Post by Bonobo on Mar 29, 2008 23:15:28 GMT 1
Jeanne, if you like crying, here is some good material.
Cyprian Kamil Norwid, (September 24, 1821– May 23, 1883) is a nationally esteemed Polish poet, dramatist, painter and sculptor. Norwid is regarded as one of the second generation of romantics, led a tragic and often poverty-stricken life. He experienced increasing health problems, unrequited love, harsh critical reviews, and increasing social isolation. He lived abroad most of his life, especially in London and in Paris, where he died.
Norwid’s original and non-conformist style was not appreciated in his lifetime and partially due to this fact, he was excluded from high society. His work was only rediscovered and appreciated during the Young Poland art period of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. He is now considered one of the four most important Polish Romantic poets.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyprian_Norwid
Solitude
Still - but a spider sways her web now and then
Or a puff pets the poplar next to the window
Ah! How light ‘tis to breathe, for the soul to dream
how sweet
Here neither chatter nor laughs hedge my thoughts.
Like the slave who crushes weighty chains with force
And in his heart feels a life once put out anew
So I, freed for a moment from obtrusive tortures
Feel and grasp the spell and grace of silence.
For when the heart joins us not in rounds of revelry
When motley thoughts must reside side by side
When soul fails soul to grasp, comprehend
‘Tis vain to suck drink's nectar to the lees
All is torturous - laughs, song, feast
Life and delight visit me when my thought is free.
Translated by Alex Kurczaba
Samotność
Cisza - niekiedy tylko pajak siatka wzruszy
Lub przed oknem topole wietrzyk pomuskuje
Och! Jak lekko oddychac, slodko marzyc duszy
Tu mi gwar, tu mi usmiech mysli nie krepuje.
Jak niewolnik, co cieìkie sila wiezy skruszy
I zgasle zycie w sercu na nowo poczuje
Tak ja, na chwile zwolnion z natretnych katuszy,
Wdziek i urok milczenia czuje i pojmuje.
Bo gdy w kole biesiady serce nas nie laczy
Gdy roznorodne mysli mieszkac z soba musza,
Gdy dusza duszy pojac, zrozumiec nie zdolna -
Prozno nektar napojów hojnie sie wysaczy;
smiechy, piosnka, biesiada - wszystko jest katusza;
U mnie rozkosz i zycie, gdy moja mysl wolna.
Darkness
He who deprecates the darkness of my words,
Has he ever lit a candle on his own?
His servant brought it for him to the room,
His motives known only to himself alone.
The wick, ignited by the spark, at once illumines,
The pouring wax converges at the base,
The brightness of the star slowly supines,
A deep radiant blue and paleness.
Already you think it's petered out down there,
The heated liquid will engulf everything,
Sparks and ashes can't offset despair,
You gave faith, look how its glowing.
Indeed there are resemblances, and my songs, oh sir,
You who begrudge them their meager moments,
Infuse these coldened days with warm air.
The flame flickers selflessly benevolent.
Ciemność
I
Ty skarżysz się na ciemność mojej mowy;
- Czy też świécę zapalałeś sam?
Czy sługa ci zawsze niósł pokojowy
światłość?... patrz - że ja cię lepiej znam.
II
Knot, gdy obejmiesz iskrą, wkoło płonie,
Grzeje wosk, a ten kulą wstawa
I w biegunie jej nagle płomień tonie;
światłość jego jest mdła - bladawa -
III
Już - już mniemasz, że zgaśnie, skoro z dołu
Ciecz rozgrzana światło pochłonie -
Wiary trzeba - nie dość skry i popiołu...
Wiarę dałeś?... patrz - patrz, jak płonie!...
IV
Podobnie są i słowa me, o! człeku,
A ty im skąpisz chwili marnéj,
Nim - rozgrzawszy pierwej zimnotę wieku -
Płomień w niebo rzucą... ofiarny.
Another translation
Darkness
Ah but my speech is dark, the man complains.
Has he once lit the tape or merely bidden
His servant bring it in, whom he disdains?
(Many reasons in this way are hidden).
The wick, touched by the spark, burns first and blinks
Melting the wax which climbs up curlicue.
A luminous star then slowly sinks.
Pale is its brightness, pale and blue.
Now, you think, now it will go dark,
Quenched by the liquid wax below its turns.
Ah but faith is needed, ashes and sparks
Are not enough. Look! By your faiths, it burns!
So it is with my songs, oh fellow man,
You who denies them in a fleeting game,
Before wintry age warms up - it can,
It will flare up, a sacrificial flame.
MY SONG (II)
Cyprian Kamil Norwid
For that land where a scrap of bread is picked up
From the ground out of reverence
For Heaven's gifts...
I am homesick, Lord!...
For the land where it's a great travesty
To harm a stork's nest in a pear tree,
For storks serve us all...
I am homesick, Lord!...
For the land where we greet each other
In the ancient Christian custom:
"May Christ's name be praised!"
I am homesick, Lord!...
