Lovro Katana | Sick rose / Bolesna ruža

O rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

*Preneseno iz knjige William Blake: Complete writings, izdavač: Oxford University press

O ružo, ti bolesna si!
Crv što vidjet ga se ne može
Kada lijeće u noći,
A oluje se množe,

Postelju nađe sebi
Grimiznoga užitka:
I njegova crna tajna ljubav
Smrt je tvojega žitka.

Lovro Katana | Percy Bysshe Shelley: Mutability - Nestalnost

P.B. Shelley

 

Mutability

 

I.

We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon;

    How restlessly they speed and gleam and quiver,

Streaking the darkness radiantly! yet soon

Night closes round, and they are lost for ever:—

 

II.

Or like forgotten lyres whose dissonant strings

    Give various response to each varying blast,

To whose frail frame no second motion brings

    One mood or modulation like the last.

 

III.

We rest—a dream  has power to poison sleep;

    We rise—one wandering thought pollutes the day;

We feel, conceive or reason, laugh or weep,

Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away:—

 

IV.

It is the same!—For, be it joy or sorrow,

    The path of its departure still is free;

Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;

    Nought may endure but Mutability.

 

 

 

Nestalnost

 

Nalik oblačju smo što zastire mjesečinu;

   Nestalno li promiče, treperavo i sjajno;

Uskoro, probijajući blistajuću tminu,

   Kako noć pristiže, izgubljeno je trajno: -

 

Il nalik starim lirama, što zvuk im neskladan

   Različite daje zanavijek trzaje, -

Lirama gdje tankog obličja glas nijedan

   Ugođaj il prijelaz nalik zadnjemu ne daje.

 

Sni imaju snagu zatrovati sneno. Snimo.

   Dižemo se.  – Misao propala iskvari dan.

Osjećamo, plačemo, smijemo se, mislimo,

   Stranom guramo brige, grlimo jecaj i san.

 

Isto je! – O sreći ili patnji zborimo

   Ponor uvijek prisutan je nezadrživosti;

O čovječjem sutra nikad jutro ne tvorimo;

   Ništa opstati neće osim nestalnosti.

Lovro Katana | Tin Ujević: Cvrkutanje srca u pokrajini sanja - Warblings of heart in region of dreams

Tin Ujević Cvrkutanje srca u pokrajini sanja

Ptice pjevaju u mojoj sobi, a ne u kavezu,
puštene od ruku milosrđa u moj blaženi san.
Ptice mi javljaju da su radosno sa mnom u savezu,
ptice cvrkuću u misli i naviještaju crveni dan.

Ptice su ostavile šume i svježe granje stabala.
Sada se sjatile u grad, ali u pohode isključivo meni.
One kljucaju kljunom u plohu zvonkih stakala.
One pjevaju suncu i boji u ovoj ugodnoj sjeni.

One su rekle hvalu vjetru i pjesmi ganuta lista.
Ispričale su povijest stvari u toku između zemlje i neba.
Ptice mi dragaju lice i nude cjelov iz čista.
Ptice će maštâ krotkosti primiti s ruku zrnja i hljeba.

Došle su ptice k meni, k valu, na idealnu rijeku.
One, jedine iskrene, u ovoj građi zidanog mraka.
I, takve, predaju mrkim licima u turobnome vijeku
golemu poruku sreće iz plavetnog zraka.

O ptice, i ja sam ptica, i ja se ljuljam na grani,
ili siječem prostore gdje se razmeđa zemlje brate.
Cvrkuće u mom srcu, jer ja sam duh izabrani,
a vi ste, ptičice, poslane da u mom snu zapjevate.

I kada odlete ptice, ostat će njihova krila,
i moje glasnice iznutra sve nabubrene zvukom.
O ova pera šarena da bi se u let milja razvila
i pobjedu kliktala nad rasparanim mukom!

Vrlo rijetka
odgonetka
živopisna sna:
cvrkuće
s vrh kuće
u moj zvučni Ja!

