melting & burning


Ode – Mihai Eminescu
January 15, 2014, 9:56 am
Filed under: poem | Tags: , ,

Odã (în metru antic)

Nu credeam sã-nvãt a muri vrodatã;
Pururi tînãr, înfãsurat în manta-mi,
Ochii mei nãltam visãtori la steaua
Singurãtãtii.

Cînd deodatã tu rãsãrisi în cale-mi,
Suferintã tu, dureros de dulce…
Pîn-în fund bãui voluptatea mortii
Neîndurãtoare.

Jalnic ard de viu chinuit ca Nessus,
Ori ca Hercul înveninat de haina-i;
Focul meu a-l stinge nu pot cu toate
Apele mãrii.

De-al meu propriu vis, mistuit mã vaiet,
Pe-al meu propriu rug, mã topesc în flãcãri…
Pot sã mai renviu luminos din el ca
Pãsãrea Phoenix?

Piarã-mi ochii turburãtori din cale,
Vino iar în sîn, nepãsare tristã;
Ca sã pot muri linistit, pe mine
Mie redã-mã !

(1883, în vol. Poesii)

 

Ode (in ancient meter)

Hardly had I thought I should learn to perish;
Ever young, enwrapped in my robe I wandered,
Raising dreamy eyes to the star styled often
Solitude’s symbol.

All at once, however, you crossed my pathway –
Suffering – you, painfully sweet, yet torture…
To the lees I drank the delight of dying –
Pitiless torment.

Sadly racked, I’m burning alive like Nessus,
Or like Hercules by his garment poisoned;
Nor can I extinguish my flames with every
Billow of oceans.

By my own illusion consumed I’m wailing,
On my own grim pyre in flames I’m melting…
Can I hope to rise again like the Phoenix
Bird from the ashes?

May all tempting eyes vanish from my pathway,
Come back to my breast, you indifferent sorrow!
So that I may quietly die, restore me
To my own being!

(Translated by Andrei Bantas)

 

Ode (in antikem Versmaß)

Hatte niemals geglaubt, daß ich je lernte zu sterben,
Ewiglich jung, in meinen Mantel gehüllt,
Hob den träum´rischen Blick ich zum Sterne
Der Einsamkeit auf.

Unverhofft aber kamst du auf dem Weg mir entgegen,
O Leiden, du – schmerzvolle Süße…
Bis auf den Grund trank ich des Todes Begierde,
Qual ohn´ Erbarmen.

Jammervoll brenn´ ich, lebendig gemartert wie Nessus,
Oder Herkules gleich, von seinem Gewande vergiftet;
Nicht kann ich löschen das Feuer in mir mit allen
Wassern der Meere.

Von dem eigenen Traume verzehrt, muß ich klagen,
An dem eigenen Brandpfahle schmelz´ ich in Flammen…
Werde ich jemals der Asche entsteigen wie der
Unsterbliche Phoenix?

Mach´ die Augen mir klar, die trübe vom Wirrsal des Weges,
Komm an die Brust mir, du traurige Gleichmut,
Damit in Ruhe ich sterbe, gib mich
Mir selber zurück !

(Tradus de Alfred W. Tüting)

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