I long still for yet another thing, likewise innocent,
For I no longer know where to find
My abode...
I am homesick, Lord!
For worrying-not and thinking-not,
For those whose yes means yes --- and no means no ---
Without shades of grey...
I am homesick, Lord!
I long for that distant place, where someone cares for me!
It must be thus, though my friendship
Will never come to pass!...
I am homesick, Lord!
-translated by Walter Whipple
Moja Piosnka
Do kraju tego, gdzie kruszynę chleba
Podnoszą z ziemi przez uszanowanie
Dla darów Nieba....
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Do kraju tego, gdzie winą jest dużą
Popsować gniazdo na gruszy bocianie,
Bo wszystkim służą...
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Do kraju tego, gdzie pierwsze ukłony
Są, jak odwieczne Chrystusa wyznanie,
"Bądź pochwalony!"
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Tęskno mi jeszcze i do rzeczy innej,
Której już nie wiem, gdzie leży mieszkanie,
Równie niewinnej...
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Do bez-tęsknoty i do bez-myślenia,
Do tych, co mają tak za tak - nie za nie,
Bez światło-cienia...
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Tęskno mi owdzie, gdzie któż o mnie stoi?
I tak być musi, choć się tak nie stanie
Przyjaźni mojéj...
Tęskno mi, Panie...
Storks have found their place in Polish culture. I have already presented a famous Polish painting.
Now a poem by a great emigrant Polish poet from 19 century: C.K. Norwid.
MY SONG (II)
Cyprian Kamil Norwid
For that land where a scrap of bread is picked up
From the ground out of reverence
For Heaven's gifts...
I am homesick, Lord!...
For the land where it's a great travesty
To harm a stork's nest in a pear tree,
For storks serve us all...
I am homesick, Lord!...
For the land where we greet each other
In the ancient Christian custom:
"May Christ's name be praised!"
I am homesick, Lord!...
I long still for yet another thing, likewise innocent,
For I no longer know where to find
My abode...
I am homesick, Lord!
For worrying-not and thinking-not,
For those whose yes means yes --- and no means no ---
Without shades of grey...
I am homesick, Lord!
I long for that distant place, where someone cares for me!
It must be thus, though my friendship
Will never come to pass!...
I am homesick, Lord!
-translated by Walter Whipple
I am sorry but I can`t read this poetry, it is getting me down. So, I can give you a few links.
daisy.htmlplanet.com/nor1.htm
www.ap.krakow.pl/nkja/literature/polpoet/norw_con.htm
His lectures
www.ruf.rice.edu/~sarmatia/993/norlec.html
Cyprian Kamil Norwid, (September 24, 1821– May 23, 1883) is a nationally esteemed Polish poet, dramatist, painter and sculptor. Norwid is regarded as one of the second generation of romantics, led a tragic and often poverty-stricken life. He experienced increasing health problems, unrequited love, harsh critical reviews, and increasing social isolation. He lived abroad most of his life, especially in London and in Paris, where he died.
Norwid’s original and non-conformist style was not appreciated in his lifetime and partially due to this fact, he was excluded from high society. His work was only rediscovered and appreciated during the Young Poland art period of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. He is now considered one of the four most important Polish Romantic poets.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyprian_Norwid
Solitude
Still - but a spider sways her web now and then
Or a puff pets the poplar next to the window
Ah! How light ‘tis to breathe, for the soul to dream
how sweet
Here neither chatter nor laughs hedge my thoughts.
Like the slave who crushes weighty chains with force
And in his heart feels a life once put out anew
So I, freed for a moment from obtrusive tortures
Feel and grasp the spell and grace of silence.
For when the heart joins us not in rounds of revelry
When motley thoughts must reside side by side
When soul fails soul to grasp, comprehend
‘Tis vain to suck drink's nectar to the lees
All is torturous - laughs, song, feast
Life and delight visit me when my thought is free.
Translated by Alex Kurczaba
Samotność
Cisza - niekiedy tylko pajak siatka wzruszy
Lub przed oknem topole wietrzyk pomuskuje
Och! Jak lekko oddychac, slodko marzyc duszy
Tu mi gwar, tu mi usmiech mysli nie krepuje.
Jak niewolnik, co cieìkie sila wiezy skruszy
I zgasle zycie w sercu na nowo poczuje
Tak ja, na chwile zwolnion z natretnych katuszy,
Wdziek i urok milczenia czuje i pojmuje.
Bo gdy w kole biesiady serce nas nie laczy
Gdy roznorodne mysli mieszkac z soba musza,
Gdy dusza duszy pojac, zrozumiec nie zdolna -
Prozno nektar napojów hojnie sie wysaczy;
smiechy, piosnka, biesiada - wszystko jest katusza;
U mnie rozkosz i zycie, gdy moja mysl wolna.
Darkness
He who deprecates the darkness of my words,
Has he ever lit a candle on his own?
His servant brought it for him to the room,
His motives known only to himself alone.
The wick, ignited by the spark, at once illumines,
The pouring wax converges at the base,
The brightness of the star slowly supines,
A deep radiant blue and paleness.
