Anton Leopold – Ljubav

Anton Leopold – Ljubav

Anton Leopold – Love

Najveća krasota

Našega života,

Sriće izvor pravi –

To je cvijet ljubavi!

Mnoga gorka bitka

Na stazici žitka

Kaže slijed krvavi –

To je bol ljubavi!

The most beautiful thing

In life,

The source of all joy

Is the blossom of love.

The struggle

On the path of life

Is bitter and bloody

Due to the pain of love.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 22-23

Anton Leopold – Jesensko raspoloženje

Anton Leopold – Jesensko   raspoloženje

Anton Leopold – Autumn mood

Tužne vrbe plešu

U jesenskoj buri,

Prazne su, prez lišća,

Gole kot kosturi.

Pružaju užasno

Svoje ruke štarne

U prazninu kraja,

U kom pogled starne.

Vihor zapuhuje,

Oblačine nosi,

Šuma bolna cvili,

Smrt jesenska kosi.

Sve je prošlo, prošlo,

Protulićna mladost,

Sunčanoga ljeta

Sva lebdeća radost.

Prazan svit postaje,

Gol kot puste šćrbe…

Gine ljubav davna

Kot jesenske vrbe.

Zgasnuli su žari,

Lišće je otpalo…

Samo milovanje

Tiho je ostalo.

Doleful willows

Stripped as bare

As skeletons

Dance in the autumn wind.

They eerily stretch

Their stiff arms out

In the dreary landscape

Which fades in the distance.

The storm whips up

The clouds in the sky.

The grim reaper of autumn

Holds sway over nature.

It has all past,

Youth, the joy of spring,

And last summer‘s

Expectations.

The world is a bleak

And empty as shards.

Love has died

Like the willows.

The leaves fell

And every ember grew cold…

The only thing left

Was silent compassion.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 24-25

Anton Leopold – Melankolija

Anton Leopold – Melankolija

Anton Leopold – Melancholia

Kiša pada.

Nebo tužno plače.

Golo granje šumi

I očajno cvili.

Gde je tvoje vedro lice?

Smućeno je, zamagleno – –

Jedva da je vidim…

Kad ja tebe gledam,

Pričinjava se meni,

Da ti lice skriva mriža,

Žice curkov blijedih,

Šlar od suznih kapljic.

Kiša… Kiša… Kiša…

Prošla si od mene,

Skrila te koprena kiše.

Ja još čujem korake,

Škljocaju po blatu,

Prigušeno odjekuju,

Ginu u šumenju.

Ipak

Čini mi se,

Da se najzad vraćaju.

It’s raining.

Tears of sadness from Heaven.

The bare branches rustle

And moan

In despair.

Where is your happy face.

It is almost hidden in haze.

I can hardly see your eyes.

When I look at you,

It is as if your face

Were hidden by a net –

Strands of water like harp strings,

A veil of raindrops.

Rain, rain, rain…

You left me,

And a veil of rain enveloped you.

I can still hear you going off

As if you were wading through a bog,

The sound becoming less audible

As you put distance between us.

In spite of everything

I believe

That you’ll come back.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 26-27

Anton Leopold – U krpljetu

Anton Leopold – U krpljetu

Anton Leopold – In the farmer’s   kitchen

Gori oganj,

plamen puca,

šporet jeca,

kipi supa.

Seljakinja mlada

sfrkala si rukave

od bekeša šaroga.

Drži kuhaču,

žezlo kuharičko

s plečnastom glavicom,

miša, miša, miša

tekućinu

u presuri,

lica su joj puna sape,

oči puni pažljivosti,

glava puna skrbi.

Jedna muha zliće,

kolobari

nasrtljivo,

zuji i žunda

kot napeta vlaka

žica telefonska.

Seljakinja rukom maše,

prognat hoće

malu črnu paru.

Ali luda muha

već je zabludila

u magleni kolut.

The fire burns,

the flames flare up.

The stove sputters,

The soup simmers.

The young farmer’s wife

Has rolled up

The sleeves

Of her colorful blouse.

She holds the cooking spoon,

The cook’s scepter,

A scepter with a flat end.

She mixes and mixes

And stirs

The thick brew

In the pot.

She breathes in the steam,

Her gaze is intent,

Her mind is on her problems.

A tiny fly

Flies about,

Obtrusive and annoying,

It buzzes and hums

Like a taut telephone wire.

And the farmer’s wife,

Who is very irritated,

Waves her hand

At the little black insect,

Trying to shoo it away.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 28-29

Anton Leopold – Šuštajuće

Anton Leopold

Anton Leopold

Šuštajuće

mutne sape,

vruće pare.

