Bootstrap Framework 3.3.6

[Speculum Columbae]

Farewell

It was the night she sat she wound
her heavy hair into a braid.

Farewell to freedom solitude,
farewell the empty bed, the quit room.

Oh, mirror, marry me and mine
and show me free reflect this hour
as I am now,
Eternally.

Time passed.

The years unwound she gave her breast to many mouths
She weaned she served she sewed she cleaned
A stranger to her house -
to peace.

But still her pact was sound
Each night her glass returned her
to her hour of
Calm.

Old now serene, the stranger whom she'd
wed long in her tomb - the moon's a slit
She ran her tresses through her comb.

The years fell back, the last bird died
No insect breathed the wind dropped
Nothing moved.

Time slowed.

Her mirror darkened time stood still.

A sound like singing brushed her and
A breath of smoke took shape
Within her glass,
Her groom at last.

Stepped through the mirror
Grasped the corner of the air
And drew her in,
So drew her - as a drop into a pool.

Back through the mirror
To her precious room
Her hour

Before this night
Before

Her sacrifice.

[barni]

Vilinski kralj

Ko jaše po noći i vetru kroz do?
Otac sa svojim sinom je to;
Drži dečaka u naručju svom
I steže ga čvrsto i greje ga on.

Što lice, moj sine, prestrašen skri?
Oče, zar tamo ne vidiš ti
Vilinskog kralja? Gle krune, gle skut!

Moj sine, to magla se vije uz put.
„Prelepi dečko, hajd za mnom sad!
U mom je domu sve zlato i sklad;
Da lepih igara se igramo tu
Po cveću što se šareni na tlu.“

Moj oče, moj oče, zar ne znaš ti:
Šapće i mami me vilenjak zli!
O, smiri se, dete; kroz čestar suv
To šumi i huji ćuv.
„Hodi, hodi dečače moj!
Da mojih kćeri začuješ poj,
Da one te dvore po vasceli dan
I ljuškaju pesmom i igrom u san.“

Gle, oče, gle njišu se tamo kroz lug
Vilinskog kralja kćeri u krug!
Ne, sine, to vrba starih je red,
Trepti po njima sjaj mesečev bled.

„Ja hoću da ljubav i sreću ti dam;
Povešću te silom, ne želiš li sam.“
Hvata me, oče! Zlo mi je, zlo!
Otac se zgrozi kad začu to.
Potera otac konja u kas;
Sinovljev sve slabiji bio je glas.
Kad stigoše domu u osvit siv,
Dečak već nije bio živ.

Kis preveo Getea

[Speculum Columbae]

A solis ortu usque ad occidua
littora maris planctus pulsat pectora.
Heu mihi misero!

Ultra marina agmina tristitia
tetigit ingens cum merore nimio.
Heu mihi misero!

Franci, Romani atque cuncti creduli
luctu punguntur et magna molestia.
Heu mihi misero!

[barni]

Od istoka do zapada
Obalama mora lelek otkucava iz grudi
Ah ja ga poslah!

[Speculum Columbae]

ne baš

Od izlaska sunca, do zapada
litica morskih*, tužaljka gudi** u grudima ljudi:
Jaoj, mene ubogog!


* ad occidua littora maris - primećuješ da se po padežu (akuzativ, na šta ukazuje predlog ad) occidua slaže sa littora maris.
pulsat se odnosi na okidanje žičanih instrumenata, najčešće harfi, ali su svirci na franačkim dvorovima gudili takođe u viele i lire.

[bas bleu]

Labuntur et Imputantur

It was overcast. No hour at all was indicated by the gnomon.
With difficulty I made out the slogan, Time and tide wait for no man.

I had been waiting for you, Daphne, underneath the dripping laurels, near
The sundial glade where first we met. I felt like Hamlet on the parapets of Elsinore,

Alerted to the ectoplasmic moment, when Luna rends her shroud of cloud
And sails into a starry archipelago. Then your revenant appeared and spake aloud:

I am not who you think I am. For what we used to be is gone. The moment’s over,
Whatever years you thought we spent together. You don’t know the story. And moreover,

You mistook the drinking-fountain for a sundial. I put my lips to its whatever,
And with difficulty I made out the slogan, Drink from me and you shall live forever.

Ciarán Carson

[alexandermagic]

.....

