Reis glorios, verais lums e clartatz,
Deus poderos, Senher, si a vos platz,
Al meu companh siatz fizels aiuda!
Qu'eu no lo vi, pos la nochs fo venguda,
Et ades sera l'alba
Bel companho, si dormetz o velhatz,
No dormatz plus, suau vos ressidatz!
Qu'en orien vei l'estela creguda
C'amena.l jorn, qu'eu l'ai be conoguda,
Et ades sera l'alba
Bel companho, en chantan vos apel!
No dormatz plus, qu'eu auch chantar l'auzel
Que vai queren lo jorn per lo boschatge
Et ai paor que.l gilos vos assatge
Et ades sera l'alba
Bel companho, issetz al fenestrel
E regardatz las estelas del cel
Conoisseretz si.us sui fizels messatge!
Si non o faitz, vostres n'er lo damnatge
Et ades sera l'alba
Bel companho, pos me parti de vos,
Eu no.m dormi ni.m moc de genolhos,
Ans preiei Deu, lo filh Santa Maria,
Que.us me rendes per leial companhia,
Et ades sera l'alba
Bel companho, la foras als peiros
Me preiavatz qu'eu no fos dormilhos,
Enans velhes tota noch tro al dia.
Era no.us platz mos chans ni ma paria
Et ades sera l'alba
Bel dous companh, tan sui en ric sojorn
Qu'eu no volgra mais fos l'alba ni jorn,
Car la gensor que anc nasques de maire
Tenc et abras, per qu'eu non prezi gaire
Lo fol gilos ni l'alba.
Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi-
questa morte che ci accompagna
dal mattino alla sera, insonne,
sorda, come un vecchio rimorso
o un vizio assurdo. I tuoi occhi
saranno una vana parola,
un grido taciuto, un silenzio.
Così li vedi ogni mattina
quando su te sola ti pieghi
nello specchio. O cara speranza,
quel giorno sapremo anche noi
che sei la vita e sei il nulla
Per tutti la morte ha uno sguardo.
Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi.
Sarà come smettere un vizio,
come vedere nello specchio
riemergere un viso morto,
come ascoltare un labbro chiuso.
Scenderemo nel gorgo muti.
Kalenda maia
Ni fueills de faia
Ni chans d'auzell ni flors de glaia
Non es qe.m plaia,
Pros dona gaia,
Tro q'un isnell messagier aia
Del vostre bell cors, qi.m retraia
Plazer novell q'amors m'atraia
E jaia,
E.m traia
Vas vos, donna veraia,
E chaia
De plaia
.l gelos, anz qe.m n'estraia.
Ma bell' amia,
Per Dieu non sia
Qe ja.l gelos de mon dan ria,
Qe car vendria
Sa gelozia,
Si aitals dos amantz partia;
Q'ieu ja joios mais non seria,
Ni jois ses vos pro no.m tenria;
Tal via
Faria
Q'oms ja mais no.m veiria;
Cell dia
Morria,
Donna pros, q'ie.us perdria.
Con er perduda
Ni m'er renduda
Donna, s'enanz non l'ai aguda
Qe drutz ni druda
Non es per cuda;
Mas qant amantz en drut si muda,
L'onors es granz qe.l n'es creguda,
E.l bels semblanz fai far tal bruda;
Qe nuda
Tenguda
No.us ai, ni d'als vencuda;
Volguda,
Cresuda
Vos ai, ses autr'ajuda.
Tart m'esjauzira,
Pos ja.m partira,
Bells Cavalhiers, de vos ab ira,
Q'ailhors no.s vira
Mos cors, ni.m tira
Mos deziriers, q'als non dezira;
Q'a lauzengiers sai q'abellira,
Donna, q'estiers non lur garira:
Tals vira,
Sentira
Mos danz, qi.lls vos grazira,
Qe.us mira,
Cossira
Cuidanz, don cors sospira.
Tant gent comensa,
Part totas gensa,
Na Beatritz, e pren creissensa
Vostra valensa;
Per ma credensa,
De pretz garnitz vostra tenensa
E de bels ditz, senes failhensa;
De faitz grazitz tenetz semensa;
Siensa,
Sufrensa
Avetz e coneissensa;
Valensa
Ses tensa
Vistetz ab benvolensa.
