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Entries Tagged as 'Translations'

Domnikios et Tovaras

January 15th, 2012 · Comments Off on Domnikios et Tovaras · OPINION, PEOPLE, quotations, Translations

Mais il y a une chose bien plus profonde qui distingue les Domnikios des Tovaras : c’est le sens même de parvenu du nom « Tovaras », le fait que celui-ci ne puisse être rattaché à aucune tradition. Car l’étymologie de « Tovaras » n’est nullement latine, mais slave, et les Slaves sont arrivés tard dans ces lointaines contrées, très tard dans l’histoire de Domnikia. Ce sont les Slaves qui ont donné le nom « Tovaras » aux serfs sans nom, car ils semblaient peu engageants et ainsi ils les ont appelé « Tovaritch ». En fait, avant que les Slaves n’envahissent Domnikia, on appelait toujours les fils sans nom des traînées avec un court et tranchant : « Hé, toi ! », et les serfs rampaient avec empressement vers leurs maîtres. Mais, maintenant, que leurs terres avaient été piétinées et leurs attributs diminués, les Domnikios, qui ont toujours et de manière congénitale zézayé, ont édicté que les serfs devaient recevoir le nom de « Tovaras », comme une sorte d’acceptation de mauvaise grâce de l’intrusion slave dans les affaires féodales de la principauté domnikienne.

Et c’est ainsi que les malheurs ont commencé, et que les digues de l’Enfer se sont rompues, et nous allions assister à des siècles de guerres civiles entre les Domnikios et les Tovaras, que, de temps à autre, entrecoupaient de brèves périodes de coexistence durant lesquelles tous retenaient leur souffle.

En Français par Radu PORTOCALA
© Romanian Studies Centre, London 2003 &
© Constantin ROMAN

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Poetry in Translation (CI): Lord BYRON (1788-1824) – “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage” – “Pelerinajul Tânărului Harold”

January 13th, 2012 · 1 Comment · PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

LORD BYRON:
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
Canto the Fourth
CXLI

He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away;
He reck’d not of the life he lost nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,

There where his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire,
Butcher’d to make a Roman holiday —

All this rush’d with his blood — Shall he expire
And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!

Lordul Byron (1788-1824)
Pelerinajul Tânărului Harold
Al patrulea Canto CXLI

El auzise, fără să- şi dea seama. – căci gândul lui
Cu inima era, dar ea era acuma prea departe;
Şi nu mai cugeta la viaţa scursă, nici ls răsplata dată orişicui,
Ci doar la vatră visul să-l mai poarte,

Pe valea Dunarii, unde-s la joacă toţi fraţii săi barbari,
Cu gândul e la muma-i, la Dacia străbună,
Adânc măcelărită de braţ de legionari…

Tot visu-i i-e in sânge – Cum, moartea să-l răpună
Nerăsplătit? La arme, Goţi, mânia vă răzbună!

Versiune in limba Romănă
Constantin ROMAN
Londra, Ianuarie 2012
© Constantin ROMAN

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Poetry in Translation (C I): William Stafford (1914 – 1993) – “A Story That Could Be True”, “O poveste aproape adevărată”

December 28th, 2011 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (C I): William Stafford (1914 – 1993) – “A Story That Could Be True”, “O poveste aproape adevărată” · International Media, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (C I): William Stafford (1914 – 1993) – “A Story That Could Be True”, “O poveste aproape adevărată”
They miss the whisper that runs
any day in your mind,
“Who are you really, wanderer?”–
and the answer you have to give
no matter how dark and cold
the world around you is:
“Maybe I’m a king.”

Ei nu-ţi vor auzi şoapta
ce-ţi trece mereu prin minte.
“Oare cine eşti tu, străine?”
Iar tu, ori cât de intunecată şi rece
ţi-ar părea lumea din jurul tău, vei răspunde:
“Eu, poate sunt Împăratul!”

Versiune in Limba Româna
Constantin ROMAN
© Constantin ROMAN, 2011

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Poetry in Translation (C): W.B. Yeates (1865 – 1939) – “When you are Old”, “

December 25th, 2011 · 1 Comment · PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

When You are Old
by W. B. Yeates

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.

Când esti bătrân

Când eşti cărunt, letargic şi bătrân,
Pe lângă sobă-o carte ai deschis…
Iar ochilor, târcoale dau, în vis,
Sclipirile ce-au fost, dar nu mai sânt.

