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Poetry in Translation (CCCXLIV), James FENTON (n. 1949, Lincoln), UK/ENGLAND: “The Song of the General”, “Cântecul Generalului”

July 8th, 2015 · Famous People, International Media, OPINION, PEOPLE, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXLIV), James FENTON (n. 1949, Lincoln), UK/ENGLAND: “The Song of the General”, “Cântecul Generalului”

james fenton poet

James FENTON (b. 1949, Lincoln, England)
The Song of the General (Fragment)

The moon is sharp on the blade.
The dew shines on the hill.
The heart bleeds dark
And my men lie still.

The heads on the palisades
Dried in the wind so black
Call out to the venturing foe:
Turn back, fool, turn back.

Here snores no feasted clown
Who has drunk disgrace with his wine.
Here drools no amorous dupe
In the lap of his concubine.

Here watches a bitter pride
In exile lonely and long.
He serves an unjust lord.
He endures a continuing wrong.

One watches. One endures
On the ramparts, on the towers,
The laughter of the stars,
The taunts of the small hours.

Who sweeps my ancestors’ graves?
Who holds the reins for my son?
Will my dog still come to my call?
Does my wife sleep alone?

I serve an unjust lord.
Exile is an early tomb.
The heart bleeds dark.
Death is a journey home.

By the bright dew on the hill,
By the sharp blade of the moon,
I shall wake my grieving men.
I shall make that journey soon

* * * * * * *

J. Fenton poems

James FENTON (n. 1949, Lincoln, England)
Cântecul Generalului

Luna luceşte pe spadă.
Roua luceşte pe deal.
Inima e sângerată,
Soldaţii sunt gata de-asalt.

Armata de pe palisade,
Cu faţa brăzdată adânc,
Înfruntă duşmanul ce şade
Strigându-i să fugă curând.

Printre noi n-o s-adoarmă nebunul
Îmbătat cum n-au fost dumnezeii.
Printre noi n-o să fie niciunul
Să se-ascundă sub fusta femeii…

La pândă, cu faţa haină,
Exilul îi pare prea lung.
Recrutat în armata străină,
El îndură războiul nătâng.

La pândă-i stau soldaţii
În turnuri cenuşii.
Surâs de constelaţii
Se pierd în zori de zi.

De veghe fiind soldatul, de griji nu se desparte
Cine îi creşte fiul? Ogoru-a fost arat?
Când s-ar întoarce-acasă, oare l-ar recunoaşte?
Iar buna lui sotie, oare l-a înşelat?

Înrolat în război, de pripas,
Exilul îi pare-un mormânt
Inima-i e sângerândă s-ajungă devreme acas’…
Fiindcă Moartea-i de veghe, mergând.

Luna luceşte pe spadă,
Roua, pe frunza deasă…
Voi deştepta soldaţii mei, în grabă.
Curând mă voi întoarce-acasă.

Versiune în limba Română de Constantin ROMAN, Londra
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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0226241475 SHORT BIO: James Fenton has been a war reporter, an opera librettist, a prawn farmer, a theater critic, and Oxford Professor of Poetry. He has written books on Indochina, art history, and gardening, among other things. These disparate subjects go into his poetry, which is small in bulk but translates a remarkable range of experience.
Fenton was born in Lincoln, in northern England, in 1949. He attended the Chorister School, Durham, following which he went on to read psychology, philosophy, and physiology at Magdalen College, Oxford. In 1968, he won the university’s Newdigate Prize with a sequence of sonnets and haikus on the opening of Japan.
Fenton served as Oxford Professor of Poetry from 1994 to 1999. His lectures on modern English, Irish, and American poets were published as The Strength of Poetry (2001). During the same period, he began writing art criticism for The New York Review of Books, much of which is collected in Leonardo’s Nephew (1998). He has also written a short book on gardening, A Garden from a Hundred Packets of Seed (2001); a primer on English poetry, with especial attention to metrics, An Introduction to English Poetry (2002); and a history of the Royal Academy, School of Genius (2006).
(source: James Fenton, The Art of Poetry No. 96
Interviewed by Robyn Creswell, published in The Paris Review
http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6166/the-art-of-poetry-no-96-james-fenton )

