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Entries Tagged as 'poem'

Poetry in Translation (LXXI): Melina Mercouri (1920-1994) – “Mes Amis d’Hier”

November 3rd, 2009 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (LXXI): Melina Mercouri (1920-1994) – “Mes Amis d’Hier” · Poetry, Translations

[caption id="attachment_821" align="alignright" width="194" caption="Melina MERCOURI (1920-1994)"]Melina MERCOURI (1920-1994)[/caption]

Melina MERCOURI (1920-1994):

AMICI DE DEMULT

Amici de demult, tovarasi de drum
Cu pasii pierduti
Prin ce tari ratacind prin coclauri de scrum
Sunteti toti disparuti?
La ce lupte ne luam
Trup la trup inclestati
Ne credeam neinvinsi, desi fragezi eram
La cei doua’s’ de ani.
Rasul nostru voios rasuna peste tot
Cand pe lume-am venit
Cu nevolnice maini ne strangeam cot la cot
Rascolind din adanc un oras amortit.
Printre voi mai zaresc, doar priviri din trecut
Doar vre-un zambet fugar
Pe o poza de-album dintr-un timp nestiut
Si uitata-n sertar.
Caci la voi ma gandesc, amici de demult
Retraind un parcurs incercat de destin
Cu speranta aprinsa intr-un proaspat tumult
Ca pe-un vesnic taram sa ne reintalnim.
Amici de demult, tovarasi de drum
Cu pasii pierduti
Prin ce tari ratacind prin coclauri de scrum
Sunteti toti disparuti?

(Mes Amis d’hier, cuvinte de C. MESLE pe muzica de S. Xarhakos, pentru Melina Mercouri, 1971)

(Copyright – In Romaneste de Constantin ROMAN, Londra 20 August 2006)

———————————————————————————————-

MES AMIS D’HIER …

Mes amis d’hier, mes compagnons,
Mes amis perdus,
Dans quelle île, quelle ville, dans quelle prison
Où avez-vous disparu ?
Nous prenions la vie au corps à corps
Nous mordions dedans
Nous étions fragiles et pourtant si forts
D’avoir ensemble vingt ans
Nous avions des rires à faire chanter
Les taudis du port
Et de ses révoltes à faire se dresser
Une ville qui s’endort
Aujourd’hui je n’ai de vos sourires
Et de vos regards
Qu’une ou deux photos qui s’en vont jaunir
Dans un livre ou un tiroir
Et pourtant c’est vous mes camarades
Que je vois toujours
Quand l’espoir nous prend dans ses embuscades
Quand nous parlons de retour
Mes amis d’hier, mes compagnons
Mes amis perdus
Dans quelle île, quelle ville, dans quelle prison
Où avez-vous disparu ?

Melina MERCOURI

Paroles: C. Lemesle

Musique: S. Xarhakos

(1971)

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Poem (LXVI): Smaranda BRAESCU (1887–1948), Pioneer Pilot, World Parachute-jumping Champion, anti-Communist Fighter

October 22nd, 2009 · 5 Comments · PEOPLE, Poetry

Biographical Note: Winner’s Glory: ” My life means nothing if I’m keeping it for myself. I dedicate my life to my country, and I want to live it in glory. I will only come back as a winner.” (Smaranda Bràescu addressing American lournalists in 1931, in New York, before she beat the World record at […]

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Poetry in Translation (LXIV): W.B. YEATS – In Memoria D-relor Eva Gore-Booth si Con Markiewicz

August 30th, 2009 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (LXIV): W.B. YEATS – In Memoria D-relor Eva Gore-Booth si Con Markiewicz · Poetry, Translations

In Memory of Eva Gore-Booth and Con Markiewicz

The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos,both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving Autumn shears
Blossom from the Summer’s wreath;
The older is condemned to death,
Pardoned, drags out lonely years
Conspiring among the ignorant.
I know not what the younger dreams-
Some vague Utopia-and she seems,
When withered old and skeleton-gaunt,
An image of such politics.
Many a time I think to seek
One or the other out and speak
Of that old Georgian mansion, mix
Pictures of the mind, recall
That table and the talk of youth,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.

Dear shadows, now you know it all,
All the folly of a fight
With a common wrong or right.
The innocent and the beautiful
Have no enemy but time;
Arise and bid me strike a match
And strike another till time catch;
Should the conflagration climb,
Run till all the sages know.
We the great gazebo built,
They convicted us of guilt;
Bid me strike a match and blow.

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Poetry in Translation (XXXIV -XXXVI): Adrian Paunescu – “Nicolae Ceausescu, In Memoriam”

June 7th, 2006 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XXXIV -XXXVI): Adrian Paunescu – “Nicolae Ceausescu, In Memoriam” · PEOPLE, Poetry, Translations

We have not heard from Mr. Paunescu for some time, at least not since his memorable appearance in the United Kingdom, as guest of the International Poetry Festival “Stanza’s”, at the University of St. Andrew’s, Scotland, A.D. 2000.
As our readers will recall, this Festival was organised by the talented Scottish bard, Dr. Gavin Bowd – who introduced Adrian Paunescu as “Romania’s greatest poet and dissident too”. We are very sad to hear since of Dr. Bowd’s severing his links with the very fastival he helped create and would like to reassure him that by his unexpected departure Romania’s poetry lost a staunch supporter.