*Preneseno iz knjige Tin Ujević, „Igračka vjetrova“, izdavač: Školska knjiga

Prijevod:

Warblings of heart in region of dreams

My birds are singing through my room, not in cage,

Left from hands of mercy into my blessed dream.

They are telling me happiness of our sweet union.

Birds are singing in tought foretelling a red day.

Birds had left forests and fresh odour of branches.

Now they setlled town, but in purpose to visit me. 

They are picking surfaces of ringing glasses.

They are singing to sun and colours in these cool shades.

They told thanks to wind and songs of trembling leaves.

They told history of things in course between sky and earth.

Birds are caressing me and giving kisses from purity.

Birds will fancy tame receive with arms of bread and grains.

Birds came to me, to wave, on ideal river.

They, only honnest, in that matter of constructed dark.

And, like that, they give gloom faces in dull age

Big massage of happiness from azure skys.  

O, birds, I am a bird too, waving on branch,

Or cuting spaces where lines of earth divide.

It twitters in my heart, because I am spirit choosed,

And you, little birds, are sent to sing in my dreams.

And when fly birds away, their wings will remain

And my glottis inside all swollen with a sound.

O those mottled wings to joyous fly unfold

And victory shout over quietness teared!  

Solution

Very rare

Of lively dream:

It warbles

On top of the house

Into my sonorous Self!

Lovro Katana | The Indian Girlʹs Song - Pjesma indijske djevojke

Percy Shelley

The Indian Girlʹs Song

 

I arise from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep of night,

When the winds are breathing low,

And the stars are shining bright:

I arise from dreams of thee,

And a spirit in my feet,

Hath led me – who knows how?

To thy chamber window, Sweet!

 

The wandering airs they faint

On the dark, the silent stream – 

The Champak odours fail

Like sweet thoughts in a dream;

The nightingaleʹs complaint,

It dies upon her heart; –  

As I must on thine,

O beloved as thou art!

 

Oh! lift me from the grass!

I die! I faint! I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.

My cheek is cold and white, alas!

My heart beats loud and fast; –

Oh! press it to thine own again,

Where it will break at last!

 

*Preneseno iz knjige „The Selected Poetry and Prose of Shelley“, Wordsworth editions

Pjesma indijske djevojke

 

Dižem se od sna o tebi,                          

Prvog slatkog sna, besana,                   

Kada vjetrovi uzdišu,

A zvijezda bliješti prosijana:

Dižem se od sna o tebi,

U agoniji stopala 

Trzaji dok put mi rišu

Do tvog prozora, voljeni.

 

Vjetri uvuku u struju

Mrakom se uzrujano.

Miomirisi svi spoje

Ko misli snom se razdragano.

Tužaljka umire slavuju

Povrh srca, ko što ponad          

Tvoga umrijet mora moje – 

Vječno voljen, ko dosad!

 

O, podigni me s trave!

Blijedim! Padam! Već besana! 

Kiša poljubaca neka

Padne mi kraj vjeđa, usana.

Lice mi blijedi ko od strave!

Srce udara mi glasno; –

O, stiskom tvog što ga čeka 

Neka raspukne se strasno. 

Lovro Katana | Vrt ljubavi - William Blake: The Garden of Love

 

William Blake: 

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love,

And saw what I never had seen:

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,

And ʺThou shalt notʺ writ over the door;

So I turnʹd to the Garden of Love

That so many sweet flowers bore;

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tomb-stones where flowers should be;

And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars my joys & desires.

_____________________________________________

*Preneseno iz knjige William Blake: Complete writings, izdavač: Oxford University press

Vrt ljubavi

Pošao sam Vrtu ljubavi

I ugledao neviđeno:

Kapelu usred zelenila

Što stoji gdje nekad igrah se.

Dveri kapele zatvorena

Bila su: „Nesmiješ ući“ preko 

Vrata pisalo je; okrenuh se

Stoga vrtu ljubavi u cvatu.

Ugledah mnoštvo grobova

Bez cvijeća što opustjelo stoje,

Svećenike gdje stazom im kruže

I u trnje čeznuća mi vežu.