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Kā gulbji balti padebeši iet by Eduards Veidenbaums
Kā gulbji balti padebeši iet,
Tiem vēlētos es līdzi tālu skriet—
Tur tālumā, kur ziemas nepazīst,
Kur rozes mūžam zied un nenovīst.—
Kam velti laimību kāro tu, sirds?
Met projām reiz cerības tumšajā kapā:
No saulainām lejām ir mirstīgais šķirts,
Tam jādzīvo asaru dūksnājā slapjā,
Kur dzelži un cirvji bez rimšanās klaudz,
Pēc maizes, pēc pārtikas vergi kur sauc,
No stiprākā samīts kur vājākais lūzt,
Un asins un sviedri ik dienas kur plūst
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Lavinia
Sana gitme demeyeceğim.
Üşüyorsun ceketimi al.
Günün en güzel saatleri bunlar.
Yanımda kal.
Sana gitme demeyeceğim.
Gene de sen bilirsin.
Yalanlar istiyorsan yalanlar söyleyeyim,
İncinirsin.
Sana gitme demeyeceğim,
Ama gitme, Lavinia.
Adını gizleyeceğim
Sen de bilme, Lavinia.
Özdemir Asaf
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Translate
I shall not ask you not to go.
You're cold, take my coat.
These are the loveliest hours of the day.
Stay at my side.
I shall not ask you not to go.
Still, you know best.
Lies if you wish, lies I shall tell.
Your feelings would be hurt.
I shall not ask you not to go,
But do not go Lavinia.
I shall keep your name..
You too, don't know, Lavinia.
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"I shall keep your name..
You too, don't know, Lavinia."
Lavinia is a nickname was given by poet for girl his liked.
One song for this poem
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One of my favourite poems.
Es-tu brune ou blonde ?
Sont-ils noirs ou bleus,
Tes yeux ?
Je n'en sais rien, mais j'aime leur clarté profonde,
Mais j'adore le désordre de tes cheveux.
Es-tu douce ou dure ?
Est-il sensible ou moqueur,
Ton cœur ?
Je n'en sais rien, mais je rends grâce à la nature
D'avoir fait de ton cœur mon maître et mon vainqueur.
Fidèle, infidèle ?
Qu'est-ce que ça fait.
Au fait ?
Puisque, toujours disposé à couronner mon zèle
Ta beauté sert de gage à mon plus cher souhait.
Paul Verlaine
Translate:
Are you blonde or brunette?
Are they black or blue,
Your eyes ?
I do not know, but I love their deep clarity,
But I love the mess of your hair.
Are you soft or hard?
Is it sensible or mocking,
Your heart ?
I do not know, but I give thanks to nature
To have done with your heart my teacher and winner.
Faithful, unfaithful?
What does it do.
By the way ?
Since, always willing to crown my zeal
Your beauty is a pledge to my dearest wish.
Paul Verlaine
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ROSES ARE RED
VIOLETS ARE BLUE
GO FUCK YOURSELF
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She Walks in Beauty
(Lord Byron)
'She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!'
❀♫ ღ ♬ ♪ And the angle of the sun changed it all. ❀¸.•*¨♥✿ 🎶
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I love this poem. It's a 19th century parody about one guy's unrequited love leading to the death of dozens of people in town. I heard Kim Larsen perform it live once.
Adolf var af stand velbåren
men han elsked' Thora uden held
Så sprang han lige ud fra Rundetårn
og slog sig rent forskrækkeligt ihjel.
Thora sad og græd ved nålen
Da hun fik at vide Adolfs død
gik hun hen og drak af vitriolen
og døde af den slemme drik hun nød.
Adolfs fader tålte ikke
at hans søn så skrækkelig omkom.
Traurig hængte han sig i en strikke
da først han havde drukket flasken tom.
Moderen fik knap fornummen
at de andre sådan vandred' bort
før hun tog en snaps af opiummen
og sov sig død, ak livets fryd er kort.
