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Translation into Polish - "Kompas uczuć"

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Translation into Polish - "Kompas uczuć"

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THE COMPASS OF FEELINGS by Ignazio Aiestaran, 2003 Na zachodzie Między rzekami Missouri i Bravo del Norte Mamy Stany Zjednoczone Ameryki. Na wschodzie Między rzeką Czarną i Sungari Mamy Chiny. Na północy Między rze

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Translation into Polish - Modlitwa za wodę 

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Translation into Polish - Modlitwa za wodę 

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Portuguese translation of the poem: "With a pure heart" by József Attila 

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Portuguese translation of the poem: "With a pure heart" by József Attila 

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Group: Diogo R; Gonçalo P; Guilherme S; João P

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IES Cantabria-Santander (Spain) takes the Greek challenge and translates the poem "Kuro Siwo".

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IES Cantabria-Santander (Spain) takes the Greek challenge and translates the poem "Kuro Siwo".

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Daniel and Gorka (IES Cantabria-Santander) have translated into English and into Spanish, the Greek poem Kuro Siwo.
Then, they have recorded this video.
Thanks, Greek students for giving us the opportunity to learn about Nikos Kavvadias!

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Black Stream-Greek poem translated-recorded by IES Cantabria-Santander

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Challenge accepted by Anselmo de Andrade. Translation into Portuguese.

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Challenge accepted by Anselmo de Andrade. Translation into Portuguese.

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Daniela C, Madalena and Sarah P

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Jumped out of incandescent floors

- one, two and yet some

higher and lower.

The photograph kept them alive

and now it keeps them

above the ground toward the ground.

Every of them is still in whole

with a peculiar face

and with well-hidden blood.

There is enough time

for their hair to blow

for keys and coins

to fall from pockets.

They are still within reach of air

within the places

that have just opened.

There are only two things I can do for them

- describe this flight

and not end the phrase.

Translation done with Google Translate by Diogo Cordeiro n°4 / Henrique Jesus n°8 / Inês Godinho n°10 / Inês Pinto n°11

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Fotografia z 11 wrzesnia - Fotografia de 11 de setembro

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Fotografia z 11 wrzesnia - Fotografia de 11 de setembro

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Challenge accepted by Anselmo de Andrade. Translation into Portuguese.

Diogo Cordeiro n°4 / Henrique Jesus n°8 / Inês Godinho n°10 / Inês Pinto n°11

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2.Autumn passed through Paris Written by: Ady Endre (translate) - into Czech by team Tábor

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2.Autumn passed through Paris Written by: Ady Endre (translate) - into Czech by team Tábor

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Podzim včera proklouzl do Paříže,
tiše sešel po Boulevardu St Michel,
V dusném horku, minulé větve mrzuté a nehybné,
a potkal mě na cestě.

Když jsem šel k místu, kde protéká Seina,
Písničky z malých větviček tiše hořely v mém srdci,
kouřové, zvláštní, pochmurné, fialové písně. Pomyslel jsem si
vzdychali, že zemřu.

Podzim se přiblížil a zašeptal mi:
Boulevard St Michel se v tu chvíli zachvěl.
Šustění, zaprášené, hravé listí se chvělo,
Cestou se točil vpřed.

Okamžik: léto si toho nevšímalo: načež,
Se smíchem se podzim utíkal z Paříže.
Že to bylo tady, jen já vydávám svědectví,
pod stromy, které sténají.

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Black Stream / Černý proud

První cesta se týká charteru na jih, těžké směny, špatný spánek a malárie. Majáky v Indii jsou divné a těžko viditelné, jak se říká na první pohled.

Za Adamovým mostem v jižní Číně jste si rezervovali tisíce pytlů sóji, ale ani na okamžik jste nezapomněli slova, která vám byla vyprávěna v nešťastné hodině v Athénách.

Smola jde do nehtů a pálí je, rybí olej voní v oblečení po celá léta a její slovo ve vaší mysli stále bzučí; "Je to otáčení kompasu nebo loď?"

Počasí se převrátilo a je těžké, že jste otočili směnu, ale velký smutek vás svírá. Dnes v noci zemřeli oba moji papoušci spolu s opicí, kterou jsem vycvičil dřinou a potem.

Loď je ocelová! ... lodní ocel vymaže vše, co nás Černý proud opásal jako opasek, a vy se stále díváte přes kormidlo, jak se kompas kolébá bod po bodu.

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THE COMPASS OF FEELINGS
by Ignazio Aiestaran, 2003

Na západě
Mezi řekami Missouri a Bravo del Norte
máme Spojené státy americké.

Na východě
Mezi řekami Black a Sungari
máme Čínu.

Na severu
Mezi Rýnem a Labem
máme Německo.