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Poetry in Translation (CCCXLIII), Rainer Maria RILKE (1875, Prague – 1926, Montreux), CZECHIA/AUSTRIA: “You Who Never Arrived ”, “Tu care n-ai ajuns niciodată”

July 5th, 2015 · Books, Famous People, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXLIII), Rainer Maria RILKE (1875, Prague – 1926, Montreux), CZECHIA/AUSTRIA: “You Who Never Arrived ”, “Tu care n-ai ajuns niciodată”

Rainer-Maria RILKE

Rainer-Maria RILKE

You Who Never Arrived
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me — the far-off, deeply-felt
landscape, cities, towers, and bridges, and
unsuspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods–
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house– , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,–
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and,
startled, gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening…

* * * * * *

Quotation-Rainer-Maria-Rilke-poetry-reality-live-future-dreams-Meetville-Quotes-63791

Tu care n-ai ajuns niciodată
Rainer Maria RILKE

Tu care n-ai ajuns niciodată
în braţele mele, Iubito, ce te-am pierdut
dela-nceput,
nici nu mai ştiu ce odă
ţi-ar fi plăcut. Am renunţat să mai încerc
desluşindu- te în creasta valului
clipei care vine. Tot noianul
visurilor mele – celor mai îndepărtate, mai pierdute
imagini, oraşe, turnuri, poduri şi
răscruci de cărări negândite,
din toate aceste ţinuturi care cândva
zvâcneau cu viaţa zeilor,
toate acestea tresar în mine, închipuindu-te
pe tine, tu, cea care te-am pierdut in veşnicie.

Tu, Iubita mea, care eşti pentru mine
toate grădinile de care s-a îmbătat
dorul meu. O fereastră deschisă
în casa dela ţară, din care tu, neaşteptată,
ai ieşit, gânditoare, în întâmpinarea mea.
Drumurile care mi le-am închipuit,
că le-ai fi umblat, s-au pierdut.
Si uneori, într-un magazin, oglinzile
încă mai palpitau cu prezenţa ta, şi,
tresărind, reflectau profilul meu omniprezent.
Oare cine ştie? Poate aceeaşi
pasăre şi-ar fi aflat ecoul amândorura
ieri, separat, în amurgul serii.

Versiune in limba Română de Constantin ROMAN, Londra
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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Maria Rilke SHORT BIO: René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria RILKE (4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926. Rilke was born in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, travelled extensively throughout Europe, including Russia, Spain, Germany, France, Italy, and in his later years settled in Switzerland—settings that were key to the genesis and inspiration for many of his poems. While Rilke is most known for his contributions to German literature, over 400 poems were originally written in French and dedicated to the canton of Valais in Switzerland. These deeply existential themes tend to position him as a transitional figure between the traditional and the modernist writers.

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Poetry in Translation (CCCXLII), Philippe JACCOTTET (b. 1925), SWITZERLAND/VAUD: “Intérieur”, “Interior”

July 4th, 2015 · Books, Famous People, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXLII), Philippe JACCOTTET (b. 1925),
SWITZERLAND/VAUD: “Intérieur”, “Interior”

Philippe JACCOTTET

Philippe JACCOTTET

Intérieur
Philippe JACCOTTET (b. 1925)

Il y a longtemps que je cherche à vivre ici, dans cette chambre que je fais semblant d’aimer, la table, les objets sans soucis, la fenêtre ouvrant au bout de chaque nuit d’autres verdures, et le cœur du merle bat dans le lierre sombre, partout des lueurs achèvent l’ombre vieillie.

