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Poetry Corner: Do you have any favourite poems? If so, share them here!
Thread poster: Paul Dixon
Mihaela Buruiana
Mihaela Buruiana  Identity Verified
Romania
Local time: 10:53
Member (2011)
English to Romanian
+ ...
Marin Sorescu May 4, 2011

It's been silence around here for a while, so I'm posting a poem by another favourite Romanian poet. First, the English version, then the Romanian original.
Enjoy!

Asking Too Much?
BY MARIN SORESCU
Translated by MICHAEL HAMBURGER

‘Suppose that, to give a few lectures,
daily you had to commute
between Heaven and Hell:
what would you take with you?’
... See more
It's been silence around here for a while, so I'm posting a poem by another favourite Romanian poet. First, the English version, then the Romanian original.
Enjoy!

Asking Too Much?
BY MARIN SORESCU
Translated by MICHAEL HAMBURGER

‘Suppose that, to give a few lectures,
daily you had to commute
between Heaven and Hell:
what would you take with you?’

‘A book, a bottle of wine and a woman, Lord.
Is that asking too much?’

‘Too much. We’ll cross out the woman,
she would involve you in conversations,
put ideas into your head,
and your preparation would suffer.’

‘I beseech you, cross out the book,
I’ll write it myself, Lord, if only
I have the bottle of wine and the woman.
That’s my wish and my need. Is it too much?’

‘You’re asking too much.
What, supposing that daily,
to give a few lectures, you had
to commute between Heaven and Hell, would
you take with you?’

‘A bottle of wine and a woman,
if I may make so free.’
‘That’s what you wanted before, don’t be obstinate,
it’s too much, as you know. We’ll cross out the woman.’

‘What do you have against her, why do you persecute her?
Cross out the bottle rather,
wine weakens me, almost leaves me unable
to draw from my loved one’s eyes
inspiration for those lectures.’

Silence, for minutes
or an eternity.
Respite. In which to forget.

‘Well, suppose that to give
a few lectures you had to commute
daily between Heaven and Hell:
what would you take with you?’

‘A woman, Lord, if I may make so free.’
‘You’re asking too much, we’ll cross out the woman.’
‘In that case cross out the lectures rather,
cross out Hell and Heaven for me,
it’s either all or nothing.
Useless and vain my commuting would be between Heaven
and Hell.
How could I even begin to frighten and awe
those poor creatures in Hell -
without teaching aid, the woman?
How strengthen the faith of the righteous in Heaven -
without the book’s exegesis?
How endure all the differences
in temperature, light and pressure
between Heaven and Hell
if I have no wine
on the way
to give me a bit of courage?’


Dacă nu cer prea mult
de Marin Sorescu

- Ce-ai lua cu tine,
Daca s-ar pune problema
Să faci zilnic naveta între rai şi iad,
Ca să ţii nişte cursuri?
- O carte, o sticlă cu vin şi-o femeie, Doamne,
Dacă nu-ţi cer prea mult.
- Ceri prea mult, îţi tăiem femeia,
Te-ar ţine de vorbă,
Ţi-ar împuia capul cu fleacuri
Şi n-ai avea timp să-ţi pregăteşti cursul.
- Te implor, taie-mi cartea,
O scriu eu, Doamne, dacă am lângă mine
O sticlă de vin şi-o femeie.
Asta aş dori, dacă nu cer prea mult.
- Ceri prea mult.
Ce-ai dori să iei cu tine,
Dacă s-ar pune problema
Să faci zilnic naveta între rai şi iad,
Ca să ţii nişte cursuri?
- O sticlă de vin şi-o femeie,
Dacă nu cer prea mult.
- Ai mai cerut asta o dată, de ce te încăpăţânezi,
E prea mult, ti-am spus, îţi tăiem femeia.
- Ce tot ai cu ea, ce atâta prigoană?
Mai bine tăiaţi-mi vinul,
Mă moleşeşte şi n-aş mai putea să-mi pregătesc cursul,
Inspirându-mă din ochii iubitei.
Tăcere, minute lungi,
Poate chiar veşnicii,
Lăsându-mi-se timp pentru uitare.
- Ce-ai dori să iei cu tine,
Dacă s-ar pune problema
Să faci zilnic naveta între rai şi iad,
Ca să ţii nişte cursuri?
- O femeie, Doamne, dacă nu cer prea mult.
- Ceri prea mult, îţi tăiem femeia.
- Atunci taie-mi mai bine cursurile,
Taie-mi iadul şi raiul,
Ori totul, ori nimic.
Aş face drumul dintre rai şi iad degeaba.
Cum să-i sperii şi să-i înfricoşez pe păcătoşii din iad,
Dacă n-am femeia, material didactic, să le-o arat?
Cum să-i înalţ pe drepţii din rai,
Dacă n-am cartea să le-o tălmăcesc?
Cum să suport eu drumul şi diferenţele
De temperatură, luminozitate şi presiune
Dintre rai şi iad,
Dacă n-am vinul să-mi dea curaj?
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expressisverbis
 
