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Read books online » Poetry » Dotze Poemes Vol. 7 by Grosella i Grandalla ж3 (inspirational novels .txt) 📖

Book online «Dotze Poemes Vol. 7 by Grosella i Grandalla ж3 (inspirational novels .txt) 📖». Author Grosella i Grandalla ж3



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Incipit

“12 poemes” és un recull de dotze poemes publicat anyalment per Grosella i Grandalla des de l'any dos mil deu. Aquest producte editorial és la continuació de la secció web “Poem of the Month”, creada l'any dos mil vuit al subdomini g3.gg02echo.net.

La nostra voluntat amb aquest recull és proposar una composoció original barrejant peces poètiques del domini públic amb peces contemporànees escrites pels poetes afiliats al col·lectiu i segell de poesia ж3.

Aquest any, dos mil disset, proposem una composició de dotze poemes relacionats amb la temàtica “Flors”, una temàtica clàssica de la poesia, una temàtica directament relacionada amb la celebració de Sant Jordi, una rosa i un llibre.

La editorial Grosella i Grandalla així com tota la xarxa GG02 Echo us desitja un feliç dia de Sant Jordi!



*****

XXII

 ¿Cómo vive esa rosa que has prendido

junto a tu corazón?

Nunca hasta ahora contemplé en el mundo

junto al volcán la flor.

 


Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, 1868, Rimas.

 

Ode à Cassandre

 ¿Mignonne, allons voir si la rose

Qui ce matin avoit déclose

Sa robe de pourpre au Soleil,

A point perdu cette vesprée

Les plis de sa robe pourprée,

Et son teint au vôtre pareil.

Las ! voyez comme en peu d’espace,

Mignonne, elle a dessus la place

Las ! las ses beautés laissé choir !

Ô vraiment marâtre Nature,

Puis qu’une telle fleur ne dure

Que du matin jusques au soir !



Donc, si vous me croyez, mignonne,

Tandis que votre âge fleuronne

En sa plus verte nouveauté,

Cueillez, cueillez vôtre jeunesse :

Comme à cette fleur la vieillesse

Fera ternir votre beauté.




Pierre de Ronsard, 1535 Odes, I,17

XLVII

¿Du bist wie eine Blume,

So hold und schön und rein;

Ich schau dich an, und Wehmut

Schleicht mir ins Herz hinein.

Mir ist, als ob ich die Hände

Aufs Haupt dir legen sollt,

Betend, daß Gott dich erhalte

So rein und schön und hold.

 


Heinrich Heine, 1825, Buch der Lieder- Die Heimkehr.

I wandered lonely as a cloud...

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


     Continuous as the stars that shine

and twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretched in never-ending line

along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

in such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

what wealth the show to me had brought:



For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

 

 

William Wordsworth, 1815, Poems in Two Volumes.

L'ànima de les flors

Aquelles dues flors que hi ha posades

al mig del caminal,

qui és que les hi deu haver llençades?

Qui sia, tant si val.



Aquelles dues flors no estan pas tristes,

no, no: riuen al sol.

M’han encantat així que les he vistes

posades a morir, mes sense dol.



“Morirem aviat, lluny de la planta

-elles deuen pensar-;

mes ara nostre brill el poeta encanta,

i això mai morirà.”


Joan Maragall, 1898, Visions i Cants.

Sensation

Solitude et silence

Avec ce seul tourment

De ce trait de fragrance

Qu'une fleur, humblement,

Porte vers mes narines.

Une odeur généreuse

De suave cyprine

Épicée, langoureuse.

Elle coule à loisir,

M'envahit tout entier,

Me laissant son plaisir

Comme digne héritier.

Et ensuite, lassé

De m'exciter, il part.

Sa vie, déjà passée

M'abandonne. Trop tard !




ArnO K, 1997, ©ж3

My Pretty Rose Tree

A flower was offered to me,

Such a flower as May never bore;

But I said 'I've a pretty rose tree,'

And I passed the sweet flower o'er.



Then I went to my pretty rose tree,

To tend her by day and by night;

But my rose turned away with jealousy,

And her thorns were my only delight.




William Blake, 1794, in Songs of Experience.

Die stille Wasserrose

Die stille Wasserrose

Steigt aus dem blauen See,

Die feuchten Blätter zittern,

Der Kelch ist weiß wie Schnee.



Da gießt der Mond vom Himmel

All seinen goldnen Schein,

Gießt alle seine Strahlen

In ihren Schoß hinein.



Im Wasser um die Blume

Kreiset ein weißer Schwan;

Er singt so süß, so leise,

Und schaut die Blume an.



Er singt so süß, so leise,

Und will im Singen vergehn –

O Blume, weiße Blume,

Kannst du das Lied verstehn?


Emanuel Geibel, 1843, in Jugendgedichte

La Violette

Douce violette,

Vierge humble et discrète,

Fille de nos bois,

Dis-moi dans quels songes

Ainsi tu te plonges

Sans joie et sans voix ?



— Sans voix, non sans joie,

Car Dieu m'en envoie :

J'écoute un oiseau ;

Son chant me fait fête,

Et moi, fleur muette,

Je me dis : c'est beau !


Henri-Frédéric Amiel, 1854, in Grains de Mil

Zefiro torna... (CCCX)

Zephiro torna,

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