classic poetry

One perfect rose / Un trandafir perfect

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian May 27, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One perfect rose

A single flow’r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet –
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
‘My fragile leaves,’ it said, ‘his heart enclose.’
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
…………………………..
Un trandafir perfect

De cand ne stim o floare mi-a trimis;
Un tandru mesager fara defect,
Pur, parfumat, de roua inc-atins,
Un trandafir perfect.

Limbajul florii scris ca filigranul,
“Eu iti aduc inima lui direct”.
Iubirea si-alesese talismanul :
un trandafir perfect.

De ce n-am bafta sa primesc si eu
O masina perfecta, chiar discret ?
Nu, soarta-mi este sa primesc mereu
Un trandafir perfect.

Romanian version, Maria Magdalena Biela

One Art / O arta

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian May 26, 2017

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One art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

…………………………….. ……………

O arta

Arta de-a pierde nu-i greu a deprinde;
atatea lucruri par a fi menite
a disparea, incat nu mai surprinde.

Sa pierzi zilnic ceva spre-a te destinde,
chei de la usa, ore ostenite.
Arta de-a pierde nu-i greu a deprinde.

Apoi arta de-a pierde ti-o extinde:
locuri si nume sa le faci pierite;
Nimic nu-i un dezastru, doar depinde.

Pierdui al mamei ceas si, far-a vinde,
doua din trei din casele iubite.
Arta de-a pierde nu-i greu a deprinde.

Pierdui orase dragi, si cat cuprinde
un continent, tari, rauri mostenite.
Imi lipsesc insa drama nu s-aprinde.

Te pierdui chiar pe tine (vocea cu ras, un gest
iubit) . N-ar trebui sa mint. Toate-s vadite.
Arta de-a pierde nu-i greu a deprinde
desi pare-a fi (Scrie!) ce pretinde.

Romanian version Maria Magdalena Biela

Resitatiivi I / Recitativ 1

POSTED IN classic poetry April 28, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy birthday in Eternity, Hilja Onerva Lehtinen

 

Resitatiivi I

Ei onnea luotu minulle,
se luotiin muita vasten,
se luotiin perhojen iloita
ja leikkiä nukkelasten!
Jos en sitä itse ma särkisikään,
sen särkevät multa toiset:
nuo sääntöjen säveät seuraajat,
nuo homeisten lakien loiset,
joiden järki on jäykkä ja pimeä
ja tunne kuin tahkottu kivi,
mielipitehet museon hyllyltä
ja sielu kuin kirjan rivi,
joiden silmät on kierot ja karvahat
sitä kaikkea kaunista kohti,
joka lainakaapuja halveksii
ja omilla liikkua tohtii.

Te luulette, että mun henkeni
valeviisauteenne viihtyy:
mitä enemmän minua kiusaatte,
sitä enemmän mieleni kiihtyy.
Te luulette, että mun henkeni
veriottelussamme taipuu:
mitä enemmän minua sorratte,
sitä enemmän valtanne vaipuu.
Näennäisesti kenties taipua voin
yli voimien käypään valtaan,
mut kahleissakin minä säilytän
oman henkeni uhri-altaan;
ja jos ette elää salli mun,
niin tappakaa minut vainen:
minä olen vankina vaarallinen
ja kelvoton alamainen.

…………………………………………………………….

Recitativ 1

Nu mie norocu-mi fu dat
ci altora fu harazit,
spre-a fluturilor bucurie fu creat
si copiilor-papusi spre joaca daruit.
Daca insami nu-mi sfaram norocul,
sa-l sfarame altii-s porniti:
cei ai regulilor fideli urmatori,
cei ai mucedelor legi paraziti,
a caror minte-i teapana, intunecata
si sufletul ca piatra polizoare,
idei din raftul de muzeu luate
si inima de carti ascultatoare,
ai caror ochi privesc viclean si had
spre tot ceea ce e frumos si care
dispretuieste haine de-mprumut
si sa se miste singur curaj are.

Voi credeti ca gandirea mea
falsei voastre-ntelepciuni e fidela.
Cu cat voi ma chinuiti mai mult,
cu-atat mai mault mintea mea-i rebela.
Voi credeti ca spiritul meu
in lupta noastra sangeroasa se supune.
Cu cat voi ma oprimati mai mult,
cu-atat mai mult puterea voastra-apune.
Inselator sa ma supun as putea
puterii ce pe-a mea o depaseste
insa in lanturi tot pastrez
altarul unde spiritu-mi jertfeste.
Si daca nu-mi dati voie sa traiesc,
ucideti-ma atunci, macar.
Eu sunt periculoasa ca prizonier
iar ca supus sunt in zadar.

 

L.Onerva

Spring is the period

POSTED IN classic poetry April 24, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring is the period

 

Spring is the Period
Express from God.
Among the other seasons
Himself abide,

But during March and April
None stir abroad
Without a cordial interview
With God.

 

Emily Dickinson

The Easter flower

POSTED IN classic poetry April 15, 2017

Lines written in early Spring

POSTED IN classic poetry March 26, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lines Written in Early Spring

 

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

 

 

To those born in March: Happy Birthday!

 

William Wordsworth

Nature

POSTED IN classic poetry March 1, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nature

A LIGHT exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That silence cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.

 

 

Happy 1st of March!

 

 

Emily Dickinson

 

When you are old

POSTED IN classic poetry September 29, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you are old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

William Butler Yeats

The red dress

POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian June 3, 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The red dress

I always saw, I always said
If I were grown and free,
I’d have a gown of reddest red
As fine as you could see,

To wear out walking, sleek and slow,
Upon a Summer day,
And there’d be one to see me so
And flip the world away.

And he would be a gallant one,
With stars behind his eyes,
And hair like metal in the sun,
And lips too warm for lies.

I always saw us, gay and good,
High honored in the town.
Now I am grown to womanhood….
I have the silly gown.

Dorothy Parker

…………………………………………………….
Rochia rosie

Mereu visai, mereu am zis
Pe cand voi fi crescut
O rochie de-un rosu-aprins
Sa am mi-ar fi placut.

S-o port mergand cu pasi usori,
Pe-o dulce zi de vara,
Si unul dintrei trecatori
M-ar lua din lume-afara.

Si el ar fi un cavaler,
Cu ochi de stele ardente,
Si parul de-un lucind mister,
Si buze inocente.

Si ne-am vazut pe noi mereu,
Tu-respectatibil, eu-gentila.
Acum femeie sunt si eu…
Am rochia inutila.

Romanian version
Maria Magdalea Biela

Te naiset / Voi Femei

POSTED IN classic poetry April 28, 2016

 

 

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