Philip Larkin
Heads in the Women’s Ward (1972)
On pillow after pillow lies
The wild white hair and staring eyes;
Jaws stand open; necks are stretched
With every tendon sharply sketched;
Philip Larkin
Heads in the Women’s Ward (1972)
On pillow after pillow lies
The wild white hair and staring eyes;
Jaws stand open; necks are stretched
With every tendon sharply sketched;
Tags:"Heads in the Women's Ward "·"Philip Larkin"·Azil·engleza·English·Larkin·poet·poezie·poezie "Constantin ROMAN"·romana·romanian·traducere·translation
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!
(Versiune in limba Romana – Constaantin ROMAN, Londra, Copyright 2010, All rights reserved)
Tags:"Cloths of Heaven"·"Constantin Roman"·"Manta Celesta"·"Nobel Prize Literature"·"W. B. Yeats"·Anglo-Irish·engleza·Ireland·Irlanda·poem·poet·poetry·poezie·Romania·romanian·traducere·translation·Yeats
DEDICATION (Vintila Horia)
Through streets of Babylon I look confused
For Thee my Lord to come in your pursuit
My voice is hoarse and broken like a lute
Which lost its soul for being over used.
Tags:"Vintila Horia"·dedication·English·Inchinare·Literature·poem·poezie·romanian·translation
Constantin Roman invites us for a walk, during which he enjoins past and present alike, in a brisk coming and going of the narrative. It is a narrative that cannot suddenly end, but rather one which compels us to start all over again and revisit. It is a truly wonderful gift, a very happy surprise indeed of an inherently original book, which haunts us like the persistent music of those Romanian women’s voices.” (French Government Adviser, Paris)
Tags:"19th Century"·"20th century"·"Blouse Roumaine"·"Post-Communism" QUotations·"Romanian Women". Romania·"Social History"·anthology·Culture·Europe·Feminism·Multi-disciplinary·politics·quotations·translation
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.
Tags:"W. B. Yeats"·Add new tag·Gore-Booth·Ireland·Ireland Romanian literature·Markiewicz·poem·poetry·romanian translation' Constantin ROMAN·translation
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.
Tags:"Ada Tyrell"·"Constantin Roman"·"Fiul meu"·"My son"·"traducere din engleza"·Anglo-Irish·Britain·Ireland·poetry·Romania·translation
Josef Ozga MICHALSKI, Poland (1919-2002) poems Romanian translation
(In roamaneste de Constantin ROMAN,
Bucuresti 1965)
Jean-Guy PILON (Quebec, Canada
STRAINUL ACESTA (L’ETRANGER D’ICI
Era dintr-o tara de corsari bigoti
Unde inconstienta era luata drept dogma,
Imbecilul drept stapan
Iar nebunul drept ntelept
Era o tara de lupte inutile
Si de ruini magnifice
O tara mancata de viermi
Cand a vrut sa-si strige mania
Nu i s-a ingaduit sa o faca
De abea l-au lasat sa moara.
Quand le coeur tout d’un coup me manque, qui dois-je
me faire, eau ou pierre, pour m’habiter inhabitable?
Ne suis-je qu’une vieille, ne suis-je qu’un pitre?
Poème, statue sur l’eau, – mais moi?
Cand bataia inimii se stinge, ce voi
ajunge, stanca, sau val, ca sa traiesc in ne-traire?
N-as fi oare decat o baba? Sau poate o paiata?
Vers ridicat pe valuri, – dar eu-insumi?
(in Romaneste de Constantin ROMAN,
Londra SW1, Iulie 2006)
Tags:"Guy de Chambellland"·Burgundy·Francophone·poetry·translation