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Iarăşi Mioriţa, de data asta „Mioritza”

Septembrie 23, 2007

Ia uite cum sună..

Mioritza

translation by W. D. Snodgrass

MIORITZA

translation by W. D. Snodgrass)

Near a low foothill

At Heaven’s doorsill,

Where the trail’s descending

To the plain and ending,

Here three shepherds keep

Their three flocks of sheep,

One, Moldavian,

One, Transylvanian

And one, Vrancean.

Now, the Vrancean

And the Transylvanian

In their thoughts, conniving,

Have laid plans, contriving

At the close of day

To ambush and slay

The Moldavian;

He, the wealthier one,

Had more flocks to keep,

Handsome, long-horned sheep,

Horses, trained and sound,

And the fiercest hounds.

One small ewe-lamb, though,

Dappled gray as tow,

While three full days passed

Bleated loud and fast;

Would not touch the grass.

‘Ewe-lamb, dapple-gray,

Muzzled black and gray,

While three full days passed

You bleat loud and fast;

Don’t you like this grass?

Are you too sick to eat,

Little lamb so sweet?’

‘Oh my master dear,

Drive the flock out near

That field, dark to view,

Where the grass grows new,

Where there’s shade for you.

‘Master, master dear,

Call a large hound near,

A fierce one and fearless,

Strong, loyal and peerless.

The Transylvanian

And the Vrancean

When the daylight’s through

Mean to murder you.’

‘Lamb, my little ewe,

If this omen’s true,

If I’m doomed to death

On this tract of heath,

Tell the Vrancean

And Transylvanian

To let my bones lie

Somewhere here close by,

By the sheepfold here

So my flocks are near,

Back of my hut’s grounds

So I’ll hear my hounds.

Tell them what I say:

There, beside me lay

One small pipe of beech

Whith its soft, sweet speech,

One small pipe of bone

Whit its loving tone,

One of elderwood,

Fiery-tongued and good.

Then the winds that blow

Would play on them so

All my listening sheep

Would draw near and weep

Tears, no blood so deep.

How I met my death,

Tell them not a breath;

Say I could not tarry,

I have gone to marry

A princess ‘ my bride

Is the whole world’s pride.

At my wedding, tell

How a bright star fell,

Sun and moon came down

To hold my bridal crown,

Firs and maple trees

Were my guests; my priests

Were the mountains high;

Fiddlers, birds that fly,

All birds of the sky;

Torchlights, stars on high.

But if you see there,

Should you meet somewhere,

My old mother, little,

With her white wool girdle,

Eyes with their tears flowing,

Over the plains going,

Asking one and all,

Saying to them all,

‘Who has ever known,

Who has seen my own

Shepherd fine to see,

Slim as a willow tree,

With his dear face, bright

As the milk-foam, white,

His small moustache, right

As the young wheat’s ear,

With his hair so dear,

Like plumes of the crow

Little eyes that glow

Like the ripe black sloe?’

Ewe-lamb, small and pretty,

For her sake have pity,

Let it just be said

I have gone to wed

A princess most noble

There on Heaven’s doorsill.

To that mother, old,

Let it not be told

That a star fell, bright,

For my bridal night;

Firs and maple trees

Were my guests, priests

Were the mountains high;

Fiddlers, birds that fly,

All birds of the sky;

Torchlights, stars on high.’

Pentru iubitorii de franceză, Aici

„Geniul nu are buton de oprire”,  nu m-am putut abţine să nu pun un link la interpretarea genialissima a lui Tudor Gheorghe. E rudă cu Ada Milea. Aceeaşi genă. 🙂

Anunțuri

11 comentarii

  1. of, of,of …
    vai, vai, vai….germana, turca, rusa………pe cand?:)


  2. moloz


  3. De-acord desi suna cumva asa ceva nu se poate traduce


  4. da, traduci cuvintele, dar nu poti traduce atmosfera, ideile.

    Sa traducem Miorita in chineza, in araba, are vreo relevanta?

    Nu cred.


  5. nu acelasi lucru se poate spune despre interpretarea lui Tudor Gheorghe.

    Prinde foarte bine prin fiecare modulare a vocii insotita de instrument atmosfera baladei.

    Tudor Gheorghe este un maestru, cu adevarat.


  6. da, tocmai il ascult si eu pe Tudor Gheorghe, super:))


  7. Nu-i aşa că-i tare? 🙂


  8. de acord cu voi, visitor si ortografix, nu se poate traduce Miorita… iese o chestie care rimeaza, ritmeaza , aduce putin cu imaginea originala, dar e lipsita de culoare, de atmosfera este ca in jocul acela in care puneam un ban sub hirtie si treceam creionul peste hirtie,
    raminea imprimata imaginea banului, relieful, tot, culoarea era asemanatoare cu a originalului, dar nu avea nici o valoare.


  9. N-are nici un sens. Nu poti traduce ‘dulcele grai romanesc’.


  10. nu vad nimic rau in traducerea asta.. bine, nu suna ca originalul, dar cate poezii chineze de exemplu nu suna ca originalul cand le citim in romaneste si totusi, nu ne imbogatesc ele oare orizontul? cum le-am citi oare fara traduceri?
    asta e o varianta. daca poate cineva mai mult, foarte bine. nu e nici prea rea oricum.
    si-apoi, cei ce o vor citi in engleza, vor simti ca in romana e mai mult, si probabil isi vor dori sa stie romaneste s-o citeasca. macar ca idee..


  11. Botache, cred ca si ofsummer are dreptate, vorba lui Benedetto Croce, tradutore, tradittore, oricum traducătoul este un trădător, dar măcar ne aduce un pic din atmosfera pe care poetul incearca sa o creeze in limba sursa.

    da, interesanta ideea ta, ofsummer, cei care citesc traducerea intuiesc ca este mai mult si se apuca sa invete limba originala,
    si mie mi-a venit sa invat spaniola odata numai de dragul lui Don Quijote 🙂



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