Mihaela Buruiana
Mihaela Buruiana  Identity Verified
Romania
Local time: 10:53
Member (2011)
English to Romanian
+ ...
Not So Friendly Aug 19, 2011

Not so friendly today,
are you, darling?
I, too, find myself
in a distant mood.
Maybe it's time
to take the long way home,
the back streets
where we will be assaulted
by thugs
because we are rich,
and spit on by old women
who don't like
your bare arms.
Then how about
caramel custard
In that place they know us?
Yes, I'm feeling better
about you, already.
I'm looking forward
to our whi
... See more
Not so friendly today,
are you, darling?
I, too, find myself
in a distant mood.
Maybe it's time
to take the long way home,
the back streets
where we will be assaulted
by thugs
because we are rich,
and spit on by old women
who don't like
your bare arms.
Then how about
caramel custard
In that place they know us?
Yes, I'm feeling better
about you, already.
I'm looking forward
to our white hotel room
where the two puppets
can be naked at last,
and in each other's arms,
surrender to the strings.


Leonard Cohen
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feet01
feet01
Local time: 09:53
Little Creature (Bubica) by Dobrisa Cesaric Sep 14, 2011

Little Creature
(Bubica)

Late at night, when I was reading Homer,
A little creature visited my book.
And so,
Harmless and small,
She suddenly appeared - among the gods.

My little creature, what you're doing here
(That was my thought) - while she was strolling between
Hexameters -
You're no god, nor a titan, nor a hero -
You're just a gentle smile of Mother Nature
Which ceases even before it appears.
... See more
Little Creature
(Bubica)

Late at night, when I was reading Homer,
A little creature visited my book.
And so,
Harmless and small,
She suddenly appeared - among the gods.

My little creature, what you're doing here
(That was my thought) - while she was strolling between
Hexameters -
You're no god, nor a titan, nor a hero -
You're just a gentle smile of Mother Nature
Which ceases even before it appears.

But it came to my mind: she's a piece
Of a life that is real -
And she's more lively
Than the whole Olympus!
And all of the sudden, little creature becomes significant
And gods - unimportant.
And strolling along with gods
She slowly entered into my poem.

My little creature, these verses will keep you
Like amber saves all other creatures
Which are found in it by chance
While it still was resin...


Dobriša Cesarić
(translated by feet01)

Explanation of the last stanza
(insects trapped/saved in amber):
http://hr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datoteka:Insects_in_baltic_amber.jpg

Original lyrics in Croatian
http://www.pticica.com/slike/bubica/301385

(Note. The poem is written without rhymes and translated without rhymes.)


[Edited at 2011-09-14 13:33 GMT]
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expressisverbis
 
P.L.F. Persio
P.L.F. Persio  Identity Verified
Netherlands
Local time: 09:53
Member (2010)
English to Italian
+ ...
Czesław Miłosz - Veni Creator Feb 7, 2012

Przyjdź, Duchu Święty,
zginając (albo nie zginając) trawy,
ukazując się (albo nie) nad głową językiem płomienia,
kiedy sianokosy albo kiedy na podorywkę wychodzi traktor
w dolinie orzechowych gajów, albo kiedy śniegi
przywalą jodły kalekie w Sierra Nevada.
Jestem człowiek tylko, więc potrzebuję widzialnych znaków,
nużę się prędko budowaniem schodów abstrakcji.
Prosiłem nieraz, wiesz sam, żeby figura w kościele
podn
... See more
Przyjdź, Duchu Święty,
zginając (albo nie zginając) trawy,
ukazując się (albo nie) nad głową językiem płomienia,
kiedy sianokosy albo kiedy na podorywkę wychodzi traktor
w dolinie orzechowych gajów, albo kiedy śniegi
przywalą jodły kalekie w Sierra Nevada.
Jestem człowiek tylko, więc potrzebuję widzialnych znaków,
nużę się prędko budowaniem schodów abstrakcji.
Prosiłem nieraz, wiesz sam, żeby figura w kościele
podniosła dla mnie rękę, raz jeden, jedyny.
Ale rozumiem że znaki mogą być tylko ludzkie.
Zbudź więc jednego człowieka, gdziekolwiek na ziemi
(nie mnie, bo jednak znam co przyzwoitość)
i pozwól, abym patrząc na niego podziwiać mogł Ciebie.