Na jihu
Mezi řekami Orange a Olifants
Jižní Afrika.

Zde
Mezi řekami Ebro a Aturri
máme srdce

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Feelings and emotions
In our hearts
Life compass
in our paths

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Relics already of navigator floats - Lope de Vega

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Relics already of navigator floats - Lope de Vega

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Relics already of navigator floats
between the feet of a steep cliff,
mockery of the sea, hive of shellfish,
golden plank, rests broken.

Without stays, without compass and clew,
stung by a small basilisk,
she who was once an obelisk of the clouds
Lost of course the happy defeat.

In this, then, undone amphitheater
that among the seven wonders I name,
sad voice repeated in parts four:

"I am that comic of astonishment,
Queen of the actions of the theater,
who today kisses the foot of the one who stepped on the shoulder."

Reliquias ya de navegante flota
entre los pies de un empinado risco,
burla del mar, colmena de marisco,
dorada tablazón, descansa rota.

Sin estayes, sin brújula y escota,
picada de un pequeño basilisco,
la que fue de las nubes obelisco
perdió del rumbo la feliz derrota.

En este, pues, deshecho anfiteatro
que entre las siete maravillas nombro,
triste voz repitió por partes cuatro:

Yo soy aquella cómica de asombro,
reina de las acciones del teatro,
que hoy beso el pie de quien pisaba el hombro.

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Quiero escribirme de hombres
Quiero poner en la tierra
Quiero ser
el camino marino
que sigue después de la última carretera
y cuando es sin mi
No habré escrito
pero para ti
hermanos de un sueño
para ti
que no será vencido
Os dejo
la paciencia de los ríos
la era de los libros que no se borran
pero no lego
ni mapa ni brújula
porque siempre he caminado
en mis pies
y a veces me duele vivir
Inventaré
un verso que te haga justicia
por ahora
el arco iris me basta
en el que sueño contigo
te basta saber que mueres demasiado
por vivir demasiado poco
pero que tú sigues sin tener precio
compañeros

Mia Couto, Raiz de Orvalho e outros poemas, 1983

Traducción realizada con la versión gratuita del traductor www.DeepL.com/Translator

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Translation of the Spanish team (Santander)

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Translation of the Spanish team (Santander)

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SPANISH:
Finales de septiembre por Sándor Petőfi
Las flores del jardín siguen floreciendo en el valle,
Los álamos siguen verdes fuera de la ventana,
Pero, ¿puedes ver ahora el mundo invernal?
La nieve ya cubre los tejados de Bérci.
Aún es joven en mi corazón el verano ardiente
Y toda la primavera está todavía en ella,
Pero ahora mi pelo oscuro se está volviendo otoñal,
El frío del invierno ha golpeado mi cabeza.
Las flores se marchitan, la vida se desvanece...
¡Siéntate, esposa mía, siéntate en mi regazo!
Tú que ahora recuestas tu cabeza sobre mi pecho,
¿Mañana no caerás en mi seno?
Oh di, si muero primero, sobre mi cadáver
¿cubrirás mis ojos de lágrimas?
¿Y algún joven amante suyo me hará amarle?
que dejarás mi nombre por él?
Si tiras tu velo de viuda,
cuélgalo de mi cabeza como un oscuro estandarte,
Subiré por ella desde mi tumba
En medio de la noche, y la haré caer,
Para romperme los codos por ti,
Tú que has olvidado tu fe con lágrimas,
Y para vendar las heridas de este corazón, que has
¡Incluso entonces, incluso allí, amores eternos!

ENGLISH:
End of September by Sándor Petőfi
The garden flowers are still blooming in the valley,
The poplars are still green outside the window,
But can you see the winter world now?
Snow already covers the roofs of bérci.
Still young in my heart is the flaming summer
And all the spring is still in it,
But now my dark hair is turning to autumn,
The winter's chill has struck my head.
The blossoms are fading, life is fading...
Sit, my wife, sit in my lap!
Thou that now layest thy head upon my bosom,
Tomorrow wilt thou not fall into my bosom?
O say, if I die first, on my carcass
wilt thou cover my eyes with tears?
And shall some young lover of his make me love him?
that thou wilt leave my name for him?
If thou throw away thy widow's veil,
hang it on my head like a dark banner,
I'll come up for her from my grave
In the midst of the night, and I will bring it down,
To break my elbows for thee,
Thou that hast forgotten thy faith with tears,
And to bind up the wounds of this heart, which thou hast
Even then, even there, forever loves!

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No te acuerdas de la aduana
en el acantilado:
desolado te espera desde el atardecer
cuando el enjambre de tus pensamientos entró en él
y descansó inquieto allí.

