classic poetry
Because I could not stop for Death – / Cum Moartea nu putui s-astept –
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian March 14, 2018
Because I could not stop for Death – / Cum Moartea nu putui s-astept
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –Emily Dickinson
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Cum moartea nu putui sa-astept –
M-astepta ea, prea buna –
Trasura-i ne-avea doar pe noi –
Cu vecia-mpreuna.Mergeam usor – nu pas grabit
Iar eu lasai deoparte
Munca-mi si zilnicul ragaz,
Spre-a Ei Civilitate –Lasaram scoala, cu Copii
Luptand – insufletit –
Lasaram Campurile-aurii –
Soarele-n asfintit –Mai bine zis – El ne-a lasat –
Fior de roua rece –
Subtire rochia-mi era –
Simteam frigul cum trece –Ne-opriram lang-o casa ce
Parea ca o movila –
Acoperisul nevazut –
Cornisa in Argila –De-atunci – sunt Secole – si tot
Pare o Zi menit
Mereu simtii ca acei Cai
Mergeau spre Infinit –Romanian Version,
Maria Magdalena Biela
Rest in peace, dear Professor!
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring March 14, 2018
Rest in peace!May HE rest in peace! Now HE knows is there a God or black wholes? A Man who proved that Life conquers all…
The brighest star just died…
Stephen Hawking, the brilliant British theoretical physicist who overcame a debilitating disease to publish wildly popular books probing the mysteries of the universe, has died, according to a family spokesman. He was 76.
Considered by many to be the world’s greatest living scientist, Hawking was also a cosmologist, astronomer, mathematician and author of numerous books including the landmark “A Brief History of Time,” which has sold more than 10 million copies.
With fellow physicist Roger Penrose, Hawking merged Einstein’s theory of relativity with quantum theory to suggest that space and time would begin with the Big Bang and end in black holes. Hawking also discovered that black holes were not completely black but emit radiation and would likely eventually evaporate and disappear.“A star just went out in the cosmos,” Lawrence Krauss, a theoretical physicist and cosmologist, “We have lost an amazing human being.”
Hawking suffered from ALS, a neurodegenerative disease commonly known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease, which is usually fatal within a few years. He was diagnosed in 1963, when he was 21, and doctors initially only gave him a few years to live.
The disease left Hawking wheelchair-bound and paralyzed. He was able to move only a few fingers on one hand and was completely dependent on others or on technology for virtually everything — bathing, dressing, eating, even speech.
Hawking used a speech synthesizer that allowed him to speak in a computerized voice with an American accent.
“I try to lead as normal a life as possible, and not think about my condition, or regret the things it prevents me from doing, which are not that many,” he wrote on his website.
“I have been lucky that my condition has progressed more slowly than is often the case. But it shows that one need not lose hope.”Blessed be!
SPERRIGES MORGEN / OBSTRUCTIVE TOMORROW
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring March 13, 2018
Sperriges morgen / Obstructive tomorrow
The best translation of Paul Celan by MICHAEL HAMBURGER, SUFFOLK,
1979 AND 1987
Written in March
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring March 13, 2018
Written in MarchThe Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one! 10Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The ploughboy is whooping–anon–anon:
There’s joy in the mountains;
There’s life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!William Wordsworth
Memory of a scent / Doftminne
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring March 13, 2018
Memory of a scent / DoftminneThe melancholy of Lapland lakes!
The dead wash of the low waves against the shore!
I remember them, I remember the boats shaped like peapods
I remember a scent of pipesmoke in the chilly clear air.
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DoftminnneDE lappländska sjöarnas melankoli!
De korta vågornas döda slag emot stranden!
Jagg minns dem,jag minns de ärtskidformade båtarna
jag minns en doft av piprök i kyligt klar luft.GUNNAR EKELÖF
translated by Leonard Nathan
Gunnar Ekelöf
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring March 13, 2018
Songs of something else
“It was clear for me that I knew nothing. I took words one by one and tried to determine their values. I placed word beside word and succeeded after a great deal of trouble in piecing together a complete sentence – naturally with no meaning in it – but composed a word values. It was the meaning underneath I was looking for – a kind of ALCHIMIE DU VERBE”
Gunnar Ekelöf
Dear March – Come in –
POSTED IN classic poetry, Spring March 1, 2018
Dear March - Come in - Dear March - Come in - How glad I am - I hoped for you before - Put down your Hat - You must have walked - How out of Breath you are - Dear March, how are you, and the Rest - Did you leave Nature well - Oh March, Come right upstairs with me - I have so much to tell - I got your Letter, and the Birds - The Maples never knew that you were coming - I declare - how Red their Faces grew - But March, forgive me - And all those Hills you left for me to Hue - There was no Purple suitable - You took it all with you - Who knocks? That April - Lock the Door -/blockquote He stayed away a Year to call When I am occupied - But trifles look so trivial As soon as you have come That blame is just as dear as Praise And Praise as mere as Blame - Emily Dickinson
Coincidence / Coincidenta
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian February 9, 2018
Coincidence
By the time you swear you’re his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying –
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.Dorothy Parker
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CoicidentaPe cand juri c-a lui vei fi
Ofuri tanguite
el promite pe vecii
patima fierbinte
Lady, trebuie sa stii :
unul din doi minte !
Romanian version, Maria magdalena Biela
Life / Viata
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated English-Romanian February 7, 2018
Life
My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
Emily Dickinson
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Viata
De doua ori cortina a cazut
ramâne a se vedea
de Nemurirea pe-a mea scena
un act trei va juca,
un act prea greu de conceput
ca cele de-altadat’,
Plecarea-i tot ce stim de Rai,
si tot ce vrem din Iad.
Romanian version, Maria Magdalena Biela
Oda (in metru antic) / Ode (in antique meter)
POSTED IN classic poetry, translated Romanian-English February 6, 2018
Oda (in metru antic)Nu credeam să-nvăţ a muri vrodată;
Pururi tânăr, înfăşurat în manta-mi,
Ochii mei nălţam visători la steaua
Sîngurătăţii.Când deodată tu răsărişi în cale-mi,
Suferinţă tu, dureros de dulce…
Pân-în fund băui voluptatea morţii
Ne’ndurătoare.Jalnic ard de viu chinuit ca Nessus.
Ori ca Hercul înveninat de haina-i;
Focul meu a-l stinge nu pot cu toate
Apele mării.De-al meu propriu vis, mistuit mă vaiet,
Pe-al meu propriu rug, mă topesc în flăcări…
Pot să mai re’nviu luminos din el ca
Pasărea Phoenix?Piară-mi ochii turburători din cale,
Vino iar în sân, nepăsare tristă;
Ca să pot muri liniştit, pe mine
Mie redă-mă!
Mihai Eminescu
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Ode (in antique meter)
Didn’t believe I’d ever learn to die;
Ever young, veiled in my toga,
My dreamy eyes I always raised to the star
Of solitude.When suddenly you emerged in my way,
deep agony, you, painfully sweet…
I drank to the bottom the voluptuousness of death
merciless.Doleful I burn alive tortured like Nessus.
Or like Hercules poisoned by his tunic;
My ardor to quench I cannot with all
waters of the sea.Devoured by my own dream, I sigh and moan,
On my own pyre, I am melting in flames…
May I resurrect luminous from it, like
the Phoenix Bird?Perish from my way the bewildering eyes,
Return to my heart, sweet indifference;
So I can peacefully die,
To me myself return!English version, Maria Magdalena Biela
