Poet's Corner

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Chroelle
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Post by Chroelle »

That made me remember that I was once writing a book about a freelance photographer who generally just lived his life, but very much so though his emotions. Every new chapter evolved around an emotion. For example lust, where he meets a girl, regret, when he has to dump her, and so on. I cant seem to find it now. It was written in hand instead of on a computer. Seemed more right to do it that way.
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Post by eMTe »

Found another Herbert's poem translated into English, good someone did it for me. :-]

A KNOCKER

There are those who grow
gardens in their heads
paths lead from their hair
to sunny and white cities

it's easy for them to write
they close their eyes
immediately schools of images
stream down their foreheads

my imagination
is a piece of board
my sole instrument
is a wooden stick

I strike the board
it answers me
yes-yes
no-no

for others the green bell of a tree
the blue bell of water
I have a knocker
from unprotected gardens

I thump on the board
and it prompts me
with the moralists dry poem
yes-yes
no-no
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Post by eMTe »

Great translation with almost fully saved original's rhythm.

NOTHING TWICE

Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.

Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.

No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with exactly the same kisses.

One day, perhaps, some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.

The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?

Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.

Wisława Szymborska
"As you have noticed over the years, we are not angry people." (itebygur)
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Post by Chroelle »

Beautiful. And yes the rhytm is good, even though I cant say wether it kept the original. Most times you see some slips when it comes to translations.
It is rather Carpe Diem-themed I would say. :D
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Post by eMTe »

More of Szymborska:

---

THE RAILROAD STATION

My nonarrival in the city of N.
took place on the dot.

You'd been alerted
in my unmailed letter.

You were able not to be there
at the agreed-upon time.

The train pulled up at Platform 3.
A lot of people got out.

My absence joined the throng
as it made its way toward the exit.

Several women rushed
to take my place
in all that rush.

Somebody ran up to one of them.
I didn't know him,
but she recognized him
immediately.

While they kissed
with not our lips,
a suitcase disappeared,
not mine.

The railroad station in the city of N.
passed its exam
in objective existence
with flying colors.

The whole remained in place.
Particulars scurried
along the designated tracks.

Even a rendezvous
took place as planned.

Beyond the reach
of our presence.

In the paradise lost
of probability.

Somewhere else.
Somewhere else.
How these little words ring.

---

DRINKING WINE

He looked at me, bestowing beauty,
and I took it for my own.
Happy, I swallowed a star.

I let him invent me
in the image of the reflection
in his eyes. I dance, I dance
in an abundance of sudden wings.

A table is a table, wine is wine
in a wineglass, which is a wineglass
and it stands standing on a table
but I am a phantasm,
a phantasm beyond belief,
a phantasm to the core.

I tell him what he wants to hear—

about ants dying of love
under a dandelion’s constellation.
I swear that sprinkled with wine
a white rose will sing.

I laugh, and tilt my head
carefully, as if I were testing
an invention. I dance, I dance
in astounded skin, in the embrace
that creates me.

Eve from a rib, Venus from sea foam,
Minerva from the head of Jove
were much more real.

When he’s not looking at me,
I search for my reflection
on the wall. All I see
is a nail on which a painting hung.

---

I AM TOO CLOSE FOR HIM...

I am too close for him to dream about me.
I'm not flying over him, not fleeing him
under the roots of trees. I am too close.
Not with my voice sings the fish in the net.
Not from my finger rolls the ring.
I am too close. A large house is on fire
without my calling for help. Too close
for a bell dangling from my hair to chime.
Too close for me to enter as a guest
before whom the walls part.
Never again will I die so readily,
so far beyond the flesh, so inadvertently
as once in his dream. I am too close,
too close—I hear the hiss
and see the glittering husk of that word,
as I lie immobilized in his embrace. He sleeps,
more available at this moment
to the ticket lady of a one-lion traveling circus
seen but once in his life
than to me lying beside him.
Now a valley grows for her in him, ochre-leaved,
closed off by a snowy mountain
in the azure air. I am too close
to fall out of the sky for him. My scream
might only awaken him. Poor me,
limited to my own form,
but I was a birch tree, I was a lizard,
I emerged from satins and sundials
my skins shimmering in different colors. I possessed
the grace to disappear from astonished eyes,
and that is the rich man's riches. I am too close,
too close for him to dream about me.
I slip my arm out from under his sleeping head.
It's numb, full of imaginary pins and needles.
And on the head of each, ready to be counted,
dance the fallen angels.

