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Entries Tagged as '“Oscar Wilde”'

Poetry in Translation (CCCXLVI), Oscar WILDE (1854-1900) IRELAND/ENGLAND: “Unspoken Words”, “Cuvinte Nespuse””

July 24th, 2015 · No Comments · Famous People, Poetry, quotations, Translations

I often scribble in the sand
The words I find so hard to say
And hope the wind will come along
And blow them all your way.

Adeseoeri, pe plaje, scriu cuvinte,
Care îmi par atât de greu să spun,
Sperând ca vântul va sufla, în grabă,
Să le depună-n zori, pe al tău sân.

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POETRY IN TRANSLATION (CCLXVII): IRELAND – Oscar WILDE (1856 – 1900): “At Verona”, “Verona”

February 27th, 2014 · 1 Comment · Diaspora, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

At Verona
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)

HOW steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound’s table,–better far

That I had died in the red ways of war,
Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.

‘Curse God and die: what better hope than this?
He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
Of his gold city, and eternal day’–
Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars
I do possess what none can take away,
My love, and all the glory of the stars.

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POETRY IN TRANSLATION (CCXLIX): IRELAND – Oscar WILDE (1856 – 1900): “Sonnet On Approaching Italy”, “Sonet Italiei”

January 29th, 2014 · No Comments · International Media, Poetry, quotations, Translations, Uncategorized

POETRY IN TRANSLATION (CCXLVIII): IRELAND – Oscar WILDE (1856 – 1900): “Sonnet On Approaching Italy”, “Sonet Italiei”

Sonnet On Approaching Italy
Oscar Wilde (1856, Dublin – 1900, Paris)

I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned,
Italia, my Italia, at thy name:
And when from out the mountain’s heart I came
And saw the land for which my life had yearned,

I laughed as one who some great prize had earned:
And musing on the marvel of thy fame
I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.

The pine-trees waved as waves a woman’s hair,
And in the orchards every twining spray
Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam:

But when I knew that far away at Rome
In evil bonds a second Peter lay,
I wept to see the land so very fair.
* * * * *

Dar când, în vechea Romă stau zăcând,
În fiare, sfinţii tăi fiind priponiţi,
Cu lacrimi, am văzut al tău temei.

Versiune în limba Română de Constantin ROMAN,
© 2014, Copyright Constantin ROMAN, Londra

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