Archive for May, 2009

whispered by the wind that blows…

Posted in from the heart..., poetry on May 24, 2009 by gilrang

rest, my dear, till morning comes….
rest until the night becomes
the only time we would be part,
the only sad hour in thy heart.

dream, my dear, till dawn begins,
dream until the morning winds
bring to you the warming blow
which left my heart not long ago…

and you, awake, will finally hear
the words i´ve carefully found
to say you are my dear.

and not everyone knows
to hold inside the feeling
whispered by the wind that blows.

(may/22/2009)

the jazz singers…

Posted in dafydd john pritchard, from the heart..., poetry on May 15, 2009 by gilrang

chegou a vez de falar de um novo poeta de cymru, região situada a sudoeste do reino unido também conhecida como país de gales. dafydd john pritchard e a poesia galêsa me foram apresentados recentemente e voces verão algumas destas novas descobertas em breve. pritchard foi criado em nant peris, arfon, e é poeta conhecido em seu país. o poema e a tradução seguem abaixo.

Y gantores jazz

Mae teid sy’n llawn o seidar,
a sŵn y byd sy’n y bar;
criwiau unnos yn cronni
a’u gwg rhwng y mwg a mi,
criwiau byddar llawn siarad
yn mynnu iaith i’w mwynhad.
Ond o’r llwyfan bychan bach
daw alaw sy’n dawelach
na stŵr y siarad cwrw,
daw ’na iaith i’w datod nhw.
Anadl o iaith, a merch dlos
drwy’r mwg a’r drymiau agos
yn un syndod o nodau’n
gwaedu cân â’i llygaid cau.
Mae’i gwallt yn hir gan hiraeth,
nodau’r hwyr yn don ar draeth,
a gwedd wen ei gwddw hi
yn dristwch ewyn drosti;
sŵn graean lond ei chanu
a marw dau’n y môr du.
I mi, er hyn, y mae’r haf
dan haul y nodyn olaf.

(Dafydd John Pritchard)

the jazz singers

a tide brimming with cider
noise of the world nestles in the bar
one-night crowds gathering
their frowns twixt the smoke and i
deaf crowds full of talk
insisting a language to their pleasure.
but from the tiny stage
comes a melody that’s quieter
than the braying of the beer crew,
comes a language to unravel them.
a breath of language, a pretty girl
through the smoke and the drums
one wonder of notes
bleeding song with eyes closed.
her hair is long with longing,
notes are waves on the sand,
the pale yoke of her throat
a sad foam over her;
gravel sound fills her song
of two deaths in the black sea.
to me, despite this, the summer
lies beneath the sun of her song.