[barni]

prevodjenje poezije je kao da hodas po dasci izmedju dve zgrade
trazis balans tako sto se njises levo desno

veliko umece je potrebno za to

edit:

lep ti je prevod

[Speculum Columbae]

[/url]prevodjenje poezije je kao da hodas po dasci izmedju dve zgrade
trazis balans tako sto se njises levo desno

veliko umece je potrebno za to

si, to sigurno.
srednjovekovni latinski je izrazito težak - ovo je plus najfinija dvorska poezija koju je pisao autor čiji je prvi jezik bio germanske grupe. Učeni latinski voli jako duge i jako zapetljane konstrukcije.

[barni]

e vidis tako se ja muvam
nastavi

[Speculum Columbae]

zašto bi neko, pobogu mene muvao

[barni]

ti muvas mene
nastavi

[Speculum Columbae]

LOL
ti si totalna svinja

[barni]

nisi trebao editovati post, trebao si ostaviti to LOL bas mi se dopalo

to je bila moja sala

pobogu

aj cao

[bas bleu]

[/url].....

they say it and then they take it back... story of my life

[alexandermagic]

Ništa ja ne povlačim, samo ne mora to svatko znat.

---

Darkness breaks,
Moon awakes,
Night now brings the stars it makes.

Moon beams fall,
Light up all,
From silvery woods there comes a call.

Grayish blur,
Shaggy fur,
Food is this night creatures lure.

Brown deer,
Very near,
It is brought down full of fear.

Deadly bite,
Very tight,
Every wolf will feast tonight.

Y. Yvonne

[Speculum Columbae]

Che dolci lusinghie risuoni
dei bei cantori alati
s´odon qui in questa val!
Dell´aure il susurrar,
Il mormorar de rivi,
al riposar eterno
tutto invita quì.

I tuoi soave accenti,
gli amorosi tuoi sguardi,
un tuo sorriso

[Dark Walker]

If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love?
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow’d!
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove:
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow’d.
Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine eyes,
Where all those pleasures live that art would comprehend:
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee commend,
All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder;
Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire:
Thy eye Jove’s lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful
thunder,
Which not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire.
Celestial as thou art, O, pardon, love, this wrong,
That sings heaven’s praise with such an earthly tongue.

(Love’s Labours Lost, Act IV, Scene II)

[bas bleu]

Perfection Isn’t Like A Perfect Story

I think often of the time I was perfectly happy.
And sat by the harbour reading a borrowed Cavafy.
You were with me of course and the night before we
Played bar billiards, green under lights, in the cafe
Postponing our first shared bedtime and every ball
That didn’t come back made us look at each other and down.
I collected the key and we crossed the late night hall
And seeing the room you cried, it was so small.

We were too close. We bore each other down.

I changed the room and we found that you were ill.
Nothing was perfect, or as it should have been.
I lay by your side and watched the green of dawn
Climb over our bodies and bring out of darkness the one
Perfect face that made nothing else matter at all.

P. J. Kavanagh

[Over the rainbow]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerahle soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate.
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

[EnMademoiselle]

[Speculum Columbae]

Čekao sam cele godine na ovo:

WHAN that Aprille with his shoures soote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open ye,
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages:
Than longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmers for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, couthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.

KAD miomirni pljuskovi Aprila
Kroz sušu Marta prodru sve do žila,
I svaki koren okupaju sokom
Da cvet se rađa životvornim tokom,
Kad Razvigor opojnim dahom gane
U vresištu i gaju nežne grane
Što tek su nikle, a put mladog Sunca
U znako Ovna stigne do vrhunca,
I kada pesma ptičica se toči,
Jer svunoć sniju ne sklapajući oči
(Jer priroda nadahnjuje im grudi)
Na hodočašća tada kreću ljudi,
I na hadžiluk, put obala stranih,
Do svetih mošti nadaleko znanih;
A naročito iz Engleske cele
U Kanterberi svi da pođu žele,
Do blagog mučenika zbog kog bolje
Bejaše njima kad imahu bolje.

http://blogkojinikonecita.blogspot.com/ ... prica.html" target="_blank

[Speculum Columbae]

Άλλοτες, όταν εκούρσευαν την ταπεινήν την Πόσναν
και του Πογδάνου τον υιόν επήρασιν οι Τούρκοι.
Την μάνα του στην ξενιτειάν γράφει γραφήν και στέλνει.

