Sunday, February 14, 2016

Preghiere per i morti del mare

Mare di Dio, che sceveri le sorti
dei combattenti nella sacra guerra,
io ti prego: non rendere i tuoi morti,
Mare, alla terra;
 
5non rendere i cadaveri che il sale
macera, né l’ossame che tra flutto
e flutto imbianca, al lido, o Sepolcrale,
e al nostro lutto;

ma sì, nel gorgo acerbo come il pianto
10fùnebre, tieni le profonde some
perché noi più t’amiamo e a noi più santo
duri il tuo nome;

ma sì tieni le spoglie nell’intorto
abisso pari al nostro amor rapace,
15perché non sia rifugio in te né porto
in te né pace

in te né tregua né salute a noi
alcuna se la servitù non cessi
e in te Roma non chiami i glauchi eroi
20al Resurressi.

Miseri eroi, non caddero sul ponte
della nave, gioiosi di battaglia,
in un sangue perenne come fonte
che non s’accaglia;
 
25non udirono, sotto la bufera
del fuoco, nel rossore che non stagna,
stridere contro l’asta la bandiera
quasi grifagna,

non lassù, dalla ferrea rembata
30che folgora, la scorsero con gli arsi
cigli come Vittoria catenata
lassù squassarsi;

né s’accosciaron presso i tubi, quando
nel capo chiuso dentro la sonora
35cuffia d’un tratto rombano comando
e morte, a prora;

né, travaglio dell’orrido beccaio
che pesta e insacca, furon carne trita
da rempiere la gola del mortaio
40ammutolita;

né, dato in brocca il fulmine coperto
contro il nemico enorme, solitaria
vider l’elice folle in cima all’erto
scafo nell’aria
 
45e irsuta l’onda, delle mille braccia
invan tese da un sol terrore urlante,
prima d’inabissarsi senza traccia
presso il gigante.

Ma l’insidia li colse, ma l’agguato
50li pigliò, nell’immensa albàsia eguale:
ruppe il fianco, la piaga nel costato
aprì, mortale;

di sùbito colcò pel sonno eterno
la bella nave, dandole carena
55come a racconcio, sotto il lungo scherno
della sirena;

e l’acciaio temprato a gran martello
fu cosa ignuda come vil tritume,
sopra l’acque di Dio men che fuscello,
60men che le spume.

Or repente un miracolo divino
percote l’acque. Il sol rompe la nube?
fa d’ogni flutto un branco leonino
di rosse giube?
 
65Chi squarcia la foschìa dell’imminente
morte? Si leva un giorno di beata
porpora? Esulta tutto l’oriente,
e un’ora è nata?

Né fulvo branco di leoni balza,
70né s’inarca fulgore di sovrana
porpora. Sola su la morte s’alza
l’anima umana.

Sola alla morte l’anima sovrasta
congiunta ancóra al carcere dell’ossa
75come fuoco si radica in catasta
a prender possa.

Uomini vivi, saldi sul tallone,
non in coperta ma lungh’esso il bordo
dileguante con l’ultimo cannone
80nel succhio sordo,

diritti come se facesser ala
ad ammiraglio in nave pavesata,
diritti come sotto la gran gala
schiera ordinata,
 
85gittano al cielo un grido così forte
che ferisce le cime dell’ardore,
e sforzano a sorridere la Morte
che mai non muore.

O Vittoria, alta vergine severa,
90or quando vinci se non vinci in questa
fine? Dove più sfolgori, o guerriera?
in quale gesta?

E qual madre, qual dolce madre o suora,
che tu le renda le profonde salme
95osa pregarti, o Mare dell’aurora,
giunte le palme?

Chi lungo i lidi tuoi, Mare dei prodi,
erra con entro il cor l’esangue vólto,
sperando che nel cor l’ombra gli approdi
100dell’insepolto?

Mare di Dio, le vittime che celi
tu non rendi, né odi le querele
dei sùpplici; ma duri ai tuoi fedeli
tomba fedele,
 
105ma conservi le spoglie nell’intorto
abisso pari al nostro amor rapace,
perché non sia rifugio in te né porto
in te né pace

in te né tregua né salute a noi
110alcuna se la servitù non cessi
e in te Roma non chiami i glauchi eroi
al Resurressi.



-Gabrielle D'Annunzio


Saturday, February 13, 2016

Lendo Hamlet

Um terreno baldio, vizinho ao cemitérioe atrás um rio que faiscava azulDisseste: "Vá, vá, entrai para um conventoou casai-vos com um tolo..."Era dessas coisas que príncipes dizemmas são as palavras que guardamos.Que escorram por cem séculos em seguidacomo um régio manto de seus ombros.
-Anna Akhmatova (trad. Tiago Thuin) 


A barren patch to the right of the cemetery,
behind it a river flashing blue.
You said: “All right then, get thee to a nunnery,
or go get married to a fool…”
It was the sort of thing that princes always say,
but these are the words that one remembers.
May they flow a hundred centuries in a row
like an ermine mantle from his shoulders.