Donna grazida,
Qecs lauz' e crida
Vostra valor q'es abellida,
E qi.us oblida,
Pauc li val vida,
Per q'ie.us azor, donn' eissernida;
Qar per gencor vos ai chauzida
E per meilhor, de prez complida,
Blandida,
Servida
Genses q'Erecs Enida.
Bastida,
Finida,
N'Engles, ai l'estampida.
Raimbaut de Vaqueiras
Milina maja
ni list iz gaja
nit latice
ni ptica graja
iz celog kraja
ne čine da ja
razvedrim lice
damo puna baja
dok čekam nice
da vašeg sjaja
moć raspe tmice
i ljubav trajna
osvaja
i spaja
sa mnom vas
damo iz raja
izdvaja
izdaja
zli glas
uzrok moga vaja
Dragano blaga
nek božja vaga
sudi zli glas
jer svak ko zna ga
ne pušta vraga
tog preko praga
koji za čas
deli bića draga
al' ja kraj vas
jedinog blaga
čekam svoj spas
a tog što slaga
neka ga
bestraga
do tamo
prati ga ta ljaga
jer blaga
predraga
o damo
mre moja snaga.
Kako da patim
i potom vratim
damu ako njen ne beh sasvim
jer draga s dragim
nitima zlatnim
to zna svako
veže se zatim
koje jako
drže nju sa njim
lik lep tako
koji tek tražim
da hvalim
da mazim
i ne da
zlo ga zgazim
ja vas snim
vas pratim
izgleda sa nadom praznim.
Nisam tako rad
jer odem li tad
Lep Viteže
nastradaću mlad
jer srca mog jad
i svih želja sklad
tu mi leže
to je sav moj slad
dok sve teže
zlice šire sad
damo mreže
lek im je moj pad
da nekad
moj beznad
opazi
svila bi u kad
vas najzad
ta gamad
što gazi
moga srca sad.
Jer vi ste sama
iznad svih dama
gđo Beatriče
svojim pred nama
tim vrlinama
vidi se namah
da vam priliče
igre s rimama
i lepe priče
sliko iz rama
u vas se stiče
duh k'o sred hrama
pun plama
što slama
sile tla
tvrđeg od kama
jer tama
pred vama
beži zla
i puna srama.
Damo svet vidi
vaš plemeniti
lik tako beo
koju čast kiti
ko želi skriti
to nek se stidi
ja bih tek hteo
damo vaš biti
i vama ceo
život vlastiti
častiti
krasiti
čak bliže
nek Erik Enidi
znaj i ti
kraj hiti
markiže
sad estampidi.
Upućujem ovu lijenu popodnevnu misao,
nježnu i pohotnu
u ono dvorište u kojem sam vas gledao,
draga susjedo
Tisuću devetsto pedeset sedme godine
Kada je bila jesen slična ovoj
I kada su još u moj san udarali prozori
Roditeljske kuće utopljene u šibenskoj jugovini
U gradu koji je postajao moja bolnica
A mojom napola razbuđenom glavom kolali prvi tramvaji
plavi i uspavani
Adresiram tamo ovu misao i kažem: šteta
Bili ste ljubavnica mog cimera od osam do jedanaest
svakog jutra
Kako ste se zvali Ema, Selma, Alma, Adela
Da li je što izmijenilo Vaše lice, oči i trbuh
A kako sam Vam zavidio vraćajući se iz šetnje
od osam do jedanest izjutra
Uz četvrt kruha i mlijeko u jednom blijedom Peščenićkom mljekarstvu
Svim je bojama već moj prvi studentski rujan dodavao
malo crnog i malo tamnozelenog
I danas Vam iskreno kažem: šteta, šteta
Više vjerojatno i niste za takva šta
Ponovo ono dvorište
Vrijeme je za nedjeljni ribolov i vaš suprug odlazi
Vi znači danas dolazite još ranije u moju sobu - oko pola sedam
A ja baš izlazim - šteta
Jer moj je cimer mrzovoljan tako rano
I ja bih Vam vjerojatno pružio više
Ali ja idem u šetnju
I šetao sam tako godinu i drugu
I ne da Vam se hvalim - bilo je toga
Kakve sve zemlje, pica, kakva mora, gdje sam sve bio
Gdje sam sve ljubio i kakve žene
Jer vama otvoreno mogu reći
Kuda sam sve šetao po kiši ujutro
Nekakav vlak je istruo u crnom proljeću u Poljskoj, blizu Rusije
Kakvu sam tamo ženu ostavljao, Isukrste
I kakva je mene ostavljala na sjeveru
Pijući neko nerazgovjetno piće svog naroda
Daleko, daleko, kao u snovima
Opet netko ovdje u Zagrebu u Jurijevskoj
Pa oči providne i dragocjene jedne Cehinje iz Brna
Vozderkove
Premještene zauvijek u moju utrobu
A takav snijeg i sve što treba - bilo je, bilo
Ali ono dvorište u kojem sam Vas viđao
Između dva neodređena stabla crna od vlage one jeseni
Vas tako običnu i raskalašnu domaćicu i mirisi koje ste ostavljali u mojoj sobi
U sezonama 1957,58 i sljedeće
šteta, nepovratno šteta
Nor skin nor hide nor fleece
Shall cover you,
Nor curtain of crimson nor fine
Shelter of cedar-wood be over you,
Nor the fir-tree
Nor the pine.
