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Mali literarni kutić Vaše pjesme, priče, romani...

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Old 07.11.2014., 19:35   #681
ima cijeli čenl posvećen recitacijama, na engleski
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZT...VQDPLoV14F-ivQ
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Old 08.11.2014., 12:23   #682
Quote:
Ono kaže: Pogledaj post
ima cijeli čenl posvećen recitacijama, na engleski
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZT...VQDPLoV14F-ivQ
Veoma zanimljiv način recitiranja i animacije...hvala za preporuku.
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Old 08.11.2014., 22:15   #683
Quote:
Ono kaže: Pogledaj post
ima cijeli čenl posvećen recitacijama, na engleski
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZT...VQDPLoV14F-ivQ

dobar link
steta samo sto dolje nema tekst da ne moram traziti.
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Old 08.11.2014., 22:18   #684
Los Nadies Eduardo Galeano

Sueñan las pulgas con comprarse un perro y sueñan los nadies con salir de pobres, que algún mágico día llueva de pronto la buena suerte, que llueva a cántaros la buena suerte; pero la buena suerte no llueve ayer, ni hoy, ni mañana, ni nunca, ni en llovizna cae del cielo la buena suerte, por mucho que los nadies la llamen y aunque les pique la mano izquierda, o se levanten con el pie derecho, o empiecen el año cambiando de escoba.

Los nadies: los hijos de nadie, los dueños de nada. Los nadies: los ningunos, los niguneados, corriendo la liebre, muriendo la vida, jodidos, rejodidos.

Que no son, aunque sean.
Que no hablan idiomas, sino dialectos.
Que no profesan religiones, sino supersticiones.
Que no hacen arte, sino artesanías.
Que no practican cultura, sino folklore.
Que no son seres humanos, sino recursos humanos.
Que no tienen cara, sino brazos.
Que no tienen nombre, sino número.
Que no figuran en la historia universal, sino en la crónica roja de la prensa local.
Los nadies, que cuestan menos que la bala que los mata.


The Nobodies

Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will suddenly rain down on them–will rain down in buckets. But good luck doesn’t rain down yesterday, today, tomorrow, or ever. Good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or start the new year with a change of brooms.

The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing. The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.
Who are not, but could be.
Who don’t speak languages, but dialects.
Who don’t have religions, but superstitions.
Who don’t create art, but handicrafts.
Who don’t have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have faces, but arms.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.
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Old 21.11.2014., 13:32   #685
"Čudan je ovaj svijet u meni
kad se od lišća zazeleni
ili poplavi kao svila
od dječje kose i ptičjih krila.

Čudan je ovaj svijet u meni
kad sve požuti i porumeni.

Van mene dosta boja živi.
Van mene katkad svijet i posivi,
ili se smrači i naoblači.

Dobro je zato što postoje
i ove moje ljepše boje.
I neki osmjeh sunčan i plah.
I vjetar nečujan kao dah.
Pa sve kad trne
i sve kad uvene,
kad tmurno izgleda svijet oko mene,
u meni živi sto vatrometa
nekakvog šarenijeg i ljepšeg svijeta.

Ponekad želim da podijelim
moje rumeno sa gradom cijelim,
i moje bijelo sa žutom travom,
i moje žuto sa noći plavom,
i moje plavo sa rijekom snenom...

Jedino čuvam ono zeleno
za neke oči što nisu moje,
al' iz njih rastu,
odavno rastu
sve druge oči i druge boje."


:klap::klap:
stihe aranžirala buha, ni čak puno tribalo, pokoji ije, pokoji je,
i tak evo kak ispadne,
mhm,
lepin u ovdašnje dubine...
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Old 21.11.2014., 13:45   #686
Buhaha!
 
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Old 25.02.2015., 23:03   #687
Edward Thomas, The Cherry Trees

The cherry trees bend over and are shedding
On the old road where all that passed are dead,
Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding
This early May morn when there is none to wed.
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Old 16.03.2015., 00:47   #688
jan wagner

aktualni dobitnik nagrade za literaturu u leipzigu
bas ima ono nesto.


herbstvillanelle


den tagen geht das licht aus
und eine stunde dauert zehn minuten.
die bäume spielten ihre letzten farben.

am himmel wechselt man die bühnenbilder
zu rasch für das kleine drama in jedem von uns:
den tagen geht das licht aus.