-Anna Akhmatova (trad. Stanley Kunitz)

У кладбища направо пылил пустырь,
А за ним голубела река.
Ты сказал мне: "Ну что ж, иди в монастырь
Или замуж за дурака..."
Принцы только такое всегда говорят,
Но я эту запомнила речь,-
Пусть струится она сто веков подряд
Горностаевой мантией с плеч.

Friday, February 12, 2016

Mr Darcy

In the end she just wanted the house
               and a horse not much more what
       if  he didn’t own the house or worse
                       not even a horse how do we

separate the things from a man the man from
               the things is a man still the same
       without his reins here it rains every fifteen
                       minutes it would be foolish to

marry a man without an umbrella did
               Cinderella really love the prince or
       just the prints on the curtains in the
                       ballroom once I went window-

shopping but I didn’t want a window when
               do you know it’s time to get a new
       man one who can win more things at the
                       fair I already have four stuffed

pandas from the fair I won fair and square
               is it time to be less square to wear
       something more revealing in North and
                       South she does the dealing gives him

the money in the end but she falls in love
               with him when he has the money when
       he is still running away if the water is
                       running in the other room is it wrong

for me to not want to chase it because it owns
               nothing else when I wave to a man I
       love what happens when another man with
                       a lot more bags waves back


-Victoria Chang

Thursday, February 11, 2016

Harlem Hopscotch

One foot down, then hop! It's hot.
          Good things for the ones that's got.
Another jump, now to the left.
          Everybody for hisself.

In the air, now both feet down.
         Since you black, don't stick around.
Food is gone, the rent is due,
          Curse and cry and then jump two.

All the people out of work,
         Hold for three, then twist and jerk.
Cross the line, they count you out.
          That's what hopping's all about.

Both feet flat, the game is done.
They think I lost. I think I won.

-Maya Angelou

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Início do Popol Vuh


Esta es la relación de cómo

todo estaba en suspenso,
todo en calma,
   en silencio;
todo inmóvil,
callado,
  y vacía la extensión del cielo




Are utzijoxik wa‘e

k‘a katz‘ininoq,
k‘a kachamamoq,
  katz‘inonik,
k‘a kasilanik,
k‘a kalolinik,
  katolona puch upa ka

Monday, February 08, 2016

Ballade des dames du temps jadis

Dites-moi, où et en quel pays
Est Flora, la belle romaine,Alcibiade et ThaïsQui fut sa cousine germaine ?La nymphe Écho, qui parle quant on fait du bruitAu-dessus d'une rivière ou d'un étangEt eut une beauté surhumaine ?Mais où sont les neiges d'antan ?


Où est la très savante HéloïsePour qui fut émasculé puis se fit moinePierre Abélard à Saint-Denis ?C'est pour son amour qu'il souffrit cette mutilation.De même, où est la reineQui ordonna que BuridanFût enfermé dans un sac et jeté à la Seine ?Mais où sont les neiges d'antan ?


La reine blanche comme un lysQui chantait comme une sirène,Berthe au Grand Pied, Béatrice, Alix,Arembour qui gouverna le Maine,Et Jeanne, la bonne lorraineQue les Anglais brûlèrent à Rouen,Où sont-elles, Vierge souveraine ?Mais où sont les neiges d'antan ?



ENVOIPrince, gardez-vous de demander, cette semaineOu cette année, où elles sont,De crainte qu'on ne vous rappelle ce refrain :Mais où sont les neiges d'antan ?




- François Villon







































Dictes moy ou, n'en quel pays,
Est Flora, la belle Rommaine,
Archipiades, ne Thaïs,
Qui fut sa cousine germaine,
Écho parlant quand bruyt on maine
Dessus riviere ou sus estan,
Qui beaulté ot trop plus qu'humaine.
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan ?

Ou est la très sage Hellois
Pour qui chastré fut et puis moyne
Pierre Esbaillart a Saint Denis ?
Pour son amour ot ceste essoyne.
Semblablement, ou est la royne
Qui commanda que Buridan
Fust geté en ung sac en Saine ?
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan ?

La royne Blanche
 comme lis
Qui chantoit a voix de seraine,
Berte au grant piéBietrisAlis,
Haremburgis qui tint le Maine,
Et Jehanne la bonne Lorraine,
Qu'Englois brulerent a Rouan,
Ou sont ilz, Vierge souveraine ?
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan ?

