Омилени стихови и поеми од странски писатели

[Nonteizam]

Death Will Come and Will Have Your Eyes

(Cesare Pavese)

Death will come and will have your eyes—
this death that accompanies us
from morning till evening, unsleeping,
deaf, like an old remorse
or an absurd vice. Your eyes
will be a useless word,
a suppressed cry, a silence.
That’s what you see each morning
when alone with yourself you lean
toward the mirror. O precious hope,
that day we too will know
that you are life and you are nothingness.

Death has a look for everyone.
Death will come and will have your eyes.
It will be like renouncing a vice,
like seeing a dead face reappear in the mirror,
like listening to a lip that’s shut.
We’ll go down into the maelstrom mute.

П.С. Имам и српска верзија ако некој сака

 

[HITCH]

Pjesma za nas dvoje - Miroslav Antić

Znam,
mora biti da je tako:
nikad se nismo sreli nas dvoje,
mada se trazimo podjednako
zbog srece njene
i srece moje.
Pijana kisa siba i mlati,
vrbama vetar cupa kosu.

Kuda cu?
U koji grad da svratim?

Dan je niz mutna polja prosut.

Vucaram svetom dva prazna oka
zurim u lica prolaznika.
Koga da pitam,gladan i mokar,
zasto se nismo sreli nikad?

Il je vec bilo?
Trebao korak?
Mozda je sasvim do mene dosla.
Al' ja,
u krcmu svratio gorak,
a ona
ne znajuci-prosla.

Ne znam.
Ceo svet smo obisli
u zudnji ludoj
podjednakoj,
a za korak se mimoisli.

Da,mora da je tako

 

[Marionka_z]

She walks in beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Byron​

 

[Old Possum]

Пред 500 години, а како денес.

A Farewell to the World
Ben Jonson

False world, good night! since thou hast brought
That hour upon my morn of age;
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought,
My part is ended on thy stage.

Yes, threaten, do. Alas! I fear
As little as I hope from thee:
I know thou canst not show nor bear
More hatred than thou hast to me.

My tender, first, and simple years
Thou didst abuse and then betray;
Since stir'd'st up jealousies and fears,
When all the causes were away.

Then in a soil hast planted me
Where breathe the basest of thy fools;
Where envious arts professèd be,
And pride and ignorance the schools;

Where nothing is examined, weigh'd,
But as 'tis rumour'd, so believed;
Where every freedom is betray'd,
And every goodness tax'd or grieved.

But what we're born for, we must bear:
Our frail condition it is such
That what to all may happen here,
If 't chance to me, I must not grutch.

Else I my state should much mistake
To harbour a divided thought
From all my kind—that, for my sake,
There should a miracle be wrought.

No, I do know that I was born
To age, misfortune, sickness, grief:
But I will bear these with that scorn
As shall not need thy false relief.

Nor for my peace will I go far,
As wanderers do, that still do roam;
But make my strengths, such as they are,
Here in my bosom, and at home.

 

[.:MadMan:.]

A Dream Within A Dream - Edgar Allan Poe


Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

 

[Comic]

walking the line that the world has drawn
fighting for balance alone in the dark
will you carry the burden the world has grown
will you destroy everything in you sight?
You alone can give this one more try
you alone can bury me tonight.

 

[Cruela DeVill]

Arsen Dedic - Balada o prolaznosti

Kad lutali smo svijetom
kao raspršeno sjeme,
govorili smo sebi -
to je za neko vrijeme.

I ne znajuć’ da smo
na izgubljenom brodu
mi vikali smo: "Kopno!"
dok gledali smo vodu.

Kad ljubili smo kratko
u tuzi kišne noći,
govorili smo za se
da ljubav tek će doći.

Postavljali smo stvari,
ali opet ne za dugo.
Za sva smo mjesta rekli -
odredit ćemo drugo.

Kad rađala se sreća
i čekala je slava,
pomišljali smo opet -
to nije ona prava.

Kad prijatelja nema,
a dani idu sporo,
govorili smo za se
da vraćaju se skoro.

Gdje najviše smo dali
dobivali smo manje,
ali mislili smo - to je
tek privremeno stanje.

Kad gubili smo život,
govorili smo: "Neka"
i vjerovali čvrsto
da pravi tek nas čeka.

Putovali smo dalje
kad davno već smo stigli.
Tek počeli smo nešto,
a drugo već smo bili.

I ostali smo tako
kraj odlazeće vode,
nerazjašnjeni sasvim
i pomalo van mode.

U započetoj priči
u ljubavi bez traga,
jer svakoj smo se kući
približili do praga.

U privremenom redu
nekorištenih stvari
ni osjetili nismo
da sami smo, i stari.

Dok vjerovali još smo
da svaki put se mijenja,
mi rekli smo si zbogom
govoreć doviđenja.

 

[AnaMercury]

How heavy the days - Hermann Hesse

How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved, clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die.