J’accepte moi aussi de croire qu’il fait doux, que je suis chez moi, que la journée sera bonne.
Il y a juste, au pied du lit, cette araignée (à cause du jardin), je ne l’ai pas assez piétinée, on dirait qu’elle travaille encore au piège qui attend mon fragile fantôme…

* * * * * * *

Cover Jaccottet1

Interior
Philippe JACCOTTET
(n. 1925, Elveţia francofonă)

Încerc de mult timp să locuiesc aici, în camera aceasta în care îmi închipui că îmi place, masa, obiectele fără grije, fereastra deschizând la sfârşitul fiecarei nopti perspectiva altor brazde de flori si iarăşi inima mierlei zvâcnind în iedera umbrită, mărgele de sclipiri înfruntând umbra ostenită.
Încep să cred că timpul este plăcut, că mă simt ca la mine acasă, si că ziua va decurge aşa cum se cuvine.
Dar mai e un necaz, acest paianjen (venit din grădină), pe care nu l-am strivit cum ar fi trebuit: se pare că se osteneşte să întindă pânza în care va fi sortită să cadă în mreje umbra mea fragilă.

Versiune in limba Română de Constantin ROMAN, Londra
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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Jaccottet_Philippe SHORT BIO: Philippe JACCOTTET was born in Moudon, Switzerland, on 30 June 1925) is a francophone poet and translator from the Canton of Vaud, in Switzerland. After completing his studies in Lausanne, he lived several years in Paris. In 1953, moved to the town of Grignan in Provence. He has translated numerous authors and poets into French, including Goethe, Hölderlin, Mann, Mandelstam, Góngora, Leopardi, Musil, Rilke, Homer and Ungaretti. He was awarded the German international Petrarca-Preis in 1988 for his poetry.
In 2014, Philippe Jaccottet became the fifteenth author to be published alive in the prestigious Bibliothèque de la Pléiade. After Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Blaise Cendrars and Charles-Ferdinand Ramuz, he is the fourth Swiss author to be published in the Bibliothèque de la Pléiade.[text from Wikipedia]

HONOURS:
• Prix des écrivains vaudois, 1958.
• Johann-Heinrich-Voß-Preis für Übersetzung, 1966.
• Prix Gottfried Keller (site officiel), 1981.
• Grand Prix de Poésie de la Ville de Paris, 1985.
• Petrarca-Preis, 1988.
• Grand Prix national de Poésie, 1995.
• Prix Goncourt de la poésie, 2003.[4]

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Poetry in Translation (CCCXLI), Eugenio MONTALE (1896 – 1981), ITALY / LIGURIA: “Aniversare”, “Anniversaria”

June 16th, 2015 · Books, Famous People, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXLI), Eugenio MONTALE
(1896 – 1981), ITALY / LIGURIA: “Aniversare”, “Anniversaria”

Montale Motetti

Aniversare
Eugenio MONTALE (1896-1981)

Din ziua-n care te-am zărit,
La tine m-am prostrat, iubita mea,
Că-n clip-aceea am simţit
Cum rău-ntreg a depăşit, păcatul consumat.

Incendiul cuprizându-ţi casa ta
Şi-a mea, năpasta s-a-nteţit, mereu crescând
Când te-am zărit din pulbere-ai luat fiinţă
Un Phoenix, tot văzduhul luminând.

Stând in genunchi, tot darul ce-am crezut
Nefiind al meu – ci-al altora de fapt,
Acum e-al meu. Căci bunul Dumnezeu a vrut
Să-nchege-ntreg tot sângele vărsat …
Ca-n pomul vieţii să atârne al tău fruct.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, Londra

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Montale quotation

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Poetry in Translation (CCCXL), Eugenio MONTALE (1896 – 1981), ITALY/LIGURIA: “Ripenso il tuo sorriso ”, “I recall your smile”, “Surâsul tău”

June 15th, 2015 · Books, Famous People, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXL), Eugenio MONTALE
(1896 – 1981), ITALY/LIGURIA: “Ripenso il tuo sorriso ”,
“I recall your smile”, “Surâsul tău”

montale_eugenio-19661020.2_png_380x600_crop_q85

Eugenio MONTALE,
(1896 – 1981),
Ripenso il tuo sorriso

Ripenso il tuo sorriso, ed è per me un’acqua limpida
scorta per avventura tra le pietraie d’un greto,
esiguo specchio in cui guardi un’ellera e i suoi corimbi;
e su tutto l’abbraccio di un bianco cielo quieto.