Already you think it's petered out down there,
The heated liquid will engulf everything,
Sparks and ashes can't offset despair,
You gave faith, look how its glowing.
Indeed there are resemblances, and my songs, oh sir,
You who begrudge them their meager moments,
Infuse these coldened days with warm air.
The flame flickers selflessly benevolent.
Ciemność
I
Ty skarżysz się na ciemność mojej mowy;
- Czy też świécę zapalałeś sam?
Czy sługa ci zawsze niósł pokojowy
światłość?... patrz - że ja cię lepiej znam.
II
Knot, gdy obejmiesz iskrą, wkoło płonie,
Grzeje wosk, a ten kulą wstawa
I w biegunie jej nagle płomień tonie;
światłość jego jest mdła - bladawa -
III
Już - już mniemasz, że zgaśnie, skoro z dołu
Ciecz rozgrzana światło pochłonie -
Wiary trzeba - nie dość skry i popiołu...
Wiarę dałeś?... patrz - patrz, jak płonie!...
IV
Podobnie są i słowa me, o! człeku,
A ty im skąpisz chwili marnéj,
Nim - rozgrzawszy pierwej zimnotę wieku -
Płomień w niebo rzucą... ofiarny.
Another translation
Darkness
Ah but my speech is dark, the man complains.
Has he once lit the tape or merely bidden
His servant bring it in, whom he disdains?
(Many reasons in this way are hidden).
The wick, touched by the spark, burns first and blinks
Melting the wax which climbs up curlicue.
A luminous star then slowly sinks.
Pale is its brightness, pale and blue.
Now, you think, now it will go dark,
Quenched by the liquid wax below its turns.
Ah but faith is needed, ashes and sparks
Are not enough. Look! By your faiths, it burns!
So it is with my songs, oh fellow man,
You who denies them in a fleeting game,
Before wintry age warms up - it can,
It will flare up, a sacrificial flame.
MY SONG (II)
Cyprian Kamil Norwid
For that land where a scrap of bread is picked up
From the ground out of reverence
For Heaven's gifts...
I am homesick, Lord!...
For the land where it's a great travesty
To harm a stork's nest in a pear tree,
For storks serve us all...
I am homesick, Lord!...
For the land where we greet each other
In the ancient Christian custom:
"May Christ's name be praised!"
I am homesick, Lord!...
I long still for yet another thing, likewise innocent,
For I no longer know where to find
My abode...
I am homesick, Lord!
For worrying-not and thinking-not,
For those whose yes means yes --- and no means no ---
Without shades of grey...
I am homesick, Lord!
I long for that distant place, where someone cares for me!
It must be thus, though my friendship
Will never come to pass!...
I am homesick, Lord!
-translated by Walter Whipple
Moja Piosnka
Do kraju tego, gdzie kruszynę chleba
Podnoszą z ziemi przez uszanowanie
Dla darów Nieba....
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Do kraju tego, gdzie winą jest dużą
Popsować gniazdo na gruszy bocianie,
Bo wszystkim służą...
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Do kraju tego, gdzie pierwsze ukłony
Są, jak odwieczne Chrystusa wyznanie,
"Bądź pochwalony!"
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Tęskno mi jeszcze i do rzeczy innej,
Której już nie wiem, gdzie leży mieszkanie,
Równie niewinnej...
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Do bez-tęsknoty i do bez-myślenia,
Do tych, co mają tak za tak - nie za nie,
Bez światło-cienia...
Tęskno mi, Panie...
*
Tęskno mi owdzie, gdzie któż o mnie stoi?
I tak być musi, choć się tak nie stanie
Przyjaźni mojéj...
Tęskno mi, Panie...
Storks have found their place in Polish culture. I have already presented a famous Polish painting.
Now a poem by a great emigrant Polish poet from 19 century: C.K. Norwid.
MY SONG (II)
Cyprian Kamil Norwid
For that land where a scrap of bread is picked up
From the ground out of reverence
For Heaven's gifts...
I am homesick, Lord!...
For the land where it's a great travesty
To harm a stork's nest in a pear tree,
For storks serve us all...
I am homesick, Lord!...
For the land where we greet each other
In the ancient Christian custom:
"May Christ's name be praised!"
I am homesick, Lord!...
I long still for yet another thing, likewise innocent,
For I no longer know where to find
My abode...
I am homesick, Lord!
For worrying-not and thinking-not,
For those whose yes means yes --- and no means no ---
Without shades of grey...
I am homesick, Lord!
I long for that distant place, where someone cares for me!
It must be thus, though my friendship
Will never come to pass!...
I am homesick, Lord!
-translated by Walter Whipple
I am sorry but I can`t read this poetry, it is getting me down. So, I can give you a few links.
daisy.htmlplanet.com/nor1.htm
www.ap.krakow.pl/nkja/literature/polpoet/norw_con.htm
His lectures
www.ruf.rice.edu/~sarmatia/993/norlec.html
;D