Supa se skuha.

Uz govedsko meso,

mrkvu, peršin, zelenilo

skuha

se i

luda muha.

Dobar apetit! – –

But the silly fly

Has lost itself in the stream

Of the bubbling,

Susurrating,

Thick,

Hot soup.

The soup boils and simmers.

Beef,

Carrots, parsely

Have now been added

As has

The silly fly.

Good appetite!

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 30-31

šuštajuće > Šuštajuće

Anton Leopold – Polje u snigu

Anton Leopold – Polje u snigu

Anton Leopold – Fields covered by snow

Naše polje snig pokriva,

Bijelo, tiho ono sniva.

Črna su još samo stabla,

Na nji sidi tanka magla.

U sredini puzi cesta,

Ukočeno sve do mjesta;

Samo katkad glasak pukne,

Hitri auto mimo hukne.

Sve bjelina, kot punjava,

Suri rub ju ocrtava.

Katkad vjetri hladno šapću.

Črne vrane gladno grakću.

The fields are covered by snow.

Their sleep is quiet and white.

The black trees are wrapped

In a thin layer of fog.

A street winds through.

Everything is motionless.

Now and then a passing car

Breaks the silence.

A grey frame is sketched

Around the foamy whiteness.

Now and then the cold wind blows,

And the black crows cow hungrily.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 32-33

Anton Leopold – Pijanac

Anton Leopold – Pijanac

Anton Leopold – The drunkard

Po ulici grada

Mnogo ljudi gazi,

Svaki nek na sebe

Budnim okom pazi.

Pijanac stropavi,

Črljenoga nosa,

Ruši se i ziblje

Kot zbludjena osa.

Udren alkoholom,

Prazan žep prez novca,

U džunglu grada

Zabludjena ovca.

On po vinu smrdi

I po gadnom soku.

Svaki ga pogleda

Prezirom u oku.

Ipak človik je on,

Jedan izmed ljudstva,

Ako i na strani

Dostojnoga društva.

I on triba koga,

Ki mu pomoć more,

Pravi put pokaže,

Stavi mu zapore.

The streets of the city

Are filled with people,

But no one cares about

Anyone but himself.

A bedraggled drunkard,

With a red nose,

Walks along, swaying

Like a giddy horsefly.

Full of alcohol

And with empty pockets,

He‘s a lost sheep

In the jungle of the city.

His breath smells of

Wine and schnapps,

And the passers-by

Make way for him disdainfully.

But even though

He’s an outcast,

He’s still human

And a member of society.

He’s in need

Of help and guidance,

So that he can find his way

Back to the fold.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 34-35

Anton Leopold – Čik

Anton Leopold – Čik

Anton Leopold – Butt

Netko zgasi cigaretu,

Na tla spusti čik.

Za njim gazi, željno gleda,

Pognut škur človik.

On se prigne, štučak zdigne, –

Nij ga sram pri tom.

Bit će hrpica duhana,

Koga skuplja on.

Sada uzmi to na znanje.

Dar zna pružiti tlo:

Žeravicu, dim plavucki…

Pobrat to nij zlo!

Somebody takes the last puff of his cigarette

And drops the stub on the ground.

A ragged man who has been following him,

Looks at it intently.

He stoops down to pick it up

With no inhibitions.

It‘s another bit of tobacco

To be collected.

This proves that something useful

Can be found in the street.

There’s nothing wrong in picking up

A stubb that’s still lit.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 36-37

Augustin Blazović – Stari cimbal

Augustin Blazović – Stari cimbal

Augustin Blazović – Old Cymbalon

Stari cimbal,

još prije neg te bacu u smetlje,

zasviraj pjesmu na žica svoji!

Zasviraj pjesmu ditinstva moga,

pjesmu, kom je nekad

djed moj ispjevao

zaručnji svojoj svadbenu pjesmu.

Stari cimbal,

grbavi batac

ludo pleše po tebi.

Bunu se žice,

trza je, tuče je

sudbina smrti.

Stari cimbal,

zasviraj mladim na svadbu,

zasviraj sebi na karmine,

njim na veselje.

Stari cimbal,

zasviraj još jednom,

onda zauvijek zašuti

med smetljem u smrti.

Old Cymbalon,

one more song should sound on your strings

before you’re thrown away.

The song of my childhood should sound on you.

the song my ancestor

sang to his bride

on their wedding day.

Old Cymbalion,

the crooked bobbin

dances crazily above you.

Your strings are distraught

at being plucked

by immanent death.

Old Cymbalon,

play the joyous wedding dance of the young

and play for your burial banquet.

