Poezija na stranim jezicima

[SQUAW]

Poezija na stranim jezicima (engleskom, ruskom, francuskom, kineskom, svahiliju...) odsada se može postovati isključivo na ovoj temi. Pesme mogu, a i ne moraju imati prevod. Sve pesme na stranom jeziku koje budu postovane na drugim temama na podforumu Poezija, biće premeštane ovde.


Ova malecka na pocetku mi maznula pesmu. :mig: Sad moram da joj vratim.

I carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
And it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)

E E Cummings

[SQUAW]

When all the time you're feeling blue
you can feel better starting with a shoe

Draw out the laces and undo the bow
slide out of them and stretch your toe

As you rip off your socks smile! you're free!
jump around, run; feel the lawn and see

Nothing is better than a lay in the grass
to watch the clouds as they slowly pass

So you see a sad person just smile and say
have you taken off your shoes today?

Nepoznat autor

[LilShizle]

YO TE SOŃÉ UNA TARDE

Mujer, hecha de todas mis ficciones reunidas
has vibrado en mis nervios como una realeza
llorando en los senderos de la ilusión perdida
siempre he sentido el roce de tu ignota belleza.

Marchitando mis sueńos y mis buenas quimeras
te he forjado a pedazos celestes y carnales
como un resurgimiento, como una primavera
en la selva de tantos estúpidos ideales.

He sońado tu carne divina y perfumada
en medio de un morboso torturar de mi ser,
y aunque eres imprecisa, sé como eres, amada,
ficción hecha realeza en carne de mujer.

Yo te miro en los ojos de todas las mujeres,
te miro pero nunca te he podido encontrar
y hay en el desencanto el encanto de que eres,
o que serás más bella que una mujer vulgar...

Te sentirán mis sueńos eternamente mía
brotando de la bruma de todas mis tristezas
como germinadora de raras alegrías
que avivarán la llama de tu ignota belleza.

EL AMOR

XI

El firme amor, me diste con tus dones.
Vino a mí la ternura que esperaba
y me acompańa la que lleva el beso
más profundo a mi boca.

No pudieron
apartarla de mí las tempestades
ni las distancias agregaron tierra
al espacio de amor que conquistamos.

Cuando antes del incendio, entre las mieses
de Espańa apareció tu vestidura,
yo fui doble nación, luz duplicada,
y la amargura resbaló en tu rostro
hasta caer sobre piedras perdidas.

De un gran dolor, de arpones erizados
desemboqué en tus aguas, amor mío,
como un caballo que galopa en medio
de la ira y la muerte, y lo recibe
de pronto una manzana matutina,
una cascada de temblor silvestre.

Desde entonces, amor, te conocieron
los páramos que hicieron mi conducta,
el océano oscuro que me sigue
y los castańos del Otońo inmenso.

żQuién no te vio, amorosa, dulce mía,
en la lucha, a mi lado, como una
aparición, con todas las seńales
de la estrella? żQuién, si anduvo
entre las multitudes a buscarme,
porque soy grano del granero humano,
no te encontró, apretada a mis raíces,
elevada en el canto de mi sangre?

No sé, mi amor, si tendré tiempo y sitio
de escribir otra vez tu sombra fina
extendida en mis páginas, esposa:
son duros estos días y radiantes,
y recogemos de ellos la dulzura
amasada con párpados y espinas.

Ya no sé recordar cuando comienzas:
estabas antes del amor,
venías con todas las esencias del destino,
y antes de ti, la soledad fue tuya,
fue tal vez tu dormida cabellera.

Hoy, copa de mi amor, te nombro apenas,
título de mis días, adorada,
y en el espacio ocupas como el día
toda la luz que tiene el universo.

[Lillith]

She walks in beauty, like the night


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!

Lord George Gordon Byron

[SQUAW]

I Am He



I am he
that cares too much
and allows this world to penetrate.
I am the man
that loves too deeply,
while others merely perpetrate.
Do you see this man
or the boy inside,
with emotions to great
and plentiful to hide?
They've shorn my hair
and crushed my pride.
Taken my land
and my wife from my side.
A man of honor,
whose spirit remains free
with love to give,
but finding none that need.
So take the hand
of a distant Crow child
and with the Spirit of my fathers,
the wolf will run wild.

Robert Ellis

[Kill Bill]

Beauty


I am as lovely as a dream in stone;
My breast on which each finds his death in turn
Inspires the poet with a love as lone
As everlasting clay, and as taciturn.
Swan-white of heart, as sphinx no mortal knows,
My throne is in the heaven's azure deep;
I hate all movement that disturbs my pose;
I smile not ever, neither do I weep.

Before my monumental attitudes,
Taken from the proudest plastic arts,
My poets pray in austere studious moods,

For I, to fold enchantment round their hearts,
Have pools of light where beauty flames and dies,
The placid mirrors of my luminous eyes.

Charles Baudelaire

[Meggy]

Ja ga vise volim u originalnoj verziji

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare

[Meggy]

Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot in sea and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey nonny, nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no more
Of dumps so dull and heavy,
The fraud of men was ever so,
Since summer first was leafy.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey nonny, nonny, nonny.

Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blithe and bonny,
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into hey nonny, nonny, nonny.



(from "Much Ado about Nothing" by William Shakespeare)

[Meggy]

Juliet: Romeo? Romeo? Oh Romeo! What's here? A cup clos'd in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end - Ah churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after - I will kiss thy lips. Haply, some poison yet doth hang on them, to make me die with a restorative. ( kisses him ) Thy lips are warm.

Noise off

Juliet: Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief - O happy dagger. This is thy sheath, there rust and let me die. Ouch.

She dies


(from "Romeo and Juliet" by William Shakespeare)

[Meggy]

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month-
Let me not think on't - Frailty, thy name is woman!
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears:-why she, even she-
O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer-married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules: within a month:
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not nor it cannot come to good:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.

__________________


To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.


(from "Hamlet" by William Shakespeare)