Anglo-Irish

Entries Tagged as 'Anglo-Irish'

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.

Poetry in Translation (CLXXXVII): Lewis CARROLL (1832-1898), English Poet of Anglo-Irish stock, “The Crocodile”, “Crocodilul”

April 21st, 2013 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (CLXXXVII): Lewis CARROLL (1832-1898), English Poet of Anglo-Irish stock, “The Crocodile”, “Crocodilul” · PEOPLE, Poetry, quotations, Translations

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!

Cum face micul crocodil
S-arate solzii săi
Sclipind în unda de pe Nil
Prin mii de mici scântei!

În gură fericit îi lasă
Toţi peştii, ca prieteni vechi,
Să intre, şi îi şi înhaţă,

(Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN
© 2013 Copyright Constantin ROMAN)

Poetry in Translation (CLXXII): Edmund Burke (1729 – 1797), Anglo-Irish Philosopher, Poet & Politician – “The Mirror”, “Oglinda”

March 11th, 2013 · 2 Comments · International Media, Poetry, quotations, Translations

Edmund Burke ,
(1729 – 1797), Irlanda

Mă uit în oglindă
Şi ce pot afla?
O faţă curioasă
Ce nu e a mea!

Căci sunt mult mai tânăr
Şi nici gras nu sînt
Ca cel din oglinda
La care mă uit.

O, Sfinte Sisoaie,
O rugă îţi fac
Găseste-mi oglinda
Mai veche de-un veac.

Căci cele de astăzi
Nu sunt cum au fost,
Fiind toate schimbate
Şi fără de rost!

Mai bine ignoră
Când riduri apar
Un lucru fiind sigur
Şi limpede, chiar.

Când faţa-i departe
De-a fi c-altă dată,
E timp ca oglinda
Să fie schimbată.

(Rendered in Romanian by Constantin ROMAN, London,
© 2013 Copyright Constantin ROMAN)

Poetry in Translation (CLXIX): Emily LAWLESS (1845 – 1913), IRELAND – “In Spain”, “În Spania”

February 17th, 2013 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (CLXIX): Emily LAWLESS (1845 – 1913), IRELAND – “In Spain”, “În Spania” · Poetry, quotations, Translations

Emily LAWLESS
(1845 –1913)

Your sky is a hard and a dazzling blue,
Your earth and sands are a dazzling gold,
And gold or blue is the proper hue,
You say for a swordsman bold.

In the land I have left the skies are cold,
The earth is green, the rocks are bare,
yet the devil may hold all your blue and your gold
Were I only once back there!

Cerul vostru de fier e-un albastru de-azur
Iar pământul de aur sclipind
Amintind de strămoşii din vremi de demult
Dârji in luptă, cu pieptul flămând.

Dar in ţara bătrânilor mei. ceru-i aspru,
Munţii sterpi, iar moşia uitată.
Şi la naiba cu galbenii şi cu cerul albastru
Doar la vatra din sat să ne-ntoarcem odată.

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

Poetry in Translation (LXXVII): W.B. Yeats (1865-1939) – “Cloths of Heaven” (Manta Celesta:

October 1st, 2010 · 1 Comment · PEOPLE, Poetry, Translations

W.B. Yeats (1865–1939)

Poet Irlandez, Premiul Nobel pentru Literatura

MANTA CELESTA

Manta celesta de as fi avut

Cu flori de aur si margarint,

Pe-a noptii straie, de-azur cernut,

In umbre cu sclipire de argint,

Sub pasii tai de mult le-as fi tinut.

Dar fiind sarac, doar vise de pripas

Mai pot s-astern pe drum, in calea-ti lunga:

Ai grije, cand pasesti, sa nu se franga,

Caci este totul ce mi-a mai ramas!

William Blacker: “Along the Enchanted Way – a Romanian Story”

September 2nd, 2010 · No Comments · Books, OPINION, PEOPLE, Reviews

It takes an Irishman to write the best book on Romania since the WWII – the one before the war was yet another Irish – Patrick Leigh-Fermor.
William Blacker lived in Romania for over eight years in the early 1990s and went native, not just skin deep, but truly and convincingly: he learned the language, the customs, dressed as the other villagers of Maramures, learned their skills and traditions and listened to their stories steeped in ancient history: he was accepted as one of them surrounded with great affection and respect. He further went to one of the fortified Saxon villages, in Central Transylvania where he was “bewitched” by a beautiful gypsy girl with whom he lived for three years and by whom he had a natural son – Constantin.

Poetry in Translation (LXIII): Ada TYRRELL – MY SON – Fiul meu

August 24th, 2009 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (LXIII): Ada TYRRELL – MY SON – Fiul meu · Poetry, Translations

Ada Tyrrell (1854-1955), Anglo-Irish writer and socialite is best known for her poem “My Son” written during WWI. In the context of the current British engagement in Irak and Afghanistan it has a particularly poignant relevance. fregments of this poem are rendered into Romanian.

Centre for Romanian Studies