TWEETY***
Мy life..my rules..any questions?
- Член од
- 18 февруари 2006
- Мислења
- 2.041
- Поени од реакции
- 66
CEZNEM
Ceznem da ti kazem najdublje reci
koje ti imam reci; ali se ne usudujem,
strahujuci da bi mi se mogla nasmejati.
Zato se smejem sam sebi i odajem
tajnu svoju sali.
Olako uzimam bol svoj,
strahujuci da bi ti to mogla uciniti.
Ceznam da ti kazem najvernije reci
koje ti imam reci; ali se ne usudujem,
strahujuci da bi mogla posumnjati u njih.
Zato ih oblacim u neistinu,
i govorim suprotno onome sto mislim.
Ostavljam bol svoj da izgleda glup,
strahujuci da bi ti to mogla uciniti.
Ceznem da upotrebim najdragocenije reci
sto imam za te; ali se ne usudujem,
strahujuci da mi se nece vratiti istom merom.
Zato dajem ruzna imena i hvalim se svojom surovoscu.
Zadajem ti bol, beojeci se
da neces nikada saznati sta je bol.
Ceznem da sedim mirno pored tebe;
ali se ne usudujem; jer bi mi inace
srce iskocilo na usta.
Zato brbljam i caskam olako,
i zatrpavam svoje srce recima.
Grubo uzimam svoj bol, strahujuci
da bi ti to mogla uciniti.
Ceznem da te ostavim zauvek;
ali se ne usudujem, strahujuci da bi
mogla otkriti moj kukavicluk.
Zato ponosito dizem glavu
i dolazim veseo u tvoje drustvo.
Neprekidne strele iz tvojih ociju
cine da je bol vecito svez.
Tagore
Pablo Neruda
With chaste heart, and pure
eyes
I celebrate you, my beauty,
restraining my blood
so that the line
surges and follows
your contour,
and you bed yourself in my verse,
as in woodland, or wave-spume:
earth’s perfume,
sea’s music.
Nakedly beautiful,
whether it is your feet, arching
at a primal touch
of sound or breeze,
or your ears,
tiny spiral shells
from the splendour of America’s oceans.
Your breasts also,
of equal fullness, overflowing
with the living light
and, yes,
winged
your eyelids of silken corn
that disclose
or enclose
the deep twin landscapes of your eyes.
The line of your back
separating you
falls away into paler regions
then surges
to the smooth hemispheres
of an apple,
and goes splitting
your loveliness
into two pillars
of burnt gold, pure alabaster,
to be lost in the twin clusters of your feet,
from which, once more, lifts and takes fire
the double tree of your symmetry:
flower of fire, open circle of candles,
swollen fruit raised
over the meeting of earth and ocean.
Your body – from what substances
agate, quartz, ears of wheat,
did it flow, was it gathered,
rising like bread
in the warmth,
and signalling hills
silvered,
valleys of a single petal, sweetnesses
of velvet depth,
until the pure, fine, form of woman
thickened
and rested there?
It is not so much light that falls
over the world
extended by your body
its suffocating snow,
as brightness, pouring itself out of you,
as if you were
burning inside.
Ceznem da ti kazem najdublje reci
koje ti imam reci; ali se ne usudujem,
strahujuci da bi mi se mogla nasmejati.
Zato se smejem sam sebi i odajem
tajnu svoju sali.
Olako uzimam bol svoj,
strahujuci da bi ti to mogla uciniti.
Ceznam da ti kazem najvernije reci
koje ti imam reci; ali se ne usudujem,
strahujuci da bi mogla posumnjati u njih.
Zato ih oblacim u neistinu,
i govorim suprotno onome sto mislim.
Ostavljam bol svoj da izgleda glup,
strahujuci da bi ti to mogla uciniti.
Ceznem da upotrebim najdragocenije reci
sto imam za te; ali se ne usudujem,
strahujuci da mi se nece vratiti istom merom.
Zato dajem ruzna imena i hvalim se svojom surovoscu.
Zadajem ti bol, beojeci se
da neces nikada saznati sta je bol.
Ceznem da sedim mirno pored tebe;
ali se ne usudujem; jer bi mi inace
srce iskocilo na usta.
Zato brbljam i caskam olako,
i zatrpavam svoje srce recima.
Grubo uzimam svoj bol, strahujuci
da bi ti to mogla uciniti.
Ceznem da te ostavim zauvek;
ali se ne usudujem, strahujuci da bi
mogla otkriti moj kukavicluk.
Zato ponosito dizem glavu
i dolazim veseo u tvoje drustvo.
Neprekidne strele iz tvojih ociju
cine da je bol vecito svez.
Tagore
Pablo Neruda
With chaste heart, and pure
eyes
I celebrate you, my beauty,
restraining my blood
so that the line
surges and follows
your contour,
and you bed yourself in my verse,
as in woodland, or wave-spume:
earth’s perfume,
sea’s music.
Nakedly beautiful,
whether it is your feet, arching
at a primal touch
of sound or breeze,
or your ears,
tiny spiral shells
from the splendour of America’s oceans.
Your breasts also,
of equal fullness, overflowing
with the living light
and, yes,
winged
your eyelids of silken corn
that disclose
or enclose
the deep twin landscapes of your eyes.
The line of your back
separating you
falls away into paler regions
then surges
to the smooth hemispheres
of an apple,
and goes splitting
your loveliness
into two pillars
of burnt gold, pure alabaster,
to be lost in the twin clusters of your feet,
from which, once more, lifts and takes fire
the double tree of your symmetry:
flower of fire, open circle of candles,
swollen fruit raised
over the meeting of earth and ocean.
Your body – from what substances
agate, quartz, ears of wheat,
did it flow, was it gathered,
rising like bread
in the warmth,
and signalling hills
silvered,
valleys of a single petal, sweetnesses
of velvet depth,
until the pure, fine, form of woman
thickened
and rested there?
It is not so much light that falls
over the world
extended by your body
its suffocating snow,
as brightness, pouring itself out of you,
as if you were
burning inside.