Codesto è il mio ricordo; non saprei dire, o lontano,
se dal tuo volto si esprime libera un’anima ingenua,
vero tu sei dei raminghi che il male del mondo estenua
e recano il loro soffrire con sé come un talismano.

Ma questo posso dirti, che la tua pensata effigie
sommerge i crucci estrosi in un’ondata di calma,
e che il tuo aspetto s’insinua nella memoria grigia
schietto come la cima di una giovane palma…

images

Eugenio MONTALE
(1896 – 1981),
I RECALL YOUR SMILE

I recall your smile, and for me it is limpid water
witnessed by chance among the stones of a riverbed.
slight mirror in which you see an ivy and its inflorescence,
and over all the embrace of a serene white sky.

This is my recollection; I cannot say, a distant one,
if an ingenuous spirit is freely expressed in your face,
truly you are a wanderer whom the world’s ills exhaust,
and who carry your suffering with you like a talisman.

But this I may say; that your thoughtful portrait
drowns anxious inspiration in a wave of calm;
and your aspect insinuates itself in grey memory
pure as the crown of a youthful palm-tree…

© Copyright 2012 A. S. Kline, All Rights Reserved

9297974096_bd575febe9

Eugenio MONTALE
(1896 – 1981)
Surâsul tău

Nu visez decât la surâsul tău – o apă limpede,
mărturie întâmplătoare în albia râului,
oglindă în care zăresti frunza iederei,
dar mai ales cuprinsul cerului, strălucitor şi calm.

Este amintirea mea, nu stiu, poate de demult,
dacă faţa ta ar reflecta sufletul tău liber…
sigur că ai avea gânduri sumbre, încercate de nevoile vieţii,
purtând durerea ca un talisman.

Dar atât pot să-ţi spun: faţa ta gânditoare
înfruntă neliniştea, cu un val de acalmie,
în timp ce aparenţa ta se transformă într-o imagine diafană,
elegantă, ca silueta unui palmier.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, Londra

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13451329 SHORT BIO: Despite the fact that Eugenio Montale produced only five volumes of poetry in his first fifty years as a writer, when the Swedish Academy awarded the Italian poet and critic the 1975 Nobel Prize for Literature they called him “one of the most important poets of the contemporary West,” according to a Publishers Weekly report. One of Montale’s translators, Jonathan Galassi, echoed the enthusiastic terms of the Academy in his introduction to The Second Life of Art: Selected Essays of Eugenio Montale in which he referred to Montale as “one of the great artistic sensibilities of our time.” In a short summary of critical opinion on Montale’s work, Galassi continued: “Eugenio Montale has been widely acknowledged as the greatest Italian poet since [Giacomo] Leopardi and his work has won an admiring readership throughout the world. His … books of poems have, for thousands of readers, expressed something essential about our age.”

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Poetry in Translation (CCCXXXIX), Herta MULLER (b. 1953), ROMANIA-BANAT/GERMANY: “Colour Grey”, “Gri”

June 15th, 2015 · Communist Prisons, Diary, Diaspora, Famous People, International Media, OPINION, PEOPLE, Poetry, POLITICAL DETENTION / DISSENT, quotations, Reviews, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXXXIX), Herta MULLER (b. 1953), ROMANIA-BANAT/GERMANY: “Colour Grey”, “Gri”