Nor sight of whin nor gorse
Nor river-yew,
Nor fragrance of flowering bush,
Nor wailing of reed-bird to waken you,
Nor of linnet,
Nor of thrush.
Nor word nor touch nor sight
Of lover, you
Shall long through the night but for this:
The roll of the full tide to cover you
Without question,
Without kiss.
Nor skin nor hide nor fleece
Shall cover you,
Nor curtain of crimson nor fine
Shelter of cedar-wood be over you,
Nor the fir-tree
Nor the pine.
Nor sight of whin nor gorse
Nor river-yew,
Nor fragrance of flowering bush,
Nor wailing of reed-bird to waken you,
Nor of linnet,
Nor of thrush.
Nor word nor touch nor sight
Of lover, you
Shall long through the night but for this:
The roll of the full tide to cover you
Without question,
Without kiss.
There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams
hurry too rapidly down to the sea,
and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops
makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,
turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.
--For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,
aren't waterfalls yet,
in a quick age or so, as ages go here,
they probably will be.
But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,
the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships,
slime-hung and barnacled.
Think of the long trip home.
Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?
Where should we be today?
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
in this strangest of theatres?
What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life
in our bodies, we are determined to rush
to see the sun the other way around?
The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?
To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,
inexplicable and impenetrable,
at any view,
instantly seen and always, always delightful?
Oh, must we dream our dreams
and have them, too?
And have we room
for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?
But surely it would have been a pity
not to have seen the trees along this road,
really exaggerated in their beauty,
not to have seen them gesturing
like noble pantomimists, robed in pink.
--Not to have had to stop for gas and heard
the sad, two-noted, wooden tune
of disparate wooden clogs
carelessly clacking over
a grease-stained filling-station floor.
(In another country the clogs would all be tested.
Each pair there would have identical pitch.)
--A pity not to have heard
the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird
who sings above the broken gasoline pump
in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque:
three towers, five silver crosses.
--Yes, a pity not to have pondered,
blurr'dly and inconclusively,
on what connection can exist for centuries
between the crudest wooden footwear
and, careful and finicky,
the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear
and, careful and finicky,
the whittled fantasies of wooden cages.
--Never to have studied history in
the weak calligraphy of songbirds' cages.
--And never to have had to listen to rain
so much like politicians' speeches:
two hours of unrelenting oratory
and then a sudden golden silence
in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:
"Is it lack of imagination that makes us come
to imagined places, not just stay at home?
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right
about just sitting quietly in one's room?
Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and never free.
And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home,
wherever that may be?"
p.s. "Sfrauchen" to je kao s(a) Frauchen (valjda ovdje znači ljubavnica ili još i gore...) ?
Ne znam, biće da je neki dijalektalni/arhaični oblik, iz konteksta bi pre ispalo nešto kao neka nedaća, nezgoda (generalno ili konkretno), možda neka telesna slabost paralelna sa Kopfweh?
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing
Sve sutra i sutra i sutra! Mili to
Iz dana u dan sitnim korakom
Do zadnjeg slova u knjizi vremena.
I sva nam juče svetlila su samo
Ludama put u prašnjavu smrt.
Gasi se, gasi kratko kandilo!
Život je samo lutajuća sen:
Kukavan glumac što se boči i koči
Na daskama svoj čas, a onda se
Više i ne čuje; to je pripovest
Idiota jednog, puna buke i besa,
A ne znači ništa.