TRANSLATED BY CZESŁAW MIŁOSZ AND ROBERT PINSKY

Come, Holy Spirit,
bending or not bending the grasses,
appearing or not above our heads in a tongue of flame,
at hay harvest or when they plough in the orchards or when snow
covers crippled firs in the Sierra Nevada.
I am only a man: I need visible signs.
I tire easily, building the stairway of abstraction.
Many a time I asked, you know it well, that the statue in church
lifts its hand, only once, just once, for me.
But I understand that signs must be human,
therefore call one man, anywhere on earth,
not me—after all I have some decency—
and allow me, when I look at him, to marvel at you.
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expressisverbis
 
P.L.F. Persio
P.L.F. Persio  Identity Verified
Netherlands
Local time: 09:53
Member (2010)
English to Italian
+ ...
Boris Pasternak - ЗИМНЯЯ НОЧЬ (Winter Night) Feb 8, 2012

Мело, мело по всей земле
Во все пределы.
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

Как летом роем мошкара
Летит на пламя,
Слетались хлопья со двора
К оконной раме.

Метель лепила на стекле
Кружки и стрелы.
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горел
... See more
Мело, мело по всей земле
Во все пределы.
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

Как летом роем мошкара
Летит на пламя,
Слетались хлопья со двора
К оконной раме.

Метель лепила на стекле
Кружки и стрелы.
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

На озаренный потолок
Ложились тени,
Скрещенья рук, скрещенья ног,
Судьбы скрещенья.

И падали два башмачка
Со стуком на пол.
И воск слезами с ночника
На платье капал.

И все терялось в снежной мгле
Седой и белой.
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

На свечку дуло из угла,
И жар соблазна
Вздымал, как ангел, два крыла
Крестообразно.

Мело весь месяц в феврале,
И то и дело
Свеча горела на столе,
Свеча горела.

Winter Night

And far and near blizzards raced,
To every endland.
A burning candle lit the place,
A burning candle.

As to a swarm of summer moth
Are flame and glow,
The window attractive was
To flakes of snow.

Grew on the pane frost-molded quilt
Of arcs and angles.
A candle lit the desk and quill,
A burning candle.

On the enlightened ceiling easel
Fell shapes retracing
Entangled arms, entangled knees,
Fates interlacing.

And thuddingly two little shoes
Were dropping down,
And wax in tears, heat-melted lose,
Dripped on the gown.

And melted all in silver gloom,
Obscure and swirling.
A burning candle lit the room,
A candle burning.

The light would swing in draft, and change,
And passions stormy
Spread their wings, like an archangel,
Cruciformly.

That winter, blizzards held the pace,
And calls returning,
A burning candle lit the place,
A candle burning.

Translation by Alexander Givental
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P.L.F. Persio
P.L.F. Persio  Identity Verified
Netherlands
Local time: 09:53
Member (2010)
English to Italian
+ ...
Guillaume Colletet - Contre la traduction Feb 8, 2012

Unfortunately, I couldn't find an English version of this "invective" against translation.

C'est trop m'assujettir, je suis las d'imiter,
La version déplaît à qui peut inventer,
Je suis plus amoureux d'un Vers que je compose,
Que des Livres entiers que j'ay traduites en Prose.
Suivre comme un esclave un Autheur pas à pas,
Chercher de la raison où l'on n'en trouve pas,
Distiller son Esprit sur chaque période,
Faire d'un vieux Latin du F
... See more
Unfortunately, I couldn't find an English version of this "invective" against translation.