Andrew-Bax-The-Colour-is-Grey

Colour Grey
Herta MULLER

(b. 1953, Banat, Romania)
1.
I grow time, beans, the colour gray
And stitch the shadows of a dying day
They make a woman, rather a girl
Lost in the ocean like a grain of pearl
The swans of Coole fly over me
Will they rest for a while by me!
Maybe it’s my turn now.
Deep in the frost where my eyes shall never go
The leopard will print his paw
And with a sudden leap break free
All the chimes of poetry
Maybe it’s my turn now.
The rough beast was never born
Though we devised a cage for his morn
Maybe it’s my turn now.
I have a tale to tell I shall also ring the bell
When you start believing
When you start hearing
Maybe it’s my turn now.

2.
These days I don’t think of you
But after the soot covers me
I begin to wonder where those
Evenings have gone, those wanderings
In the spacious lawns of enchantment
That smacked of no design, though
We were bent on making a sense
The early birds get their worms
I lie in the tireless ticking of my old watch
Counting the bits of frozen blood,
Listening to the worms
That are in all of us
Then I begin to crawl towards the womb
That threw me off a long way back
And look for the dark, the black hole
To suck me up.

3.
I was nice to him
He was nice to me
Only
Our doors, our windows
Kept closed
Lest we smell each other.

(Translated into English by Roger Woodhouse)

* * * * * * *

Herta MULLER

Herta MULLER

Herta MULLER
GERMANY (b. 1953, Banat, Romania)

“Gri” (fragment)

1.
Cultiv timpul, verdeaţa, cu nuanţe gri
Însăilând o umbră la sfârşit de zi
Zămislind femeia, sau poate-o fecioară
Pierdută în mare ca o perlă rară
Oare când lebede-n stoluri de albă zăpadă
Opri-se-vor, Doamne, la mine-n ogradă?
Poate-i sorocul meu.
În nămeţi de zăpadă care nu-i pot pătrunde
Leopardul îşi pune pecetea ori unde
Doar un salt acrobatic lăsa-va frâu liber
Coralei de versuri şi sclipirii de fulger
Poate-i sorocul meu.

Fiara pădurii n-a venit încă
Dar cursa e gata să fie la pândă
Poate-i sorocul meu.
Am o rugă de spus şi voi bate toaca
Când începi s-ai crezare
Să-ţi întretai suflarea
Poate-i sorocul meu.

2.
Nu mă gândesc la tine
Dar când pământul aprig îmi va cuprinde pieptul
Voi visa tot mai mult la acele zile.
(……)

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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Müller_23857_MR1.indd SHORT BIO: BB. Why the Nobel Prize for Literature?
This year’s Prize for literature has a particular significance for several reasons:

1. This is only the fourth woman in nearly 100 years which has got a Nobel Prize for Literature

2. This woman is an exile originally from an ethnic minority who had come in conflict with the dictatorship in her country of birth and had to leave everything behind to start a new life in a very different country

3. This woman has persisted in her writings to produce a kind of novel denouncing the practice of dictatorship and believing strongly in the freedom of speech, the right to preserve Memory and accept the burden of History unadulterated and uncosmetisised.

4. This year of 2009 coincides with the 20th Anniversary since half of Europe’s dictatorships tumbled down – at least the Berlin Wall and the Dracula – like the “Pharaoh” otherwise known as “The Genius of the Carpathians”, not forgetting his wife, the said Elena Ceausescu – the real power behind the throne.

5. The recipient of this year’s NOBEL Prize, Herta Mueller (b. 1953 in Romania) comes from a country which lives badly the complex of being a “small country” (like Belgium, or Ireland, or perhaps even the Euskal Herria), little understood and much misunderstood and therefore she considers, at least through her literary output to change this perception. Being nominated for the Nobel Prize, puts Romania on the map in a very different way from the past stereotypes, of vampires, orphanages, human trafficking, trampling on human rights and more.