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come,
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them:
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indu’d 196
Unto that element; but long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.
Act IV, scene 7
Sinoć, kad se vratih iz topla hamama,
Prođoh pokraj bašte staroga imama;
Kad tamo, u bašti, u hladu jasmina,
S ibrikom u ruci stajaše Emina.
Ja kakva je, pusta! Tako mi imana,
Stid je ne bi bilo da je kod sultana!
Pa još kad se šeće i plećima kreće...
- Ni hodžin mi zapis više pomoć neće!...
Ja joj nazvah selam. Al' moga mi dina,
Ne šće ni da čuje lijepa Emina,
No u srebren ibrik zahitila vode
Pa po bašti đule zalivati ode;
S grana vjetar duhnu pa niz pleći puste
Rasplete joj one pletenice guste,
Zamirisa kosa ko zumbuli plavi,
A meni se krenu bururet u glavi!
Malo ne posrnuh, mojega mi dina,
No meni ne dođe lijepa Emina.
Samo me je jednom pogledala mrko,
Niti haje, alčak, što za njome crko'!...
Ovo je zapravo iz romana, ali volim ove postmoderne* igrarije, prokrvljuju mozak i cine dobro mom srcu.
SVAKA biljka svoju semenku ima. (Ende)
Biblioteka je ukrstenica od vodoravnih
redova
KNJIGA i uspravnih redova vazduha. (Borhes)
CAK i najsiri put miruje pred rekom. (Andric)
Po razvijenoj karti prosuse vodu I pesak da
vide gde je gaz preko reke. (Kortasar)
ONA je bila topla. (Singer)
I sum trave je NAOKO nizak, ali doseze
do usiju. (Vijan)
Poruke od najvece VAZNOSTI skrivaju se u
ocima. (Bucati)
Planine smatraju niskim jer su MALE u
odnosu na nebo. (Polo)
Provucite SVOJU dusu kroz pukotinu, pa i vi
krenite za njom. (Potocki)
ZLATNU kosu vezuju trakama od francuskog
jezika. (Pavic)
Svake noci kopali su mesecevu ZICU. (Tolkin)
Ujutru su snove kacili kao STAMPANU
knjigu. (Kalvino)
Knjige slagane SLOGOM od snova lakes su od
rukopisnih. (Markes)
Noz sa drskom OD ruzinog drveta. (Kis)
Crkve imaju krovove od OLOVA da freske ne
bi uzletele. (Eko)
Oka jave priblizno IMA dve oke snova. (Vuk)
U Kini se ne meri na tezinu vec na SJAJ ociju. (Frejzer)
NJEN struk. (Karver)
Zorom se nebo OTKRIVA od mraka. (Crnjanski)
Trbuh SE nekada zakopcavao na pucad. (Rable)
Brzom TRAGACU sudbinu mozes da citas sa
tabana. (Rusdi)
STRPLJIVOM graditelju kuca ima vise prozora. (Celebija)
Dusa bude laka ako je ZALOZENI TRUD tezak. (Cehov)
Haljina joj se njihala tako BOGATO da su ptice
dobijale morsku bolest. (Harms)
Ispesmo se na vis NAGRADJUJUCI oci plodnom dolinom. (Dante)
*ovo uslovno shvatiti, ima ovakve organizacije teksta znatno ranije, ali svejedno ovo je suva Goran/Basara/Pistalo skola.
It's the caffeine, the nicotine, the miligrams of tar
It's my habitat, it needs to be cleaned, it's my car
It's the fast talk they use to abuse and feed my brain
It's the cat box, it needs to be changed, it's the pain
It's women, it's the plight for power it's government
It's the way you're giving knowledge
slow with thought control and subtle hints
It's rubbing it, itching it, It's applying cream
It's the foreigners sight seeing with high beams, It's in my dreams
It's the monsters that I conjure, It's the marijuana
It's embarrassment, displacement, it's where I wander
It's my genre, It's Madonna's videos
It's game shows, it's cheap liquor, blunts,
and bumper stickers with rainbows
It's angels, demons, gods, it's the white devils
It's the monitors, the soundman, it's the fucking mic levels
It's gas fumes, fast food, Tommy Hil' and mommy's pill
Columbia House music club, designer drugs and rhyming thugs
It's bloods, crips, fives, six
It's stick up kids,
It's christian conservative terrorists, it's porno flicks
It's the east coast, no it's the west coast
It's public schools, it's asbestos
It's mentholated, It's techno
It's sleep, life, and death
It's speed, coke, and meth
It's hay fever, pain relievers, oral sex, and smokers breath
It stretches for as far as the eye can see
It's reality, fuck it , it's everything but me
On and on and on and on
The list goes on and on and on and on
<<KRS One scratched 4x>> "it's all according that life on a whole..."