U druga vremena, kad su Turci harali sirotom Bosnom,
ugrabili su Bogdanovog sina
(On) piše pismo svojoj majci i u tuđinu šalje ga.

(Iviron, XV vek)

[Speculum Columbae]

O splendidissima gemma
et serenum decus solis
qui tibi infusus est,
fons saliens de corde Patris,

quod est unicum Verbum suum,
per quod creavit
mundi primam materiam,
quam Eva turbavit.

Hoc Verbum effabricavit tibi
Pater hominem,

et ob hoc es tu illa lucida materia
perquam hoc ipsum Verbum exspiravit
omnes virtutes,
ut eduxit in prima materia omnes creaturas.

[Garbo]

Po krčmama i bordelima Bejruta se vučem.
Nisam htio da ostanem u Aleksandriji sam.
Tamid me je napustio i otišao sa eparhovim sinom
da bi dobio palatu na Nilu i rezidenciju u gradu.
Nije nikako išlo da ja ostanem u Aleksandriji.
Po krčmama i bordelima Bejruta se vučem.
U bijednom razvratu nedostojno provodim život.
Jedino me spašava kao trajna lepota,
kao miris koji se zadržao na mojoj puti,
to što je pune dvije godine
Tamid bio samo moj - taj divni mladić
samo moj, i to ne zbog kuće ili palate na Nilu.

Konstantinos Kavafis

[Garbo]

Kažeš: "Poći ću u neku drugu zemlju, poći ću do drugog mora.
Naći će se drugi grad bolji od ovog.
Svaki moj napor je ovde proklet, osuđen
i srce mi je kao leš pokopano.
Dokle će mi um ostati u ovoj tmini.
Kud god da skrenem pogled, kud god da pogledam,
crne ruševine svog života spazim ovde,
gde sam proveo tolike godine, proćerdao ih i upropastio."

Nove zemlje nećeš naći, nećeš pronaći drugog mora.
Ovaj grad će te pratiti. Ulicama ćeš se kretati istim.
U istom ćeš susedstvu ostariti
u istim ćeš kućama osedeti.
Uvek ćeš u ovaj grad stizati.
Da nekud drugde odeš ne nadaj se
nema za tebe broda, nema puta.
Kao što si svoj život ovde proćerdao, u ovom tako malom kutu,
straćio si ga i na celoj kugli zemaljskoj.

Konstantinos Kavafis

[Galadriel]

Emily Dickinson

Part Four: Time and Eternity

XXXV

NO rack can torture me,
My soul ’s at liberty.
Behind this mortal bone
There knits a bolder one

You cannot prick with saw, 5
Nor rend with scymitar.
Two bodies therefore be;
Bind one, and one will flee.

The eagle of his nest
No easier divest 10
And gain the sky,
Than mayest thou,

Except thyself may be
Thine enemy;
Captivity is consciousness, 15
So’s liberty.

[Hitsugaya]

Ide, ide patak
na daleki put,
repic mu je kratak
kljun je njegov zut.

Kao vojnik stupa
tra-ta-ra-ta-ta,
ide da se kupa
kva-kva-kva-kva-kva.

[Speculum Columbae]

Andrea Antico di Montona/Andrea De Antiquis:

Mač sad hvataj Ljuven-bože

Prendi l'arme, o fiero Amore
Ch'io te ſfido a cruda Morte
Vo ueder como ſei forte
Chon anchor ti baſta il Core
Prendi l'arme, o fiero Amore
Ch'io te ſfido a cruda Morte

Piu non uoglio teco pace
Ne piu uoglio a te ſeruire
Spenta e hormai la acceſa face
Chel cor marde e fa morire
Satia pur toi ſdegni e ire
Chio non ho dite timore
Prendi l'arme, o fiero Amore
Ch'io te ſfido a cruda Morte

Ala morte a l'arme, a l'arme
Tu che mardi il cor in pecto
Poi che brami tormentarme
Queſto focho al'tuo diſpecto
Smorzarolo con dilecto
Con il ſangue del tuo core
Prendi l'arme, o fiero Amore
Ch'io te ſfido a cruda Morte

1505. Motovun-Venecija

[Tungi]

Oh, weep for Adonais--he is dead!
Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!
Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed
Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep
Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;
For he is gone, where all things wise and fair
Descend--oh, dream not that the amorous Deep
Will yet restore him to the vital air;
Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

Percy Bysshe Shelley