(Quoted from a letter sent by Constantin ROMAN to Gorka Bereziartua, Editor of ARGIA, Basque Country, Spain)

Argia Mullerjpg

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Poetry in Translation (CCCXXXVIII), Thomas BOBERG (b. 1960), DENMARK: “Dictatorial Poem”, “Poem Dictatorial”

June 13th, 2015 · Famous People, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXXXVIII), Thomas BOBERG (b. 1960), DENMARK: “Dictatorial Poem”, “Poem Dictatorial”

THOMAS BOBERG B. 1960

Thomas Boberg, n. 1960, Danemarca

DICTATORIAL POEM

All the people who can’t be on the promenade
All the people who have forgotten where they came from
All the people who dropped their keys
All the people who can’t join the club
All the people who can’t be at the tip of my pen
All the people who don’t know the scorpion’s tactics
All the people who pass each other by
All the people who are on time but don’t make it there
All the people who don’t want to experience tomorrow
All the people who stay even though the train is waiting
All the people who can’t be where they are

* * * * * * *

Thomas Boberg 2

POEM DICTATORIAL
(Thomas Boberg, n. 1960, Danemarca)

Toţi oamenii care nu se pot plimba pe Corso,
Toţi oamenii care au uitat de unde vin
Toţi oamenii care şi-au pierdut cheile
Toţi oamenii care nu pot fi membrii clubului
Toţi oamenii care nu pot fi pe buzele mele
Toţi oamenii care nu înţeleg tactica scorpionului
Toţi oamenii care trec unii pe lângă alţii
Toţi oamenii care sosesc la timp dar care nu reuşesc
Toţi oamenii care refuză să trăiasca experienţa viitorului
Toţi oamenii care rămân deşi trenul aşteaptă
Toţi oamenii care nu pot fi unde sunt.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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thomas_boberg-2b33e SHORT BIO: Thomas Boberg (b. 1960) is a Danish poet and travel writer, who was nominated for the Nordic Council’s Literary Prize, in 1999 for Americas, an account of his travels in North and South America, and in 2006 respectively for Livsstil, a volume of poems.
He lived for many years in Peru, where a collection of his poems appeared in print at Lustra Editoriales Publishers. His more recent volume Hesteæderne (The Horse Eaters) is a collection of poems chronicling life in a surreal dystopia.

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POETRY IN TRANSLATION (CCCXXXVII), Tadeusz RòZEWICZ (1921– 2014), POLAND: “Supravieţuitorul”, “The Survivor”

June 13th, 2015 · Famous People, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

POETRY IN TRANSLATION (CCCXXXVII), Tadeusz Różewicz (1921– 2014), POLAND: “Supravieţuitorul”, “The Survivor”

Tadeusz Rozewicz

“Supravieţuitorul”
Tadeusz Różewicz (1921-2014)

Am ani două zeci şi patru
fiind mânat la abator
am supravieţuit.

Iată câteva sinonime golite de orice conţinut:
om şi fiară
dragoste şi ură
prieten şi dusman
intuneric şi lumină.

Uciderea oamenilor şi animalelor este aidoma
am văzut cu ochii mei:
căruţe pline de trupuri sfârtecate
ce nu vor mai fi ingropate.

Cuvintele sunt lipsite de conţinut:
virtute şi crimă
adevăr şi minciună
frumuseţe şi sluţenie
curaj şi laşitate
toate cântăresc de-opotrivă
am văzut-o
la un om care era de o potrivă
criminal şi virtuos.

Caut un dascăl şi un îndrumător
ca să-mi redea văzul auzul şi graiul
ca să pot desluşi obiectele şi ideile
să pot distinge întunericul de lumină.

Am ani două zeci şi patru
fiind mânat la abator
am supravieţuit.

Versiune în limba română de Constantin ROMAN, Londra
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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rozewicz poems

The Survivor
Tadeusz Różewicz

I am twenty-four
led to slaughter
I survived.

The following are empty synonyms:
man and beast
love and hate
friend and foe
darkness and light.