Thoras far var død, men mo'ren
troede Thora mored' sig på bal.
Da hun hørte Thora var kreporen
hun droned' sig i Fredrik'holms kanal.
Thoras onkel, ham sergenten,
da han fatted' Thora var ej mer'
skød han sig og elve børn og tanten
med røgfrit krudt fra et rep'tergevær
Deres skrædder var af slagsen,
da han mærked' Thora var ej mer,
myrded' han sig samme dag med saksen.
Da konen så det døde hun af skræk.
Og en mand der kom fra Fy-en,
skønt han ingen af dem havde kendt,
da han så hvor galt det var i byen
så skød han sig ved Thoras hus omtrent.
Jeg, som drejer denne kasse,
jeg er ked af livet, ser I vel,
men jeg vil ikke dø som denne masse,
nej, jeg vil langsomt drikke mig ihjel.
Spoiler!
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We have some great poems but the translations are not so great quite often, so it's a little meaningless to post them. So, I will post a French sonnet with it's English and Greek translations.
It's more of an anti-romanticist statement. That's why it's great imo.
Le Coucher du Soleil Romantique
Que le soleil est beau quand tout frais il se lève,
Comme une explosion nous lançant son bonjour!
— Bienheureux celui-là qui peut avec amour
Saluer son coucher plus glorieux qu'un rêve!
Je me souviens!... J'ai vu tout, fleur, source, sillon,
Se pâmer sous son oeil comme un coeur qui palpite...
— Courons vers l'horizon, il est tard, courons vite,
Pour attraper au moins un oblique rayon!
Mais je poursuis en vain le Dieu qui se retire;
L'irrésistible Nuit établit son empire,
Noire, humide, funeste et pleine de frissons;
Une odeur de tombeau dans les ténèbres nage,
Et mon pied peureux froisse, au bord du marécage,
Des crapauds imprévus et de froids limaçons.
— Charles Baudelaire
Ρομαντικό Ηλιοβασίλεμα
Πόσο ο ήλιος είναι ωραίος όταν ολόδροσος ανατέλλει,
σαν μια έκρηξη μας εκτοξεύει την καλημέρα του!
- Πανευτυχής εκείνος - εκεί που μπορεί μαζί με τον έρωτα
να χαίρεται την δύση του πιο δοξασμένη κι απ' όνειρο!
Θυμάσαι! Όλα τα είδα, λουλούδι, πηγή, αυλάκι,
να λιγώνονται κάτω απ' το μάτι του σαν καρδιά που πάλλει...
- Ας τρέξουμε προς τον ορίζοντα, είν' αργά, ας τρέξουμε γρήγορα,
για να αδράξουμε τουλάχιστον της δύσης την ηλιαχτίδα.
Αλλά μάταια κυνηγώ τον Θεό που αποσύρεται,
Η ακάθεκτη Νύχτα εγκαθιστά το βασίλειο της,
μαύρη, υγρή, απαίσια, γεμάτη ανατριχίλες.
Μια μυρωδιά τάφου μες της νύχτας τα σκοτεινά πέπλα επιπλέει,
και το πόδι μου φοβισμένο συνθλίβει, στου βάλτου την όχθη,
απρόβλεπτους φρύνους και κρύα σαλιγκάρια.
The Sunset of Romanticism
How beautiful the Sun is when newly risen
He hurls his morning greetings like an explosion!
— Fortunate the one who can lovingly salute
His setting, more glorious than a dream!
I remember!... I have seen all, flower, stream, furrow,
Swoon under his gaze like a palpitating heart...
— Let us run to the horizon, it's late,
Let us run fast, to catch at least a slanting ray!
But I pursue in vain the sinking god;
Irresistible Night, black, damp, deadly,
Full of shudders, establishes his reign;
The odor of the tomb swims in the shadows
And at the marsh's edge my timid foot
Treads upon slimy snails and unexpected toads.
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