---

A MEMORY

We were chatting
and suddenly stopped short.
A beautiful girl stepped onto the terrace,
so beautiful,
too beautiful
for us to enjoy our vacation.

Basia shot her husband a panicky look.
Krystyna took Zbyszek's hand
reflexively.
I thought: I'll call you,
tell you, don't come just yet,
they're predicting rain for days.

Only Agnieszka, a widow,
met the lovely girl with a smile.
"As you have noticed over the years, we are not angry people." (itebygur)
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Post by eMTe »

After extensive search Ive found another of my favourite Herbert's poems translated into English. I'm not happy with the translation, because it doesnt reflect the original rhythm and rhymes, but it tries to be faithful at least. Go figure yourself what it is about.

TO MARCUS AURELIUS

Good night Marcus put out the light
and shut the book For overhead
is raised a gold alarm of stars
heaven is talking some foreign tongue
this the barbarian cry of fear
your Latin cannot understand
Terror continuous dark terror
against the fragile human land

begins to beat It’s winning Hear
its roar The unrelenting stream
of elements will drown your prose
until the world’s four walls go down
As for us? — to tremble in the air
blow in the ashes stir the ether
gnaw our fingers seek vain words
drag off the fallen shades behind us

Well Marcus better hang up your peace
give me your hand across the dark
Let it tremble when the blind world beats
on senses five like a failing lyre
Traitors — universe and astronomy
reckoning of stars wisdom of grass
and your greatness too immense
and Marcus my defenseless tears
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Post by eMTe »

My personal translation of Marcin Swietlicki's "Filandia". The title is a wordplay, so dont link it with Finland. ;)

---

There will never be such a summer again
There will never be such a summer again
Police will never be so kind
Firemen will never be so quick and effective
There will never be such a summer again

Cigarette will never be so tasty
and vodka, so cold and nutritious
Girls will never be so beautiful
Cookies will never be so delicious
Our football team will never have better results
Never, there will never be such a sausage and coca cola
Such mustard and milk
There will never be such a summer again
There will never be such a summer again

Sun will never rise and set so beautifully like now
Moon will not hang so beautifully
There will never be such tv
So colourful magazines
You will never be so kind for me
Priest will never preach so good sermons
Organist will never play so finely
God will never be so close
So tender and merciful as now

There are lightnings over horizon and clash of iron can be heard
There will never be such a summer again

---

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQiStxXnofg
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Post by eMTe »

Well, here's the shaking one. Not really a traditional poetry, written down and published.

It's a song.

---

Girlfriend in a coma, I know I know - it's serious
Girlfriend in a coma, I know I know - it's really serious
There were times when I could have murdered her
But you know, I would hate anything to happen to her

No, I don't want to see her!

Do you really think she'll pull through?
Do you really think she'll pull through?

...

Girlfriend in a coma, I know I know - it's serious

Bye bye bye bye bye bye baby, goodbye...

There were times when I could have strangled her
But you know I would hate anything to happen to her
Would you please let me see her?

Do you really think she'll pull through?
Do you really think she'll pull through?

Let me whisper my last goodbyes...
I know - it's serious...
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Post by Chroelle »

Shaking in a good way! Artist and songtitle? Perhaps even a Youtube link?
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by Scythe »

Well, I sat down and wrote a quick poem. Not your traditional rhyming one, but then rhymes are more than sounds. Rhyming can be a letter thing, a rhythm thing, or a whatever, undefinable thing. Or so I believe. :) Call it something other than a poem, if you disagree.

A fist can strike, if you close it
A knife can slice, if you swing it
A gun can shoot, if you squeeze it
A bomb can blow, if you drop it

Hope can end, if you fear it
Love can end, if you waste it
Life can end, if you forget it
The world can end, if you let it
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by eMTe »

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xgtitHA22i0

Morissey is well known for lyrics balancing between love, passion, hatred and violence.
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Post by eMTe »

Just as I wanted to translate amateurishly another of Marcin Swietlicki's lyrics, Ive found another amateurish translation, pretty good imo. I love people who are capable of translating neologisms into other languages (see the title of the song). 8)

TENDERIZATION

I'm madly tender when hungover
It's such a state that any tv ad can make me cry
Still in bed, I'm sitting and watching the day begin
Still in bed, I'm sitting and watching
I'm madly tender when hungover
I'm madly tender when hungover
And the sun walking like a wet bee, on various objects:
Tvs, wardrobes, album covers, books
The window open, the spring calling, wailing
Like a hysterical mother
I'm madly tender when hungover
Madly

I'm madly tender when hungover
It's such a state that any tv ad can make me cry
Still in bed, I'm sitting and watching the evening already
Still in bed, I'm sitting and watching
I'm madly tender when hungover
I'm madly tender when hungover
I'm madly tender when hungover, it's such a state
I'm madly tender when hungover

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fOvQ1Dqeryo
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by eMTe »

There's no life
that couldn't be immortal
if only for a moment.