It's in the water, it's in the air, it's in the meat
It's indirect, indiscrete, it's inconsistent, incomplete
It's in the streets, every city, everywhere you go
In every man it's the insanity, the fantasy, the casualties
It's the health care system, it's welfare victims
It's assault weapons, it's television religion, and it's false lessons
It's cops, police, pigs with badges guns and sticks
It's harassment and a complex you carry when you're running shit
It's wondering if you get to eat, it's the heat
It's the winter , the weather
It's herpes, and it's forever
It's the virus that takes the lives of the weak and the strong
It's the drama that keeps on between me and my seed's mom
It's the need to speak long, it's that hunger for attention
It's the wack , who attack songs of redemption
It's prevention, It's the first solution
It's loose, it's out for retribution,
it's mental pollution...and public execution
It's the nails that keep my hands and feet to these boards
It's the part time job that governs what you can afford
It's the fear, It's the fake
It's clear it can make time stop
and leave you stranded in the year of the snake
It's the dollar, yen, pound, it's all denomination
It's hourly wages for your professional observations
It's on your face and it's in your eyes
It's everything you be
Cause it ain't me, motherfucker, cause it ain't me, uh
On and on and on and on
The list goes on and on and on and on (3x)
<<KRS One scratched til close>> "It's all according that life on a whole..."
Provest ću sutra misleći o prekosutra,
tako će biti moguće; ali danas ne...
Ne, danas ništa; danas ne mogu.
Zbrkana ustrajnost moje objektivne subjektivnosti,
san mojega stvarnog života, umetnutog,
zamor unaprijedni i beskonačni,
zamor svemirski da bi se ukrcao u tramvaj ...
ta vrsta duha...
Prekosutra samo...
Danas se želim pripraviti,
želim se pripraviti da sutra mislim na slijedeći dan...
On je odlučan.
Sutra je dan nauma.
Sutra ću sjesti u uredovnicu da osvojim svijet;
ali ću svijet osvajati samo prekosutra...
Dolazi mi želja da zaplačem,
dolazi mi želja da zaplačem gorko i smjesta, u nutrini...
Ne tražite da znate više, to je tajna, neću reći.
Prekosutra samo...
Kad sam bio dijete, nedjeljni me je cirkus zabavljao čitav tjedan.
Danas me samo zabavlja nedjeljni cirkus čitavog tjedna djetinjstva...
Prekosutra ću biti drugi.
Moj će život postati slavodobitnim,
sve moje stvarne odlike pametnoga, odgojenoga, uporabivoga stvorenja
bit će prizvane službenim nalogom...
Ali nalogom od prekosutra...
Danas želim spavati, sastavit ću ga prekosutra...
Koja je, za danas, predstava što će mi ponoviti djetinjstvo?
Čak i ulaznice da kupim sutra,
jer je zapravo.prekosutra dobra predstava ...
Prije, ne...
Prekosutra ću imati javan stav što ću ga sutra izučavati.
Prekosutra ću naposljetku biti ono što danas ne mogu nikako biti.
Prekosutra samo....
Spava mi se kao psu lutalici na hladnoći.
Spava mi se veoma.
Sutra ću ti zboriti riječi, ili prekosutra...
Da, možda samo prekosutra
Budućnost...
Da, budućnost
Kiša kad ozgor na zemlju pada
ona si je jedna: što voda, voda.
Ama na bilju, na drvlju, razliko dejstvuje:
mekša i tvrdi, sladi i gorča,
bojali čini, miris i zločest zadah
primeće cveću i travama;
ubeljuje, zeleni, žutka, crveni,
crnpurasti, plavetni i prešaruje;
na papradi sladi, na pelinu gorča,
a neke nakisele ukazuje...
Osobito svakoj rastlici
svoju razlikost daje,
te na maslici s vode zejtin rađa,
a na lozi vino;
na razliki drveti, razliko i voće biva.
Tako i obaška svakoj travici
svoj dar joj voda izdaje.
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i ja skoro da tako govorim... back to 