dein grauer mantel trennt dich von der luft,
ein passepartout für einen satz wie diesen:
die bäume spielten ihre letzten farben.

eisblaue fenster - auf den wetterkarten
der fernsehgeräte die daumenabdrücke der tiefs.
den tagen geht das licht aus,

dem leeren park, dem teich: die enten werden
an unsichtbaren fäden aufgerollt.
die bäume spielten ihre letzten farben.

und einer, der sich mit drei sonnenblumen
ins dunkel tastet, drei schwarzen punkten auf gelb:
den tagen geht das licht aus.
die bäume spielten ihre letzten farben.
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Old 28.06.2015., 01:35   #689
Federico García Lorca

Ciudad sin sueño




No duerme nadie por el cielo. Nadie, nadie.
No duerme nadie.
Las criaturas de la luna huelen y rondan sus cabañas.
Vendrán las iguanas vivas a morder a los hombres que no sueñan
y el que huye con el corazón roto encontrará por las esquinas
al increíble cocodrilo quieto bajo la tierna protesta de los astros.

No duerme nadie por el mundo. Nadie, nadie.
No duerme nadie.
Hay un muerto en el cementerio más lejano
que se queja tres años
porque tiene un paisaje seco en la rodilla;
y el niño que enterraron esta mañana lloraba tanto
que hubo necesidad de llamar a los perros para que callase.

No es sueño la vida. ¡Alerta! ¡Alerta! ¡Alerta!
Nos caemos por las escaleras para comer la tierra húmeda
o subimos al filo de la nieve con el coro de las dalias muertas.
Pero no hay olvido, ni sueño:
carne viva. Los besos atan las bocas
en una maraña de venas recientes
y al que le duele su dolor le dolerá sin descanso
y al que teme la muerte la llevará sobre sus hombros.

Un día
los caballos vivirán en las tabernas
y las hormigas furiosas
atacarán los cielos amarillos que se refugian en los ojos de las vacas.

Otro día
veremos la resurrección de las mariposas disecadas
y aún andando por un paisaje de esponjas grises y barcos mudos
veremos brillar nuestro anillo y manar rosas de nuestra lengua.
¡Alerta! ¡Alerta! ¡Alerta!
A los que guardan todavía huellas de zarpa y aguacero,
a aquel muchacho que llora porque no sabe la invención del puente
o a aquel muerto que ya no tiene más que la cabeza y un zapato,
hay que llevarlos al muro donde iguanas y sierpes esperan,
donde espera la dentadura del oso,
donde espera la mano momificada del niño
y la piel del camello se eriza con un violento escalofrío azul.

No duerme nadie por el cielo. Nadie, nadie.
No duerme nadie.
Pero si alguien cierra los ojos,
¡azotadlo, hijos míos, azotadlo!

Haya un panorama de ojos abiertos
y amargas llagas encendidas.

No duerme nadie por el mundo. Nadie, nadie.
Ya lo he dicho.
No duerme nadie.
Pero si alguien tiene por la noche exceso de musgo en las sienes,
abrid los escotillones para que vea bajo la luna
las copas falsas, el veneno y la calavera de los teatros.
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Old 28.06.2015., 01:49   #690
dosao el gitano ponovo na red
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Old 11.12.2015., 02:01   #691
~ Oscar Wilde, The Disciple

When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it comfort.

And when they saw that the pool had changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, they loosened the green tresses of their hair and cried to the pool and said, 'We do not wonder that you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus, so beautiful was he.'

'But was Narcissus beautiful?' said the pool.

'Who should know that better than you?' answered the Oreads. 'Us did he ever pass by, but you he sought for, and would lie on your banks and look down at you, and in the mirror of your waters he would mirror his own beauty.'

And the pool answered, 'But I loved Narcissus because, as he lay on my banks and looked down at me, in the mirror of his eyes I saw ever my own beauty mirrored.'
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Old 06.03.2016., 22:43   #692
~ Dylan Thomas, Fern Hill

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
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Old 06.03.2016., 22:45   #693
~ Dylan Thomas, Imanje "Papratnjak"

Eto, dok bijah mlad i bezbrižan pod krošnjama jabuka
Uz raspjevanu kuću, sretan ko što je trava zelena,
Noć nad dolinom zvjezdana,
Vrijeme mi dade da kličem, da se
Uspinjem pozlaćen njegovim raskošnim okom.
I štovan među seljačkim kolima, kraljević bijah
Jabučnih gradova, gospodar stabala i lišća,
Staze što teče kroz ječam i cvijeće
Niz rijeke prezreloga svjetla.