C'est trop m'assujettir, je suis las d'imiter,
La version déplaît à qui peut inventer,
Je suis plus amoureux d'un Vers que je compose,
Que des Livres entiers que j'ay traduites en Prose.
Suivre comme un esclave un Autheur pas à pas,
Chercher de la raison où l'on n'en trouve pas,
Distiller son Esprit sur chaque période,
Faire d'un vieux Latin du François à la mode,
Eplucher chaque mot comme un Grammairien,
Voir ce qui le rend mal, ou ce qui le rend bien;
Faire d'un sens confus une raison subtile,
Joindre au discours qui sert un langage inutile,
Parler asseurement de ce qu'on sait le moins,
Rendre de ses erreurs tous les Doctes témoins,
Et vouloir bien souvent par un caprice extrême
Entendre qui jamais ne s'entendit soi-même;
Certes, c'est un travail dont je suis si lassé,
Que j'en ay le corps foible, & l'esprit émoussé.
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expressisverbis
 
Halil Ibrahim Tutuncuoglu
Halil Ibrahim Tutuncuoglu "Бёcäטsع Լîfe's cômplicåtعd eñøugh"
Türkiye
Local time: 11:53
Turkish to English
+ ...
Two poems from Rumi (my great grandfather) Feb 9, 2012

Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of living, it doesn't matter
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come even if you have broken your vow a thousand times,
Come, yet again, come, come.


Come, come again, whoever you are, come!
Heathen, fire worshipper or idolatrous, come!
Come even if you broke your penitence a hundred times,
Ours is the portal of hope, come as you are.
----------------------------------------
... See more
Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of living, it doesn't matter
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come even if you have broken your vow a thousand times,
Come, yet again, come, come.


Come, come again, whoever you are, come!
Heathen, fire worshipper or idolatrous, come!
Come even if you broke your penitence a hundred times,
Ours is the portal of hope, come as you are.
-------------------------------------------------------

Not Christian or Jew or
Muslim, not Hindu,
Buddhist, Sufi, or Zen.
Not any religion

or cultural system. I am
not from the east
or the west, not
out of the ocean or up

from the ground, not
natural or ethereal, not
composed of elements at all.
I do not exist,

am not an entity in this
world or the next,
did not descend from
Adam and Eve or any

origin story. My place is
the placeless, a trace
of the traceless.
Neither body or soul.

I belong to the beloved,
have seen the two
worlds as one and
that one
call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner,
only that breath breathing

human being.
------------------------------------------------------------------
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expressisverbis
Zeineb Nalouti
 
Paul Dixon
Paul Dixon  Identity Verified
Brazil
Local time: 05:53
Portuguese to English
+ ...
TOPIC STARTER
Something from Brazil Feb 9, 2012

I would now like to post a famous Brazilian poem, as I have just noticed I haven't posted anything in Portuguese. The translation (supplied by Wikipedia) follows:

CANÇÃO DO EXÍLIO
By Gonçalves Dias (1823 - 1864)

Minha terra tem palmeiras,
Onde canta o sabiá.
As aves que aqui gorjeiam
Não gorjeiam como lá.
Nosso céu tem mais estrelas,
Nossas várzeas têm mais flores.
Nossos bosques têm mais vida,
Nossa vida mais a
... See more
I would now like to post a famous Brazilian poem, as I have just noticed I haven't posted anything in Portuguese. The translation (supplied by Wikipedia) follows:

CANÇÃO DO EXÍLIO
By Gonçalves Dias (1823 - 1864)

Minha terra tem palmeiras,
Onde canta o sabiá.
As aves que aqui gorjeiam
Não gorjeiam como lá.
Nosso céu tem mais estrelas,
Nossas várzeas têm mais flores.
Nossos bosques têm mais vida,
Nossa vida mais amores.
Em cismar, sozinho, à noite,
Mais prazer encontro eu lá.
Minha terra tem palmeiras,
Onde canta o sabiá.
Minha terra tem primores
Que tais não encontro eu cá;
Em cismar — sozinho, à noite —
Mais prazer encontro eu lá.
Minha terra tem palmeiras,
Onde canta o sabiá.
Não permita Deus que eu morra
Sem que eu volte para lá;
Sem que desfrute os primores
Que não encontro por cá;
Sem qu'inda aviste as palmeiras
Onde canta o sabiá.