The way of killing men and beasts is the same
I’ve seen it:
truckfuls of chopped-up men
who will not be saved.

Ideas are mere words:
virtue and crime
truth and lies
beauty and ugliness
courage and cowardice.

Virtue and crime weigh the same
I’ve seen it:
in a man who was both
criminal and virtuous.

I seek a teacher and a master
may he restore my sight hearing and speech
may he again name objects and ideas
may he separate darkness from light.

I am twenty-four
led to slaughter
I survived.

(English version by Adam Czerniawski)
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Rozewicz - The Survivor

Rozewicz – The Survivor

SHORT BIO NOTE: Tadeusz Różewicz (9 October 1921 – 24 April 2014) was a Polish poet, dramatist and writer. Różewicz belonged to the first generation of Polish writers born after Poland regained its independence in 1918 following the century of foreign partitions. He was born in Radomsko near Łódź. His first poems were published in 1938. During the Second World War, like his brother Janusz (also a poet), he was a soldier of the Polish underground Home Army. His other brother Stanisław was a noted film director. Tadeusz Różewicz was the son of Władysław and Stefania Różewicz, his mother née Gelbard, being a Jewish convert to Catholicism. Unlike his elder brother Janusz, also a highly promising poet, who was executed by the Gestapo in 1944 for serving in the Resistance, Tadeusz survived the war. On finishing high-school, he enrolled at the Jagiellonian University of Kraków, and then in the late 1940s moved to Gliwice where he lived for the next thirty years. In 1968 he moved to Wrocław where he lived for the rest of his life. Czesław Miłosz hailed his poetic gifts in a poem in 1948. His literary debut as a highly innovative playwright began in 1960 with The Card Index (Kartoteka), by which time he was already the author of fifteen acclaimed volumes of poetry published since 1944.
He had written over a dozen plays and several screenplays. The eruption of dramaturgical energy was also accompanied by volumes of poetry and prose. Some of his best known plays other than The Card Index include, The Interrupted Act (Akt przerywany, 1970), Birth Certificate (Świadectwo urodzenia, screenplay to an award-winning film by the same title, 1961), Left Home (Wyszedł z domu, 1965), and The White Wedding (Białe małżeństwo, 1975). His New Poems collection was nominated for the National Book Critics Circle Award in 2008. Some of his works were translated into all major languages.

Różewicz died in Wrocław on 24 April 2014 at the age of 92.

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Poetry in Translation (CCCXXXVI), Diarmuid JOHNSON (b. 1965), IRELAND: “English”, “Engleza”

June 13th, 2015 · Books, Diaspora, Famous People, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXXXVI), Diarmuid JOHNSON (b. 1965), IRELAND: “English”, “Engleza”

john-bull-and-his-dog

English
Diarmuid JOHNSON (b. 1965)

English is the language of war
Its constituents are civilian hostages
In dim cells, adjectives are beaten senseless.
English is the language of war
The dissident lexicon has been deported
Semanticide has devastated
A continent of thought.
English is the language of war
We cannot say what we mean any more.
In English there are words
For all things which cast a shadow:
Do not translate these words.
English is the language of war:
Do not speak it.
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rule_britannia_by_stressedjenny-d4v6a22

Engleza
Diarmuid JOHNSON (b. 1965)

Engleza este limba războiului
Cuvintele ei sunt prizonieri civili
În celule de închisoare, adjective bătute la sânge.
Engleza este limba războiului
Lexiconul disident a fost deportat
Semanticidul a devastat
Un continent de gândire.
Engleza este limba războiului
Nu mai putem spune ce gândim nicidecum.
În Engleză sunt cuvinte
Pentru orice obiect care proectează o umbră
Nu traduce aceste cuvinte.
Engleza este limba războiului
Nu o vorbi!