Old Cymbalon,

play once more

and then be silent forever

in the decay of death.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 40-41

Augustin Blazović – Stari cimbal

Stari cimbal,

još prije neg te bacu u smetlje,

zasviraj pjesmu na žica svoji!

Zasviraj pjesmu ditinstva moga,

pjesmu, kom je nekad

djed moj ispjevao

zaručnji svojoj svadbenu pjesmu.

Stari cimbal,

grbavi batac

ludo pleše po tebi.

Bunu se žice,

trza je, tuče je

sudbina smrti.

Stari cimbal,

zasviraj mladim na svadbu,

zasviraj sebi na karmine,

njim na veselje.

Stari cimbal,

zasviraj još jednom,

onda zauvijek zašuti

med smetljem u smrti.

 

Augustin Blazović – Old Cymbalon

Old Cymbalon,

one more song should sound on your strings

before you’re thrown away.

The song of my childhood should sound on you.

the song my ancestor

sang to his bride

on their wedding day.

Old Cymbalion,

the crooked bobbin

dances crazily above you.

Your strings are distraught

at being plucked

by immanent death.

Old Cymbalon,

play the joyous wedding dance oft he young

and play for your burial banquet.

Old Cymbalon,

play once more

and then be silent forever

in the decay of death.

 

na Mahari (tajni link, audiozapis, mp3)

Augustin Blazović – Ne gataj mi smrti

Augustin Blazović – Ne gataj mi smrti

Augustin Blazović – Don‘t announce dead to me

Črni gavrani guču u lugu,

sove čuču u noći ter ti hahuču

da moraš umrit.

Črne ti vile paučinu pletu,

nad Črnom vodom pogubnu mrižu

za tužnu mrtvačku škrinju,

za grob.

Zlobni ti proroki gataju:

Sutra ćeš morat umrit.

Lažni prijatelji, vuki u koži ovčinjoj

nudu ti smrt.

I već si obliven od ledenog pota,

srce ti drhće od smrtnoga straha,

jer ti već nazlobno sviraju

za zadnji ples i za smrt.

A ti se skoči!!!

Stresi sa sebe okove straha,

odbij gatanje lažnog gatara,

probudi sve snage duha i srca,

zasviraj, zapjevaj

svadbenu pjesmu novog života!

Nismo još mrtvi!

Neka nas nigdo

ne riva u grob!

In the woods at night

ravens caw and owls hoat

your death to you.

Dark fairies weave a net,

a destructive net over a black pond,

for a bier,

for a grave.

False prophets prophesy annihilation:

Tomorrow you will die.

False friends, wolves in sheep‘s clothing,

try to lure you toward death.

You’re bathed in icy sweat,

your heart races in the fear of death,

for the malicious music

of the last dance is being played for you.

Jump up!!!

Shake the chains from you,

reject the lies of the false prophets,

revive the powers of the spirit and heart in yourself

and play and sing the wedding song of a new life!

We are not dead yet!

We will not let anyone

push us into the grave.

Ptići i slavuji, 1983, str. 42-43

Augustin Blazović – Ne gataj mi smrti

Črni gavrani guču u lugu,

sove čuču u noći ter ti hahuču

da moraš umrit.

Črne ti vile paučinu pletu,

nad Črnom vodom pogubnu mrižu

za tužnu mrtvačku škrinju,

za grob.

Zlobni ti proroki gataju:

Sutra ćeš morat umrit.

Lažni prijatelji, vuki u koži ovčinjoj

nudu ti smrt.

I već si obliven od ledenog pota,

srce ti drhće od smrtnoga straha,

jer ti već nazlobno sviraju

za zadnji ples i za smrt.

A ti se skoči!!!

Stresi sa sebe okove straha,

odbij gatanje lažnog gatara,

probudi sve snage duha i srca,

zasviraj, zapjevaj

svadbenu pjesmu novog života!

Nismo još mrtvi!

Neka nas nigdo

ne riva u grob!

Augustin Blazović – Don‘t announce dead to me 

In the woods at night

ravens caw and owls hoat

your death to you.

Dark fairies weave a net,

a destructive net over a black pond,

for a bier,

for a grave.

False prophets prophesy annihilation:

Tomorrow you will die.

False friends, wolves in sheep‘s clothing,

try to lure you toward death.

You’re bathed in icy sweat,

your heart races in the fear of death,

for the malicious music

of the last dance is being played for you.

Jump up!!!

Shake the chains from you,

reject the lies of the false prophets,

revive the powers of the spirit and heart in yourself

and play and sing the wedding song of a new life!

We are not dead yet!

We will not let anyone

push us into the grave.

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