suntem un popor vegetal-
Cine-a vazut vreodata
Un copac revoltându-se?
 

 
Ana Blandiana
—————————
I think
 

 
I think we are a vegetal nation,
Otherwise where from this serenity
With wich we’are waiting our defoliation?
Where from the courage
To slip on the sleep’s slide
Up to the edge of death,
Being sure
That we’ll be able to
Be born again?
I think we are a vegetal nation –
Who ever saw
A tree revolting?

 

Maria Magdalena

Eclipsa / Eclipse

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English May 2, 2019

an

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eclipsa / Eclipse

Renunt la mila greu ca la un viciu,
Cu mila sunt drogata de copil.
Alb înstelata de ridicol plâng
Lânga fricos, lânga învins, lânga umil.

Îi plâng pe prosti si prostii ma înving,
Surâzatori sub steaua mea sterila.
De gingasie tot mai mult ma-ntunec
Si pier de umanism si mila.

Înduiosate mâini întind sa mângâi
Fiare gonind spre mine hamesite,
Si-mi pare rau ca n-o sa mai sarut
Si botul care ma ucide.

Nici n-am trait spre-a nu jigni pe nimeni,
Mi-au prins în tarna radacini genunchii,
Si-mi trece viata încercând sa-mi cresc
La capetele aripilor unghii.

Ana Blandiana
——————————
Eclipse

I give up mercy hardly as an addiction,
With mercy I’ve been druggued since infancy.
White starry ridiculed I cry
near the fearful, the beaten, the lowly.

I cry for stupid and the stupid beat me,
Under my barren star they smile shifty
Of tenderness more and more I darken
And I perish of humanism and pity.

Heartwarming hands I stretch out to comfort
Beasts chasing me famished and cruel
And I am sorry that I wouldn’t kiss
The snout that comes to me to kill.

I didn’t even live not to offend someone,
My knees caught roots in the earthly dust,
And my life is wasted trying to grow
To my wings fingernails, for I must.

Maria Magdalena

Tristesse / Tristete

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated French-Romanian April 30, 2019

Tristesse / Tristete

J’ai perdu ma force et ma vie,
Et mes amis et ma gaieté;
J’ai perdu jusqu’à la fierté
Qui faisait croire à mon génie.

Quand j’ai connu la Vérité,
J’ai cru que c’était une amie ;
Quand je l’ai comprise et sentie,
J’en étais déjà dégoûté.

Et pourtant elle est éternelle,
Et ceux qui se sont passés d’elle
Ici-bas ont tout ignoré.

Dieu parle, il faut qu’on lui réponde.
Le seul bien qui me reste au monde
Est d’avoir quelquefois pleuré.

Alfred de Musset
———————————-
Tristete

Imi pierdui forta chiar si viata,
prietenii si veselia;
imi pierdui pana si mandria
ce-n geniul meu credinta-mi da.

Cand Adevaru-l cunoscui,
Un prieten a fi l-am crezut;
cand l-am inteles, l-am vazut,
deja dezgustat devenii.

Si totusi adevarul vesnic este,
iara cei care-au trecut peste
aici, jos, l-au cam ignorat.

Domnul vorbeste, unui raspuns dau glas.
Singurul bun ce-n lume mi-a ramas
e de-a fi plans cateva ori curat.

Maria Magdalena

Do not go gentle into that good night / Sa nu treci resemnat spre-ntunecare

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 30, 2019

gently c6in100

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do not go gentle into that good night / Sa nu treci resemnat spre-ntunecare
 

 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 

 

Dylan Thomas
———————————-

Sa nu treci resemnat spre-ntunecare
 

 

Sa nu treci resemnat spre-ntunecare.
Batranetea-ti sa arda-n furie la apus
Urla, urla-mpotriva luminii care moare.

Desi-nteleptii stiu ca-n bezna-i luminare
Caci vorba lor fulgerari n-a produs
Ei nu trec resemnati spre-ntunecare.

Cei buni, ultimul val, plângând lucirea-n care,
Faptele lor firave ar fi dansat supus
Urla, urla-mpotriva luminii care moare.

Cei aprigi, ce-n cantec au prins soare,
si prea tarziu au inteles cu-amar nespus
Ei nu trec resemnati spre-ntunecare.

Cei gravi, pe moarte, ce vad prin oftare
ca ochii orbi pot arde ca meteori, transpus,
Urla, urla-mpotriva luminii care moare.

Iar tu,-al meu tata, pe culme de-ntristare
Blesteama, mangaie-ma-n lacrimi nesupus
Sa nu treci resemnat spre-ntunecare.
Urla, urla-mpotriva luminii care moare.

 

Maria Magdalena

Alone / Singur

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian April 30, 2019

alone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Alone / Singur

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—

Edgar Allan Poe
———————————
Singur

Copil fiind – n-am fost nicicand
Cum altii sunt – nicicand vazand
cum altii vad – nici dorul dor
nu-l baui din comun izvor-

Tristetea-mi nu putui simti
la fel cu altii – nici trezi
in inima-mi un cant silit –
Si singur iubii ce-am iubit.

Apoi – copil – in zori de zi,
‘n furtuna vietii – ma zmuci
Din bun si rau credint–adanca
Misterul ce ma leaga inca –

Din torent sau din fantana-
Din stanca rosie batrana-
Din a soarelui rotire
In tomnatica aurire-

De la fulgerul din cer
Ce trecu prin mine fier
De la tunet si furtuna
De la norul ce se-aduna

(Cand e-albastru Cerul tot)
Ca un demon eu socot –

Maria Magdalena

Born in April

POSTED IN classic poetry April 24, 2019

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CATALINA FRANCU!

Born on 22nd of April, when all flowers are alive and searching for her arms!!!

 

Catalina filled with flowers and poetry

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