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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Diarmuid Johnson poems

Diarmuid Johnson poems

SHORT BIO: Diarmuid Johnson was born in Cardiff, Wales in 1965. He moved to Ireland aged three and was educated in Galway. From 1989 until 1996 he lectured in Celtic languages and literature in France, Germany and Ireland. Since 1997 he has worked predominantly as a freelance writer, translator and editor, both in print and in television, through the media of Irish, English and Welsh. He was editor of Cuisle, the national Irish language monthly, from 1999-2000. Among the prizes he has been awarded is the Dún Laoghaire International Poetry Festival Prize (2000). His work has been published in An Chéad Chló (First Flush) (Cló Iar-Chonnacht, 1997), and Fearann Pinn (The Pencil Acre) (ed. Ó Dúill, Coiscéim, 2000), a selection of 20th cen. Irish verse. In 1994, together with Jean-CLaude Lozac’hmeur, he published Dafydd ap Gwilym, petite anthologie d’un grand poète (WODAN, Amiens 1994), a selection in French of an important 14th cen. Welsh poet. Súil Saoir (The Trained Eye), a selection of poems in Irish, is forthcoming from Cló Iar-Chonnachta. Coinnigh do Mhisneach, a translation of Shoned Wyn Jones novel Yfory Ddaw (Come Tomorrow) was published this year (Cló Iar-Chonnachta, 2004). Diarmuid Johnson is editor of Transcript, and is a member of the Welsh Literature Abroad (WLA) team.

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Poetry in Translation (CCCXXXV), Giacomo LEOPARDI (1798-1837), ITALY/MARCHE: “To The Moon”, “Luna”

June 13th, 2015 · Books, Famous People, International Media, PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Poetry in Translation (CCCXXXV), Giacomo LEOPARDI (1798-1837), ITALY/MARCHE: “To The Moon”, “Luna”

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Giacomo Leopardi

To The Moon

O, lovely moon, how well do I recall
The time,–’tis just a year–when up this hill
I came, in my distress, to gaze at thee:
And thou suspended wast o’er yonder grove,
As now thou art, which thou with light dost fill.

But stained with mist, and tremulous, appeared
Thy countenance to me, because my eyes
Were filled with tears, that could not be suppressed;

For, oh, my life was wretched, wearisome,
And _is_ so still, unchanged, belovèd moon!
And yet this recollection pleases me,
This computation of my sorrow’s age.

How pleasant is it, in the days of youth,
When hope a long career before it hath,
And memories are few, upon the past
To dwell, though sad, and though the sadness last!

(English version by Frederick Townsend)

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leopardi poem

Luna
Giacomo Leopardi
(1798-1837)

O Luna mea, ce clar îmi amintesc:
Era acum un an, când, sus pe deal,
La tine am venit, îngenunchiat,
Să te privesc senină, peste culmi,
Cu faţa ta splendidă de opal.

Umbrită-n ceaţă, tremurând uşor,
Ai chipul diafan, în ochii mei,
Când lacrimile nu le pot curma.

Căci soarta mi-a fost grea, năpăstuit
Mereu fiind, desi păstrez în vis memorii dulci,
Căci anii grei m-apasă mai uşor.

Dar ce plăcut a fost, când, tânăr fiind,
Să sper într-un parcurs strălucitor,
Dar umbre din trecut nu m-au lăsat
Pe ele sa clădesc, căci triste sunt.

Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London
© 2015 Copyright Constantin ROMAN, London

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giacomo-leopardi SHORT BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE: Giacomo Taldegardo Francesco di Sales Saverio Pietro Leopardi (June 29, 1798 – June 14, 1837) was an Italian poet, philosopher, essayist and philologist. Although he lived in a secluded town in the ultra-conservative Papal States, he came in touch with the main thoughts of the Enlightenment, and, by his own literary evolution, created a remarkable and renowned poetic work, related to the Romantic era. The depth of his reflection on existence and the human condition makes him a philosopher of considerable depth. The extraordinary lyrical quality of his poetry made him a central protagonist in the European and international literary and cultural landscape (from Wikipedia).

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