English translation as supplied by Wikipedia:

SONG OF EXILE

My land has palm trees,
Where the thrush sings.
The birds that sing in here
Do not sing as they do there.
Our skies have more stars,
Our valleys have more flowers.
Our forests have more life,
Our lives have more loves.
In dreaming, alone, at night,
I find more pleasure there.
My land has palm trees
Where the thrush sings.
My land has beauties
Who cannot be found in here;
In dreaming — alone, at night —
I find more pleasure there.
My land has palm trees,
Where the thrush sings.
May God never allow
That I die before I return;
That I do not see the beauties
That I cannot find in here;
That I do not see the palm trees
Where the thrush sings.
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expressisverbis
 
P.L.F. Persio
P.L.F. Persio  Identity Verified
Netherlands
Local time: 09:53
Member (2010)
English to Italian
+ ...
Great job, Jack, thank you! Feb 9, 2012

Jack Doughty wrote:

(...)
Following George Hopkins' example, here is a favourite Russian poem and my translation of it.

ОН НЕ ВЕРНУЛСЯ ИЗ БОЯ

Владимир Высоцкий

Почему всё не так? Вроде всё как всегда:
То же небо, опять голубое,
тот же лес, тот же воздух и та же вода,
только он не вернулся из боя.

Мне теперь не понять, кто же прав был из нас,
в наших спорах без сна и покоя.
Мне не стало хватать его только сейчас,
когда он не вернулся из боя.

Он молчал невпопад и не в такт подпевал,
он всегда говорил про другое,
Он мне спать не давал, он с восходом вставал,
а вчера не вернулся из боя.

То, что пусто теперь, не про то разговор:
Вдруг заметил я – нас было двое...
Для меня словно ветром задуло костёр,
когда он не вернулся из боя.

Нынче вырвалась, будьто из плена, весна,
по ошибке окликнул его я:
«Друг, оставь покурить», - а в ответ – тишина...
Он вчера не вернулся из боя.

Наши мёртвые нас не оставят в беде.
Наши павшие – как часовые...
Отражается небо в лесу, как в воде,
И деревья стоят голубые.

Нам и места в землянке хватало вполне,
Нам и время текло для обоих...
Всё теперь одному, только кажется мне,
это я не вернулся из боя.


HE DIDN’T RETURN FROM THE BATTLE

Why is everything wrong? Yet it seems just as fine:
The same sky, just as blue as before;
The same air, the same water, same forest of pine -
But he didn't come back from the war.

Who was right, who was wrong, I have no idea now,
In our ongoing quarrels and faction.
They wearied me then, now I long for a row,
Since he's been posted missing in action.

He'd go suddenly quiet. He would sing out of tune,
And his voice had a harsh kind of rattle.
He would keep me awake, then he'd get up too soon -
But he didn't return from the battle.

The loneliness isn't just all it's about.
I've just realised, we two made a pair.
It's as if the wind suddenly blew the fire out,
Now I know that he's no longer there.

With the spring blooming out now, in colourful riot,
I called him this morning, forgetting.
"Hey, leave me a dog-end!" No answer. Dead quiet -
For he didn't come back from the fighting.

Our dead will not leave us behind in the lurch.
The fallen still guard us forever.
The trees reach aloft like the nave of a church -
But my friend will return to me never.

There is plenty of room in the dugout below,
But it's time for us both now to yield.
I've the place to myself, yet I feel that I know
It is I who was killed in that field.




 
P.L.F. Persio
P.L.F. Persio  Identity Verified
Netherlands
Local time: 09:53
Member (2010)
English to Italian
+ ...
The Second Coming, an unsettlingly topical poem Sep 23, 2020

Amy Duncan (X) wrote:

by William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


Mervyn Henderson (X)
 
Mervyn Henderson (X)
Mervyn Henderson (X)  Identity Verified
Spain
Local time: 09:53
Spanish to English
+ ...
Percy French Sep 23, 2020

My mother used to recite this one, and I found it so funny as a kid that I learned it too. It's supposedly Queen Victoria talking to Zetland on how to treat the Paddies, but the "narrator" reports, pronounces and spells it in the vernacular:


THE QUEEN’S ADVICE TO LORD ZETLAND BEFORE STARTING FOR IRELAND

(as Overheard and Reported by Larry Flynn, Waiter)

“See here, me lord,” sez she,
“Ye’ll find it hard,” sez she,
“To play ye
... See more
My mother used to recite this one, and I found it so funny as a kid that I learned it too. It's supposedly Queen Victoria talking to Zetland on how to treat the Paddies, but the "narrator" reports, pronounces and spells it in the vernacular:


THE QUEEN’S ADVICE TO LORD ZETLAND BEFORE STARTING FOR IRELAND

(as Overheard and Reported by Larry Flynn, Waiter)