Câţi oameni n-ar fi vrut să fi primit
Atâtea haruri dela Dumezeu,
Dar dintre toţi, eu singură, mereu
Am înţeles tot ce ai pătimit.

Pe culmi de munţi, zburând spre zări pustii,
O clipă, chipu-ţi trist a adăstat.
Dar ai purces, cu dorul necurmat,
Si faţ-ascunsă printre galaxii.

In Romaneste de Constantin ROMAN
Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN
© Constantin Roman, London, December 2011

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Poetry in Translation (XCIX): Richard Lovelace (1618 – 1658): “Tell Me Not, Sweet, I Am Unkind?” – “Lucastei – Adio, înainte de Luptă”

December 14th, 2011 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XCIX): Richard Lovelace (1618 – 1658): “Tell Me Not, Sweet, I Am Unkind?” – “Lucastei – Adio, înainte de Luptă” · Poetry, quotations, Translations

“Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
For, from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith- embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
For, I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.”

Richard LOVELACE (1618 – 1658)

Lucastei – Adio, Inainte de Lupta

Iubito, sa nu-mi tii de rau
Ca din ispita fragedului piept
Ma-ndepartez de chipul tau
La lupta, aprig sa ma-ndrept.

Mireasa noua voi fi luat
In batalie, tantos,
Caci Sfantul Duh, m-a inarmat
C-un cal, c-un scut si-un palos.

Dar pururea eu voi pastra
In sufletu-mi aprinsa
Ca-n vecii vecilor va sta
Iubirea mea nestinsa.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN
London, December 2011
© All rights reserved, Constantin ROMAN, 2011

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Poetry in Translation (XCVIII): Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967), “The Old French Poet” – “Cântec de demult”

October 30th, 2011 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XCVIII): Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967), “The Old French Poet” – “Cântec de demult” · Poetry, Translations

An Old FRENCH POET
Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)

When in your sober mood my body have ye laid
In sight and sound of things beloved, woodland and stream,
And the green turf has hidden the poor bones ye deem
No more a close companion with those rhymes we made;

Then, if some bird should pipe, or breezes stir the glade,
Thinking them for the while my voice, so let them seem
A fading message from the misty shores of dream,
Or wheresoever, following Death, my feet have strayed.

CÂNTEC DE DEMULT
[Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)]

Când ma veţi îngropa, cu gând cernit
In freamăt de pădure si izvoare
Şi iarba va ascunde-un oarecare
Tovarăş din trecutul mult jelit,

Atunci pădurea şi pârâul vor cânta,
Să v-amintească glasu-mi de-altă dată
Ecou din viaţa noastră fermecată,
Sau poate pasul meu ce-ar adăsta.

Rendered in Romanian by
Constantin Roman
London, October 2011
Copyright 2011 © Constantin ROMAN, Londra

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Poetry in Translation (XCVII): Gabriela Melinescu, “Birth of Constellations” (Ivirea Stelelor)

October 23rd, 2011 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XCVII): Gabriela Melinescu, “Birth of Constellations” (Ivirea Stelelor) · Diaspora, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

[caption id="attachment_3546" align="aligncenter" width="132" caption="Gabriela Melinescu (b. 1942, Romania) Swedish Romanian Poet, Exile"][/caption]

Poetry in Translation (XCVII): Gabriela Melinescu, “Birth of Constellations” (Ivirea Stelelor)

Other people are born here, on Earth,
In a fresh scent of salt and milk.
The buds burst out biting the twigs,
With the silky movement of a serpent.

O, would I ever
Be reborn?
With dilated pupils, o, breeze of pain
With white clouds, will you pass over my face?

Would you, one evening, leave me again
Like a translucent bone on the hot sands
And fretting on the sky’s pavement, oh, Mater,
Would you ever remember our love?

In Româneşte de Constantin ROMAN
(Londra, Octombrie, 2011)
Copyright 2011 © Constantin ROMAN, Londra

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Poetry in Translation (XCVI): Rodica Iuian, “Sculpted Head”

October 19th, 2011 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XCVI): Rodica Iuian, “Sculpted Head” · Diaspora, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Sculpted Head:
Rodica IULIAN *b Romania,1931)


“He was handsome, the child-Caligula
He was serene the child-Caligula
He had a child-like smile
The child-Caligula.
I ought to have bought him a fair yearling
One hundred yearlings
For him to have a whole Senate of yearlings
To play with
And to let them be
Yearlings, true yearlings
Each and every one of them ridden
By the child-Caligula
The child-Caligula
Never Caligula – the adult.”