ENVOI
Princes, n'enquerez de sepmaine
Ou elles sont, ne de cest an,
Qu'a ce reffrain ne vous remaine :
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan ?




Sunday, February 07, 2016

Os Castelos: Dom Diniz

Na noite escreve um seu Cantar de Amigo
O plantador de naus a haver,E ouve um silêncio múrmuro consigo:É o rumor dos pinhais que, como um trigoDe Império, ondulam sem se poder ver.

Arroio, esse cantar, jovem e puro,Busca o oceano por achar;E a fala dos pinhais, marulho obscuro,É o som presente desse mar futuro,É a voz da terra ansiando pelo mar.


- Fernando Pessoa

Saturday, February 06, 2016

O Mar

Olhai: o Mar tem influência singular
Sobre mim. Os animais aquáticos são tantos!
Valia a pena persegui-los no mar alto;
Valia a pena vê-los saltar através das ondas.

O Mar, esse mundo que os homens não habitam,
É imenso, tão belo e tão perfeito!
O Mar tem influência singular
Sobre mim. Eu bem queria ir ver as ondas:

Valia a pena olhá-las a correr
Loucamente; valia a pena
Ver qual delas primeiro entrava na baía.

Ah! o Mar vasto, no entanto, aqui nos fala
Sim, fala-nos interiormente
E nós compreendemos a sua língua:
É uma língua que se entende.

(Ah!, que impressão nos faz o Mar!)

- António Batican Ferreira

Friday, February 05, 2016

He, who was born in stagnant year


He, who was born in stagnant year 
Does not remember own way.
We, kids of Russia's years of fear,
Remember every night and day.

Years that burned everything to ashes!
Do you bring madness or grace?
The war's and freedom's fire flashes
Left bloody light on every face. 

We are struck dumb: the tocsin's pressure
Has made us tightly close lips.
In living hearts, once full of pleasure,
The fateful desert now sleeps.

And let the crying ravens soar 
Right over our death-bed,
May those who were striving more, 
O God, behold Thy Kingdom's Great!      


-Aleksandr Blok (trad. Yevgeny Bonver) 





Рожденные в года глухие
Пути не помнят своего.
Мы - дети страшных лет России -
Забыть не в силах ничего.

Испепеляющие годы!
Безумья ль в вас, надежды ль весть?
От дней войны, от дней свободы -
Кровавый отсвет в лицах есть.

Есть немота - то гул набата
Заставил заградить уста.
В сердцах, восторженных когда-то,
Есть роковая пустота.

И пусть над нашим смертным ложем
Взовьется с криком воронье, -
Те, кто достойней, Боже, Боже,
Да узрят царствие твое!

Thursday, February 04, 2016

The keyhole

Destruction may be the result  – A silver key
Put to a dark place
Something crumbled
Said a voice
A staircase of atonal music
Me falling asleep
Longingly – Scenting a fragrance for the first time
Face up – I think I may well bloom


On insertion – Deep inside – Softly
Enter
Tumbling down
The discarded key – Or perhaps
Round the nape of a peacock’s neck – Arms entwine

- Chiyo Kitahara (trad. Michael Huissen) 


破壊をもたらすかもしれない しろがねのキイを
くらいところにあてがう

さしこむと 奥のほうで やわらかに
くずおれるものがあった

お入りなさい
声は言った

無調音楽の階段を
ころがりおちていくのは
棄てたキイ それとも
眠りにおちていくわたし

孔雀のえりあしに うでをからませる
なつかしく はじめての匂いを嗅ぎながら
あおむけに 咲いてしまうかもしれないとおもう

Wednesday, February 03, 2016

As I walked out one evening

As I walked out one evening,
   Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
   Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
   I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
   ‘Love has no ending.

‘I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
   Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
   And the salmon sing in the street,

‘I’ll love you till the ocean
   Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
   Like geese about the sky.

‘The years shall run like rabbits,
   For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
   And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
   Began to whirr and chime:
‘O let not Time deceive you,
   You cannot conquer Time.

‘In the burrows of the Nightmare
   Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
   And coughs when you would kiss.

‘In headaches and in worry
   Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
   To-morrow or to-day.

‘Into many a green valley
   Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
   And the diver’s brilliant bow.

‘O plunge your hands in water,
   Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
   And wonder what you’ve missed.

‘The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
   The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
   A lane to the land of the dead.

‘Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
   And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
   And Jill goes down on her back.

‘O look, look in the mirror,
   O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
   Although you cannot bless.

‘O stand, stand at the window
   As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
   With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
   The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
   And the deep river ran on. 

- WH Auden