Janos Arany (b. 1817) – Hungarian poet, journalist – The Bards of Wales / A walesi bárdok
Edward the king, the English king,
Bestrides his tawny steed,
“For I will see if Wales” said he,
“Accepts my rule indeed.”
“Are stream and mountain fair to see?
Are meadow grasses good?
Do corn-lands bear a crop more rare
Since wash’d with rebel’s blood?”
“And are the wretched people there,
Whose insolence I broke,
As happy as the oxen are
Beneath the driver’s yoke?”
“In truth this Wales, Sire, is a gem,
The fairest in thy crown:
The stream and field rich harvest yield,
And fair are dale and down.”
“And all the wretched people there
Are calm as man could crave;
Their hovels stand throughout the land
As silent as the grave.”
Edward the king, the English king,
Bestrides his tawny steed;
A silence deep his subjects keep
And Wales is mute indeed.
Wednesday March 4
MC Solaar (b. 1969) – Senegalese rapper
Seul dans ma chambre, un jour normal – Alone in my room on a normal day
J’apprends dans les journaux que j’suis dans l’Axe du Mal - I see in the papers that I am in the Axis of Evil
Je lis entre les lignes et j’comprends qu’on veut me “kill” – I read between the lines and understand that they want to kill me
Donc j’ferme la serrure pour être un peu plus tranquille – So I lock the door for a little more quiet
Dehors c’est la guerre et j’crois qu’elle vient vers moi – Outside it’s war and I know it’s coming towards me
Malgré les manifs qui vivra la verra – Despite the demons who will live to see it
Je mets des sacs de sable dans mon salon - I put sandbags in my living room
Des salauds veulent me shooter comme au foot le stoppeur peut shooter l’ballon – The bastards want to shoot me like a stopper shoots a soccer ball
A la télé j’entends qu’j'suis l’pire des mecs – On TV I’m the worst of the bad guys
Non violent, violent la propagande est impec – Nonviolent, violent propaganda is impeccable
J’flippe des troupes spéciales, des B52′s – The special troops, the B52′s flip me out
Regrette ce que j’ai fait j’crois que j’aurais pu faire mieux – I regret what I did and believe I could have done better
Mais l’erreur est humaine, j’avoue j’ai fait des erreurs – But to err is human, and I confess I made errors
Prendre position c’est prendre une pluie de terreur – To take a position is to take the rain of terror
Au nom du père, du fils, et du Saint Esprit - In the name of the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit
D’l'Imam et du Rabbin, plus jamais ceci. – Of the Imam and the Rabbi, forever and ever.
Comme un oiseau sans ailes – Like a bird without wings
J’vole vers le ciel mais j’sais qu’la vie est belle – I fly towards heaven but I know that life is beautiful
J’vole vers le ciel mais j’sais qu’la vie est belle
La Vie Est Belle:
Friday March 6
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (b. 1806) – U.S. poet -
I.
Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east,
And one of them shot in the west by the sea.
Dead ! both my boys ! When you sit at the feast
And are wanting a great song for Italy free,
Let none look at me !
II.
Yet I was a poetess only last year,
And good at my art, for a woman, men said ;
But this woman, this, who is agonized here,
— The east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head
For ever instead.
III.
What art can a woman be good at ? Oh, vain !
What art is she good at, but hurting her breast
With the milk-teeth of babes, and a smile at the pain ?
Ah boys, how you hurt ! you were strong as you pressed,
And I proud, by that test.
IV.
What art’s for a woman ? To hold on her knees
Both darlings ! to feel all their arms round her throat,
Cling, strangle a little ! to sew by degrees
And ‘broider the long-clothes and neat little coat ;
To dream and to doat.
* * *
XIX.
Forgive me. Some women bear children in strength,
And bite back the cry of their pain in self-scorn ;
But the birth-pangs of nations will wring us at length
Into wail such as this — and we sit on forlorn
When the man-child is born.
XX.
Dead ! One of them shot by the sea in the east,
And one of them shot in the west by the sea.
Both ! both my boys ! If in keeping the feast
You want a great song for your Italy free,
Let none look at me !
Saturday March 7
Georges Perec (b. 1936) – French novelist, poet, essayist – La Disparition (The Void) (1969)