I jer bijah bezbrižan i zelen, slavan među sjenicima
Oko dvorišta sretnog, raspjevan ko imanje, kuća moja,
Pod suncem, što je samo jednom mlado,
Vrijeme mi dade da se igram
Pozlaćen milošću njegova otajstva.
Pa zelen i zlatan bijah lovac i pastir; telad se
Odzivala mom rogu, lisice lajahu resko livadama,
A sabat je zvonio polako
U šljunku na dnu svetih potoka.

Pod suncem življah od jutra do mraka; bilo je divno,
Sjenokoše ko kuća visoke, napjevi dimnjaka, zrak
Igre pune draži, pune vode
I vatre ko trava zelene.
I svake noći dok pod naivnim zvijezdama
Padah u san, sove su odnosile imanje i kuću;
I pod mjesecom slušah, blagoslovljen među stajama,
Kako ćukovi plastove odnose
I kako konji sijevaju u mrak.

Da se probudim zatim, a imanje se, ko kakav putnik
Sav bijel od rose, vratilo s pijetlom na ramenu:
Sve djevičanski blista ko u raju.
Nebo se opet zgusnu
I zaobli se sunce, baš u sam taj dan.
Stoga to mora da je bilo nakon rođenja jednostavna svjetla
U vrtlogu prapočetka, dok topli konji kao začarani
Iz razrzane staje zelene
Na polja hvale izlaze.

I slavljen među lisicama i fazanima oko radosne kuće
Pod novostvorenim oblacima, sretan koliko god je srca,
Pod suncem što se stalno obnavlja,
Svoj život živjeh brzo, nesmotreno
Hitahu mi želje kroz usjeve visoko kao kuća.
Nimalo ne hajah, u igrama nebeskoplavim, što vrijeme daje
Unatoč glazbenom toku, tek toliko i takvih jutarnjih pjesama
Prije nego djeca zelena i zlatna
Izađu za njim izvan blagoslova.

Nimalo ne hajah, u runasto-bijele dane, što će me vrijeme povesti
Pod mjesecom što se uvijek rađa,
Ni da ću padajuć u san
Čuti ga kako odlijeće s visokim usjevima
I probudit se da vidim kako je imanje zauvijek otišlo
Iz ove zemlje bez djece. O, mlad i zelen bijah u njegovoj milosti
Grlilo me vrijeme dok umirah još zelen
Premda sam u lancima pjevao ko more.

(Preveo Antun Šoljan.)
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Old 18.04.2016., 09:53   #694
~ Samuel Beckett, Cascando

1

why not merely the despaired of
occasion of
wordshed

is it not better abort than be barren

the hours after you are gone are so leaden
they will always start dragging too soon
the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want
bringing up the bones the old loves
sockets filled once with eyes like yours
all always is it better too soon than never
the black want splashing their faces
saying again nine days never floated the loved
nor nine months
nor nine lives

2

saying again
if you do not teach me I shall not learn
saying again there is a last
even of last times
last times of begging
last times of loving
of knowing not knowing pretending
a last even of last times of saying
if you do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do not love you I shall not love

the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love love thud of the old plunger
pestling the unalterable
whey of words

terrified again
of not loving
of loving and not you
of being loved and not by you
of knowing not knowing pretending
pretending

I and all the others that will love you
if they love you

3

unless they love you
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Old 22.04.2016., 12:04   #695
La possibilité d'une île
par Michel Houellebecq


(...)

"Ma vie, ma vie, ma trčs ancienne,
Mon premier voeu mal refermé
Mon premier amour infirmé
Il a fallu que tu reviennes.

Il a fallu que je connaisse
Ce que la vie a de meilleur,
Quand deux corps jouent de leur bonheur
Et sans fin s’unissent et renaissent.

Entré en dépendance entičre
Je sais le tremblement de l’ętre
L’hésitation ŕ disparaître
Le soleil qui frappe en lisičre
Et l’amour, oů tout est facile,
Oů tout est donné dans l’instant.

Il existe, au milieu du temps,
La possibilité d’une île."

Michel Houellebecq
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Old 22.04.2016., 12:06   #696
Isolement
par Michel Houellebecq

ISOLEMENT

Oů est-ce que je suis ?

