Tadeusz Różewicz, Herman Brusselmans, Mário de Andrade, Colin Clark, Victor Klemperer

De Poolse dichter en schrijver Tadeusz Różewicz werd geboren in Radomsko op 9 oktober 1921. Zie ook mijn blog van 9 oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Tadeusz Różewicz op dit blog.

 

The Story of Old Women

I like old women
ugly women
mean women

they are the salt of the earth

they are not disgusted by
human waste

they know the flipside
of the coin
of love
of faith

dictators clown around
come and go
hands stained
with human blood

old women get up at dawn
buy meat fruit bread
clean cook
stand on the street
arms folded silent

old women
are immortal

Hamlet flails in a snare
Faust plays a base and comic role
Raskolnikov strikes with an axe

old women
are indestructible
they smile knowingly

god dies
old women get up as usual
at dawn they buy bread wine fish
civilization dies
old women get up at dawn
open the windows
cart away waste
man dies
old women
wash the corpse
bury the dead
plant flowers
on graves

I like old women
ugly women
mean women

they believe in eternal life
they are the salt of the earth
the bark of a tree
the timid eyes of animals

cowardice and bravery
greatness and smallness
they see in their proper proportions
commensurate with the demands
of everyday life
their sons discover America
perish at Thermopylae
die on the cross

conquer the cosmos

old women leave at dawn
for the city to buy milk bread meat
season the soup
open the windows

only fools laugh
at old women
ugly women
mean women

because these beautiful women
kind women
old women
are like an ovum
a mystery devoid of mystery
a sphere that rolls on

old women
are mummies
of sacred cats

they’re either small
withered
dry springs
dried fruit
or fat
round buddhas

and when they die
a tear rolls down
a cheek
and joins
a smile on the face
of a young woman

 

Vertaald door Joanna Trzeciak

 

Tadeusz Różewicz (Radomsko, 9 oktober 1921)

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Marína Tsvetájeva, Jens Bjørneboe, Léopold Senghor, Holger Drachmann

De Russische dichteres en schrijfster Marina Tsvetájeva werd geboren op 9 oktober 1892 in Moskou. Zie ook alle tags voor Marína Tsvetájeva op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 9 oktober 2010.

 

Why such tenderness?

Why such tenderness?
Not the first – these curls
I stroke, I’ve known, yes,
Lips much darker than yours.

As stars fade and rise,
– Why such tenderness?
Eyes have risen
And faded to my eyes.

Yet with no such song
Have I heard night darker
Crowned – O tenderness –
In the breast of the singer.

Why such tenderness,
And what to do with it, singer
So young, simply passing by?
And could eyelashes – be longer?

 

Dying, I’ll not say: ‘I was’.

Dying, I’ll not say: ‘I was’.
No regrets, I’ll not cast blame.
There are greater things in this world
Than love’s storm, and passion’s game.

But you – wing-beat against my chest,
Fresh, guilty cause of my inspiration –
You I command to: – Be!
My obedience – knows no evasion.

 

When I watch the flight of leaves,

When I watch the flight of leaves,
To the cobblestones at my feet,
Swept up – as if by an artist,
Whose picture’s at last complete,

I think how (already no one likes
My figure, face deep in thought)
A strongly yellow, decidedly rusty,
Leaf, there at the crown’s – forgot.

 

Vertaald door A. S. Kline

 

Marína Tsvetájeva (9 oktober 1892 – 31 augustus 1941)
Portret door George G. Sjisjkin

Lees verder “Marína Tsvetájeva, Jens Bjørneboe, Léopold Senghor, Holger Drachmann”