 

[Вештица]

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being

Perhaps not to be is to be without your being,
without your going, that cuts noon light
like a blue flower, without your passing
later through fog and stones,
without the torch you lift in your hand
that others may not see as golden,
that perhaps no one believed blossomed
the glowing origin of the rose,
without, in the end, your being, your coming
suddenly, inspiringly, to know my life,
blaze of the rose-tree, wheat of the breeze:
and it follows that I am, because you are:
it follows from ‘you are’, that I am, and we:
and, because of love, you will, I will,
We will, come to be.

Death alone

...Death is drawn to sound
like a slipper without a foot, a suit without its wearer,
comes to knock with a ring, stoneless and fingerless,
comes to shout without a mouth, a tongue, without a throat.
Nevertheless its footsteps sound
and its clothes echo, hushed like a tree....

...Death lies in our beds :
in the lazy mattresses, the black blankets,
lives a full stretch and then suddenly blows,
blows sound unknown filling out the sheets
and there are beds sailing into a harbour
where death is waiting, dressed as an admiral.
​

 

[Cruela DeVill]

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!



Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am the song that will never end.
I am the love of family and friend.
I am the child who has come to rest
In the arms of the Father who knows him best.

When you see the sunset fair,
I am the scented evening air.
I am the joy of a task well done.
I am the glow of the setting sun.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!

~ Mary E. Frye ~

 

[Kunoichi]

Нико на њој не види твоје руке
када пролазим улицом.

Нико на њој не види твоје прсте
кад је вратим кући.

Малено дугме је опет ушивено,
и закопчани сви снови високо до врата.

Ја ову хаљину нежно скидам,
ја ову хаљину пажљиво облачим:

Она за мене моћ мађије има.
Волела бих да твоје руке на њој
могу да покажем свима.

Мира Алечковић: ХАЉИНА

 

[Мармеладова]

Свиданье

В мире, где всјак
Сгорблен и взмылен,
Знају - один
Мне равносилен.

В мире, где столь
Многого хоштем,
Знају - один
Мне равномоштен.

В мире, где всё -
Плесень и плјушт,
Знају: один
Ты - равносушт Мне.
3 ијулја 1924


Tryst
In a world where all
Are hunched and lathered
I know only one
Equal to me in strength.

In a world where we
Seek so much,
I know only one
Equal to me in might.

In a world where everything
Is mold and vines,
I know: only You are equal in essence
To me.
July 3, 1924

***
Она сидела на полу
И груду писем разбирала,
И, как остывшују золу,
Брала их в руки и бросала.
Брала знакомые листы
И чудно так на них глјадела,
Как души смотрјат с высоты
На ими брошенное тело...
О, сколько жизни было тут,
Невозвратимо пережитој!
О, сколько горестных минут,
Лјубви и радости убитој!..
Стојал ја молча в стороне
И пасть готов был на колени,-
И страшно грустно стало мне,
Как от присуштеј милој тени.

***
She sat upon the floor
Looking through a pile of letters,
She took them up and tossed them
Like so many cold ashes.
She took the familiar pages
And I gazed at them strangely,
The way souls look from above
At their discarded bodies . . .
O, how much life was in them,
Life irrevocably lived!
O, how many bitter moments,
How much love and joy now dead! . . .
I stood silently aside
Ready to fall on my knees,
And I grew terribly sad,
As if in the presence of a dear ghost.

F. I. Tiutchev 1803-1873
​

 

[.:MadMan:.]

​

.....Yet each man kills the thing he loves,

By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword!



Some kill their love when they are young,

And some when they are old;

Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

Some with the hands of Gold:

The kindest use a knife, because

The dead so soon grow cold.



Some love too little, some too long,

Some sell, and others buy;

Some do the deed with many tears,

And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die....

​

The Ballad Of The Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde
Ова е само дел, вреди да се прочита цела поема.

​

​

 

[HITCH]

If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

 

[CafeDelMar]

Силвија Плат - Балони

Од Божиќ живеат со нас,
Наивни и чисти,
Јајчесто-душни животни,
Заземајќи половина од просторот,
Движејќи се и триејќи се од свилата

Невидиливи воздушни издишки,
Викаат и пукаат
Кога се нападнати, потоа заминуват да се одморат, тресејќи се.
Жолти мачешки глави, сини риби- – - -
Со какви чудни месечини ние живееме

Наместо со мртов мебел!
Сламени кревети, бели ѕидови
И овој подвижен
Глобус од воздух, црвен, зелен,
Воодушевувајќи

Го срцето како желби или слободни
Пауни благословувајќи ја
Старата земја со пердув
Заринкан во сјаен метал.
Твоето малечко

Братче прави
Неговиот балон да пишти како мачка.
Изгледа го гледа
Смешниот розов свет кој може да го изеде на другата страна,
Тој гризе,

Потоа седнува
Назад, со цуцлата
Разјаснувајќи го светот чист како вода.
Црвено раскинато
Тело во неговата малечка тупаница.