Qui ętes-vous ?

Qu’est-ce que je fais ici ?

Emmenez-moi partout,



Partout mais pas ici,

Faites-moi oublier

Tout ce que j’ai été

Inventez mon passé,

Donnez sens ŕ la nuit.



Inventez le soleil

Et l’aurore apaisée

Non je n’ai pas sommeil,

Je vais vous embrasser

Ętes-vous mon amie ?

Répondez, répondez.



Oů est-ce que je suis ?

Il y a du feu partout

Je n’entends plus de bruit,

Je suis peut-ętre fou.



Il faut que je m’étende

Et que je dorme un peu,

Il faudrait que je tente

De nettoyer mes yeux.



Dites-moi qui je suis

Et regardez mes yeux

Ętes-vous mon amie ?

Me rendrez-vous heureux ?



La nuit n’est pas finie

Et la nuit est en feu

Oů est le paradis ?

Oů sont passés les dieux ?
_______________________________________________

Une traduction proposée par Clint Margrave :

Isolation

Where am I?
Who are you?
What am I doing here?
Take me anywhere,

Anywhere but here,
Make me forget
All that I was
Invent my past,
Give sense to the night

Invent the sun
And the peaceful dawn
I don’t need sleep
I am going to kiss you
Are you my friend?
Answer me, answer me

Where am I?
There is fire all around
I don’t hear any noise
Maybe I’m crazy

I need to lie down
And rest awhile
I need
To cleanse my eyes

Tell me who I am
Look at me
Are you my friend?
Will you make me happy?

The night is not over
The night is on fire
Where is paradise?
What happened to the gods?


Translated by Clint Margrave
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Old 05.05.2016., 22:11   #697
~ Alfred Tennyson, Lady Clara Vere de Vere

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
Of me you shall not win renown:
You thought to break a country heart
For pastime, ere you went to town.
At me you smiled, but unbeguiled
I saw the snare, and I retired;
The daughter of a hundred earls,
You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
I know you proud to bear your name;
Your pride is yet no mate for mine,
Too proud to care from whence I came.
Nor would I break for your sweet sake
A heart that dotes on truer charms.
A simple maiden in her flower
Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
Some meeker pupil you must find,
For, were you queen of all that is,
I could not stoop to such a mind.
You sought to prove how I could love,
And my disdain is my reply.
The lion on your old stone gates
Is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
You put strange memories in my head.
Not thrice your branching limes have blown
Since I beheld young Laurence dead.
O, your sweet eyes, your low replies!
A great enchantress you may be;
But there was that across his throat
Which you had hardly cared to see.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
When thus he met his mother's view,
She had the passion of her kind,
She spake some certain truths of you.
Indeed I heard one bitter word
That scarce is fit for you to hear;
Her manners had not that repose
Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
There stands a spectre in your hall;
The guilt of blood is at your door;
You changed a wholesome heart to gall.
You held your course without remorse,
To make him trust his modest worth,
And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare,
And slew him with your noble birth.

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,
From yon blue heavens above us bent
The gardener Adam and his wife
Smile at the claims of long descent.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere,
You pine among your halls and towers;
The languid light of your proud eyes
Is wearied of the rolling hours.
In glowing health, with boundless wealth,
But sickening of a vague disease,
You know so ill to deal with time,
You needs must play such pranks as these.

Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,
If time be heavy on your hands,
Are there no beggars at your gate,
Nor any poor about your lands?
O, teach the orphan-boy to read,
Or teach the orphan-girl to sew;
Pray Heaven for a human heart,
And let the foolish yeoman go.
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Old 09.05.2016., 13:10   #698
~ Victor Hugo, Extase

J'étais seul près des flots, par une nuit d'étoiles.
Pas un nuage aux cieux, sur les mers pas de voiles.
Mes yeux plongeaient plus loin que le monde réel.
Et les bois, et les monts, et toute la nature,
Semblaient interroger dans un confus murmure
Les flots des mers, les feux du ciel.

Et les étoiles d'or, légions infinies,
A voix haute, à voix basse, avec mille harmonies,
Disaient, en inclinant leurs couronnes de feu ;
Et les flots bleus, que rien ne gouverne et n'arrête,
Disaient, en recourbant l'écume de leur crête :
― C'est le Seigneur, le Seigneur Dieu !
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Old 18.06.2017., 13:50   #699
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