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Poetry in Translation (XXV): Marta Petreu, (b. 1955) – “Psalm”

December 1st, 2005 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XXV): Marta Petreu, (b. 1955) – “Psalm” · PEOPLE, Poetry, Translations

To forget, I have no respite:
while phosphorous sleepless nights are licking my skin and eyes
with their rough tongue full of saliva
What a voluptuous and violent embrace

And what conceit:
as it is not in the power of God to wipe clean the past
(only to speed up disasters, through fulfilment)
(that is why
I would rather pray to you, instead,
the man to whom I gave myself that October birthday
please do me a small favour
and show a sign of subservience)

There is no anaesthetic, there is no sleep and therefore no forgiveness
I hold in my body the past and face up to the ashen future
There is no sleep, only that sharp transparency
(as we stand, face to face, I and the nothingness)
only this butcher’s tenderness, my blood that has fallen in love
popping up like champagne through the pores of my skin

The claw of which God will pluck me by the scruff of my neck?

O, Domine meo, it is not in your power to wipe clean not even for one night
the past
you cannot give either rest or forgetting
in me the puppies of fear grow
they multiply they strive and reach full maturity
You cannot give either rest or forgetting:
with rough phosphorous tongues they taste my skin my eyes
What a hungry pack and what a wonderful hunting feast
in the making

Rendered in English by Constantin ROMAN
(December 2005)

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Sanda Stolojan (1919-2005) – In Memoriam

August 20th, 2005 · Comments Off on Sanda Stolojan (1919-2005) – In Memoriam · Uncategorized

Sanda Stolojan, essayst, poet, memorialist, journalist, Interpreter to all French Presidents since de Gaulle and political activist for democracy and human rights in Romania, has died in Paris, at the age of 86. ———————————————————————————– Extract from the forthcoming Anthology of Romanian Women entitled “Blouse Roumaine” http://www.blouseroumaine.com/freeexcerpt_p23.html ——————————————————————————- Sanda Stolojan belongs to a family of Romanian […]

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Poetry in Translation (XIX & XX): Abu NUWAS (756-810), Doua Poeme

March 25th, 2005 · Comments Off on Poetry in Translation (XIX & XX): Abu NUWAS (756-810), Doua Poeme · PEOPLE, Poetry, Translations

DOUA POEME de ABU NUWAS
(Ahwaz, 756 – Bagdad, 810)
Poet classic Arab de la Curtea lui Harun al-Rashid

Am aruncat, si de-apururea voi arunca
In cele patru vânturi talerii si zeii de lut.
In ziua când mà voi infàtisa Tie,
Voi musca din fructul interzis
Si voi intoarce capul din fata celui dàruit.

.o.O.I.O.o.

Iubite, am câstigat libertatea,
Când mi-am vândut crezul pentru o desfàtare.
Mi-am dat frâu liber sufletului
Si-n nici un fel nu voi mai ingràdi plàcerea.

(Abu Nuwas, in Romaneste de Constantin Roman,
dupa versiunea engleza a lui Philip Kennedy, pp 220-221)

NOTITA BIOGRAFICA:

ABU NUWAS [Abu,Ah Hal-asan ibn Hani’al-Hakami] (c. 756-810) este recunoscut ca cel mai mare poet classic Arab din timpul Califului Harun al-Rashid al carui favorit era si apoi al succesorului lui, Abu’Ubaida.

Fiu al unui soldat din Damasc, casatorit cu o Persana, Abu Nuwas a studiat la Basra si Kufa, dupa care a petrecut un an cu nomazii Arabi pentru a invata o limba araba pura, care a reusit sa o stapaneasca la un inalt grad de rafinament: aceasta i-a permis geniului sau sa supravietuiasca timpului si sa continue, pana in ziua de azi, sa fie citat de expertii culturii arabe. Viata sa a fost caracterizata de o licentiozitate extrema si de un nonconformism religios, ca sa sfarseasca, pana la urma, in asceza.

Poemele lui Abu Nuwas sunt inspirate din experienta vietii sale de tinerete si maturitate, reflectand geniul, cinismul si modul de viata al inaltei societati din Bagdad, mai ales in versurile sale Bahice.
Unul din cele mai importante manuscrise, cuprinzand peste 5.000 de poeme ale lui Abu Nuwas se afla la Biblioteca Nationala din Viena si sunt structurate tematic, in zece parti despre: Vin, Vanatoare, Lauda, Satira, Iubire de efebi, Iubire de femei, Obscenitati, Vinovatie, Elegii, Lepadare de sine.

Volumul sau de poezii intitulat “Diwan” a fost publicat la Cairo (1860) si Beirut (1884), iar cantecele bahice au fost traduse in Germana si publicate de Ahlwardt sub titlul “Diwan de Abu Nuwas – Weinlieder” (1861). Philip Kennedy este unul din traducatorii Englezi ai poetului.

Diverse transliterari al numelui poetului, aflate in limbile Europene:
abunuwas, abu nuwsa, abun uwas, abu nuuwas, abu nwas, abu nwuas, abu nuws, abu nuwass, abu nuas, au nuwas, abu nuwa, abu uwas, aabu nuwas, abu nuaws, bau nuwas, abu nuwaas, abu unwas, abu nnuwas, ab unuwas, ab nuwas, abbu nuwas, aub nuwas, abuu nuwas, abu nuwwas, abu nuwas, bu nuwas.

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POETRY IN TRANSLATION (XI): Rodica Draghincescu – “To Myself”

February 23rd, 2003 · Comments Off on POETRY IN TRANSLATION (XI): Rodica Draghincescu – “To Myself” · Diaspora, Poetry, Translations

POETRY IN TRANSLATION (I): Rodica Draghincescu – “To Myself”
At birth
I appeared
Already oppressed in an air cage..
How amazing, what riot of colours
A stupefied godmother!
Compassion drowned in tears
She had an indelible pen
And on her lips offered on credit
Hung a suspended smile
She gratified me with a scribbled digit
Which she marked, in consolation, on my back:
Girl, two kilos, odd number: thirty-nine
Strangled by the umbilical chord
Survival chance 26%, epidermal eruption
Talking to herself.’

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