“See here, me lord,” sez she,
“Ye’ll find it hard,” sez she,
“To play yer card,” sez she,
“So I’ll give ye the tip,” sez she,
“Before ye thrip,” sez she.
“Take yer mackintoshes,” sez she,
“And yer ould galoshes,” sez she,
“For it’s raining there,” sez she,
“If it rains anywhere,” sez she.
“Ye’ll meet with ovations,” sez she,
“And orations,” sez she,
“So have yer reply,” sez she,
“All cut and dhry,” sez she.
“Remark out loud,” sez she,
“Yer dreadful proud,” sez she,
“At being sent,” sez she
“To represent,” sez she,
“This glorious land,” sez she.
“Augh, I’m not too clever,” sez he,
“But I’ll do me endeavour,” sez he.
“Take a party down,” sez she
“To Punchestown,” sez she,
“And give a ball,” sez she,
“In St Patrick’s Hall,” sez she:
“Or maybe two,” sez she,
“For one mightn’t do,” sez she,
“And Merrion Square,” sez she,
“Just mightn’t care,” sez she,
“To be goin’ till supper,” sez she,
“Wid the Baggot Street Upper,” sez she.
“Don’t be axin’ for ale,” sez she,
“At yer midday male,” sez she.
“Make a lot of J.P.’s,” sez she,
“‘Tis a cheap way to please,” sez she,
“And sometimes an R.M.,” sez she,
“But not many of them,” sez she.
“Then open bazaars,” sez she.
“Bless me stars,” sez he,
“That’s not much fun,” sez he,
“When all's said and done,” sez he.
“Hould on, asthore,” sez she,
“There’s a trifle more,” sez she,
“You know, I presume,” sez she,
“At the drawing room,” sez she,
“There’s many a miss,” sez she,
“Ye’ll have to kiss,” sez she.
“That’s not so bad,” sez he.
“Oh, ho! Yer a lad,” sez she.
“I mean for to say,” says he,
“In a fatherly way,” sez he.
“Go home, ye ould sinner,” sez she,
“I must order me dinner,” sez she.
“Remember and steer,” sez she,
“Uncommonly clear,” sez she.
“I know what you mean,” sez he,
“Betwixt and between,” sez he.
“Up wid the green,” sez he,
“And ‘God Save the Queen’,” sez he.


[Edited at 2020-09-23 17:36 GMT]
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expressisverbis
P.L.F. Persio
 
expressisverbis
expressisverbis
Portugal
Local time: 08:53
Member (2015)
English to Portuguese
+ ...
Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen (Porque / Because) Sep 23, 2020

«Porque

Porque os outros se mascaram mas tu não

Porque os outros usam a virtude

Para comprar o que não tem perdão.

Porque os outros têm medo mas tu não.

Porque os outros são os túmulos caiados

Onde germina calada a podridão.

Porque os outros se calam mas tu não.

Porque os outros se compram e se vendem

E os seus gestos dão sempre dividendo.

Porque os outros
... See more
«Porque

Porque os outros se mascaram mas tu não

Porque os outros usam a virtude

Para comprar o que não tem perdão.

Porque os outros têm medo mas tu não.

Porque os outros são os túmulos caiados

Onde germina calada a podridão.

Porque os outros se calam mas tu não.

Porque os outros se compram e se vendem

E os seus gestos dão sempre dividendo.

Porque os outros são hábeis mas tu não.

Porque os outros vão à sombra dos abrigos

E tu vais de mãos dadas com os perigos.

Porque os outros calculam mas tu não.»

English translation provided here:
https://thebookswelove.wordpress.com/2013/12/08/poems-terror-de-te-amar-and-porque-by-sophia-de-mello-breyner-andresen/

"Because

Because others mask themselves, but you don’t

Because others use virtue

To buy what is unforgivable.

Because others are afraid but you aren’t.

Because others are the whitewashed tombs

Where rot silently germinates.

Because others fall silent but not you.

Because others buy and sell themselves

And their gestures always give dividend.

Because others are cunning but not you.

Because others take shelter

And you’re going hand in hand with dangers.

Because others estimate but not you."


Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen was born in Porto and she had Danish ancestry.
She is one of my favourite poets/writers.
(I need to read all these poems posted in this thread!)
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Mervyn Henderson (X)
P.L.F. Persio
 
Mervyn Henderson (X)
Mervyn Henderson (X)  Identity Verified
Spain
Local time: 09:53
Spanish to English
+ ...
And ... Sep 23, 2020

This is no more than a pathetic attempt to sign off the four uppermost threads, but it's John Cooper Clarke with Evidently Chicken Town. This was the version he was allowed to recite in polite circles. "Bloody" was replaced in other circles (he said it was a more satisfying "staccato" beat) with a word that rhymes with "mucking":

The bloody cops are bloody keen
To bloody keep it bloody clean
The bloody chief's a bloody swine
Who bloody draws a bloody line
At
... See more
This is no more than a pathetic attempt to sign off the four uppermost threads, but it's John Cooper Clarke with Evidently Chicken Town. This was the version he was allowed to recite in polite circles. "Bloody" was replaced in other circles (he said it was a more satisfying "staccato" beat) with a word that rhymes with "mucking":

The bloody cops are bloody keen
To bloody keep it bloody clean
The bloody chief's a bloody swine
Who bloody draws a bloody line
At bloody fun and bloody games
The bloody kids he bloody blames
Are nowhere to be bloody found
Anywhere in chicken town
The bloody scene is bloody sad
The bloody news is bloody bad
The bloody weed is bloody turf
The bloody speed is bloody surf
The bloody folks are bloody daft
Don't bloody make me bloody laugh
It bloody hurts to look around
Everywhere in chicken town
The bloody train is bloody late
You bloody wait, you bloody wait
You're bloody lost and bloody found
Stuck in bloody chicken town
The bloody view is bloody vile
For bloody miles and bloody miles
The bloody babies bloody cry
The bloody flowers bloody die
The bloody food is bloody muck
The bloody drains are bloody fucked
The colour scheme is bloody brown
Everywhere in chicken town
The bloody pubs are bloody dull
The bloody clubs are bloody full
Of bloody girls and bloody guys
With bloody murder in their eyes
A bloody bloke is bloody stabbed
Waiting for a bloody cab
You bloody stay at bloody home
The bloody neighbors bloody moan
"Keep the bloody racket down!"
This is bloody chicken town
The bloody pies are bloody old
The bloody chips are bloody cold
The bloody beer is bloody flat
The bloody flats have bloody rats
The bloody clocks are bloody wrong
The bloody days are bloody long
It bloody gets you bloody down
Evidently chicken town
The bloody train is bloody late
You bloody wait you bloody wait
You're bloody lost and bloody found
Stuck in bloody chicken town

Four threads! I did it! 20:50 h on Wednesday 23 September. Beat that. If only I had an opinion on that XTM Cloud CAT Tool thread lower down. But I don't.

[Edited at 2020-09-23 18:51 GMT]

[Edited at 2020-09-23 18:52 GMT]

[Edited at 2020-09-23 18:57 GMT]

[Edited at 2020-09-23 18:59 GMT]
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expressisverbis
P.L.F. Persio
 
expressisverbis
expressisverbis
Portugal
Local time: 08:53
Member (2015)
English to Portuguese
+ ...
A nice corner! Thanks! Sep 23, 2020

I am still reading the second page of this beautiful poem book!

P.L.F. Persio
 
Helena Chavarria
Helena Chavarria  Identity Verified
Spain
Local time: 09:53
Member (2011)
Spanish to English
+ ...
One of my childhood favourites Sep 23, 2020

Hilaire Belloc
Tarantella
(1929)
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the
... See more
Hilaire Belloc
Tarantella
(1929)
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteeers
Who hadn't got a penny,
And who weren't paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of a clapper to the spin
Out and in --
And the Ting, Tong, Tang, of the Guitar.
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
Never more;
Miranda,
Never more.
Only the high peaks hoar:
And Aragon a torrent at the door.
No sound
In the walls of the Halls where falls
The tread
Of the feet of the dead to the ground
No sound:
But the boom
Of the far Waterfall like Doom.

The Miranda of Hilaire Belloc's "Tarantella" is Miranda Mackintosh whom Belloc met at an inn in the Pyrenean hamlet of Canranc on the River Aragon in 1909. The poem, written twenty years later, was a New Year's present to the Scottish Miranda. The holograph copy is inscribed: "For Miranda: New Year's 1929."
The tarantella is a dance (for two) that is supposed to be brought on by the intoxication induced by the sting of the tarantula, which is similar to that induced by falling in love.
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expressisverbis
P.L.F. Persio
 
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