(Iulian, Rodica, Stained glass- Poems, page 28,
Translated by Constantin Roman)

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Poetry in Translation (XCV): Dylan Thomas: “The Hand that signed the Paper” – “Mâna ce-a pus pecetea”

October 17th, 2011 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XCV): Dylan Thomas: “The Hand that signed the Paper” – “Mâna ce-a pus pecetea” · PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Mana ce-a pus pecetea

Mâna ce-a pus pecetea, a-nvins cetatea;
Cinci degete au drămuit suflarea,
Si decimând o fire, au sfârtecat o ţară;
Cinci prinţi, tăind un cap incoronat.

Un braţ de fier e prins de-o fiinţă suptă,
Crispate mâini se strâng pe frânte scuturi;
O pană pe raboj a stins o luptă
Ce-a stins in gât un murmur.

Dar mâna pe răboj are lingoare,
Lăcuste fac prăpăd si-i foame mare;
Dar mare-i mâna ce apasă ţara
Pecetea unui singur Domn.

Cinci prinţi sfidează orice-nduplecare
Cu aprigi ochi privind o viaţă frântă;
In cer sau pe pământ fără iertare;
Căci mâna n-are lacrimi ca să plângă.

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Poetry in Translation (XCII & XCIII): – Tomas Tranströmer, Nobel Prize 2011

October 8th, 2011 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XCII & XCIII): – Tomas Tranströmer, Nobel Prize 2011 · PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations, Uncategorized

[caption id="attachment_3397" align="aligncenter" width="262" caption="Tomas Tranströmer (n. 1931, Suedia, Premiul Nobel 2011 pentru Literaturà"][/caption]
Premiul Nobel pentru Literatura, 2011 – Tomas Tranströmer (n. 1931, Suedia)

Dupà Moarte
de Tomas Tranströmer (n. 1931, Suedia)

Cândva a fost o ràbufnire
lasând în urmà o dârà lungà, ca o coadà de cometà.
Ramânem închişi in casà. Pe televizor imaginile devin şterse.
Picàturi de apà încremenesc pe fire de telefon.

Sub raze de iarnà, încà mai poţi aluneca uşor cu sania,
printre copacii care-au pàstrat doar doua frunze,
ca nişte pagini rupte din anuarul telefonic.,
nişte nume încremenite de frig.

Poate este de necrezut sà-ţi auzi bàtaia inimii
Dar pe undeva, umbra, poate ar fi mai aevea dacât trupul.
Samuraiul ràmâne doar o copie ştearsà
faţà de platoşa lui de balaur, cu solzi negri .

In Româneşte de Constantin ROMAN
(Londra, Octombrie, 2011)

Copyright © 2011 Constantin ROMAN

[gallery]
Pereche
Tomas Tranströmer (n. 1931, Suedia)
(Premiul Nobel pentru Literatura, 2011)

Ei sting lumina, dar becul ràmâne încà, pentru o clipà,
incandescent, înainte ca sà se dizolve, ca o pastilà,
într-un pahar de întuneric. Apoi o ràbufnire.
Pereţii hotelului zboarà in întunericul cerului.
Zvâcnirile lor au devenit mai tandre, si au adormit,
Dar gândurile lor làuntrice se împreuneazà
Ca doua dâre de acuarelà care se contopesc
şi curg laolaltà pe pagina umedà, de caiet, al unui şcolar.
E întuneric si liniste. Dar cetatea s-a apropiat mai mult
în noaptea asta. Cu obloanele trase. Casele s-au adunat.
Imbulziţi, stau de veghe, lipiţi,
o droaie de oameni, cu feţe oarbe.

In Româneşte de Constantin ROMAN
(Londra, Octombrie, 2011)
Copyright 2011 © Constantin ROMAN

[caption id="attachment_3407" align="aligncenter" width="320" caption="Tomas Tranströmer (B. 1931, Sweden) Nobel Prize for Poetry 2011"][/caption]

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