Death
always arrives by that very moment too late.

---
R.I.P.
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by Scythe »

:34: So, like, when are you going to share some poetry of your own? :34:
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by eMTe »

I wrote some poems YEARS ago, but they are lost, few may be still floating in web, but I dont even remember how to find them. Besides, they were in Polish. So - never.

Btw, is placing the poems of others (what we do in this thread) in web legal?
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by Zyx »

Poems are subject to the normal copyright, so not really. So be ready when the FB-Aye crash your front door.
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by eMTe »

Youve just prompted me to submit more poems.

But if Im not mistaken, we have a smiley for such a occasions.

:balloon:

Or was it :bananaparty2:

Or :noob:

Or maybe even :whistle:

I forgot which one it is...

:teaseface:
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by eMTe »

Isnt it poetry?

***

You ask me where to begin
Am I so lost in my sin
You ask me where did I fall
I'll say I can't tell you when
But if my spirit is lost
How will I find what is near
Don't question I'm not alone
Somehow I'll find my way home

My sun shall rise in the east
So shall my heart be at peace
And if you're asking me when
I'll say it starts at the end
You know your will to be free
Is matched with love secretly
And talk will alter your prayer
Somehow you'll find you are there

Your friend is close by your side
And speaks in far ancient tongue
A season's wish will come true
All seasons begin with you
One world we all come from
One world we melt into one
Just hold my hand and we're there
Somehow we're going somewhere
Somehow we're going somewhere

You ask me where to begin
Am I so lost in my sin
You ask me where did I fall
I'll say I can't tell you when
But if my spirit is strong
I know it can't be long
No questions I'm not alone
Somehow I'll find my way home
Somehow I'll find my way home
Somehow I'll find my way home
Somehow I'll find my way home
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by eMTe »

Really not like this, not as it was meant to be
In fact it lasted too short that it could make sense
From completely clean hands until the last scream
I'm just the collection of unimportant pics

From life without tears to tears over my own life
I'll swim in a blink of an eye
One without the other we go down every night
In the ocean bed, in the flood of tears

I'll build the great fleet of united forces
To fight the dangerous vortex of Styx
Vortex of Styx
Vortex of Styx

From life without tears to tears over my own life
I'll swim in a blink of an eye
One without the other we go down every night
In the ocean bed, in the flood of tears

I'll build the great fleet of united forces
To fight the dangerous vortex of Styx
Vortex of Styx
Vortex of Styx
Vortex of Styx

I'll build the great fleet of united forces......

http://larin.wrzuta.pl/audio/1Ispgr1pMk ... zonych_sil

Yup, poetry.
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Re: Poet's Corner

Post by eMTe »

My friend, an avid Szymborska follower, shared this translation via FB a couple of days ago. I didnt know there exists translation of this poem. The poem is a bit outdated if it can be said about a poem, because to me they never outdate.

The Turn of the Century

***

It was supposed to be better than the others, our 20th century,
But it won't have time to prove it,
its years are numbered,
its step unsteady,
its breath short.

Already too much has happened,
that was not supposed to happen,
what was to come about,
has not.

Spring was to be on its way
and happiness, among other things.

Fear was to leave the mountains and valleys.
The truth was supposed to finish before the lie.

Certain misfortunes
were never to happen again,
such as war and hunger and so forth.

These were to be respected:
the defenselessness of the defenseless,
trust and the like.

Whoever wanted to enjoy the world,
faces an impossible task.

Stupidity is not funny.
Wisdom isn't jolly.

Hope
is no longer the same young girl
et cetera. Alas.

God was at last to believe in man:
good and strong,
but good and strong
are still two different people.

How to live - someone asked me this in a letter,
someone I had wanted
to ask that very thing.

Again and as always,
and as seen above,
there are no questions more urgent
than the naive ones.
"As you have noticed over the years, we are not angry people." (itebygur)
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