Libeccio ha estado azotando las viejas paredes durante años
y el sonido de tu risa ya no es feliz:
la brújula se vuelve loca de aventura
Y el cálculo de dados ya no devuelve
No recuerdas; más tiempo desconciertas
Tu memoria; un hilo se oscurece

Aún conservo un hilo de ella; pero se va
la casa, y en el tejado la veleta
giros fumados sin piedad.
Yo me quedo con un extremo; pero tú te quedas solo
Ni aquí se respira en la oscuridad

Oh el horizonte que huye, donde brilla
¡Rara la luz del petrolero!
¿Está aquí el avance? (Rompe de nuevo el interruptor
Todavía en el peñasco que desciende ...)
No te acuerdas de la casa de este
mi noche. Y no sé quién se va y quién se queda.

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Italian translation of SENTIMENDUEN IPARRORRATZA Ignazio Aiestaran, 2003

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Italian translation of SENTIMENDUEN IPARRORRATZA Ignazio Aiestaran, 2003

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Contemporary poet - poem translated by the class

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Contemporary poet - poem translated by the class

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CSEKE GÁBOR

Never a More Disciplined Team

when after so much suffering

our legs started to rot deep in our

sweaty boots when

at last we let ourselves a rest in the snow

crumbling we put the compass

next to the fire because even

while warming ourselves we couldn’t denounce

the compass

so being cold up to our waist we

woke up at dawn frozen to bone when around dawn

we heaved up
the instrument was nowhere to be found

angry roaming around the neighbourhood in search for

it filled with vengeance because

ráállt hogy ő besaccolja majd

az égtájakat elvezet oda

amerre eltökélt szándékunk vezérelt s morogva bár

de tapostuk nyomában a förtelmes

he came up to predict

the directions that leads us to the place

where our determined intentions guided us

and altough sullen we still troding the hideous snow

while  at times  we were spitting blood

and our teeth were falling out also

our face had scars and the icy wind

was biting into our soul

never a more disciplined team a  sobbing word

we haven't even uttered as much

Only ten of us have been dragged along

we've fallen behind, one or the other

even the pivot couldn’t take it anymore one

morning frozen gaze looked back at us shivering

we emptied their pockets and there was

the compass

its hand was spinning insanely

around its axis

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-He lived with his mother and two sisters
-They where really poor, her mother worked very hard to support the family
-Because they were extreamly poor he got adapted. Later he got back to his mom who died when he was 14. They were really close.
-He wanted to be a teacher but he got expelled because his poems
-He killed himself in 1937 by jumping in front of a train

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He was born in 1877. and he died in 1919.He was a famous poet in Hungary. He had a very strange love life. He came from an educated family.

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The message in this poem is that two people can love each other and one of them can still choose to leave for something new. This doesn’t mean the two of them will forget and lose feelings, the man in the poem have the fear of his beloved wife will leave him for someone new,  he is also mentioning his love will still be there no matter what happens. It shows the man have unconditional love for her and he would do anything for her even if it means he has to let her go. This poem can also be about a breakup and how he would act if she leaves him.

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2nd poem: Ady Endre- Autumn passed through Paris message of the poem

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2nd poem: Ady Endre- Autumn passed through Paris message of the poem

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If you have problems after a time they will disappear. In this poem Paris represents life and in life there are ups and downs but overtime you'll overcome them. In the first part of the poem he doesn't really apreciate life and he's in a dark time but at the end it all it'll turn better.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZxHGcsnt1SQ

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József Attila - Tiszta Szívvel /Latinovits Zoltán/

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No matter what you do in your life if at the very end you reppent you can gain salvation,
sometimes you might think that the only solution is death,
When you have lost everyone in your life you feel like it doesnt lead anywhere,
death is not the solution for everything,
it mixes happinnes and sadness while also being very patriotic even when you are at the bottom

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5TRA_7mvAvQ

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Ady Endre - Párisban járt az ősz (Kállai Ferenc)

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He was born in Kiskőrös  on the 1st of January in 1823. His dad is Petrovics István and his mother is Hrúz Mária. His wife was Szendrey Júlia and they only had one son. Petőfi was a real patriot. He died on the 31st of July in 1849.

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With a pure heart by József Attila

I have neither native sod,
nor a father, mother, god,
cradle gone, the shroud I miss,
lack a lover, lack a kiss.

Three days’ hunger, not a bite:
nothing heavy, nothing light.
Just on twenty, strong and well,
twenty years I’ll try to sell.

If a buyer can’t be got,
let the devil take the lot.
Pure at heart, I surely will
break and enter, even kill.

They will catch me, I’ll be hung,
blessed earth on me be flung,
deadly grasses will then start
growing on my splendid heart.

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Poem #3 Tiszta szívvel By: József Attila

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Poem #3 Tiszta szívvel By: József Attila

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Nincsen apám, se anyám,
se istenem, se hazám,
se bölcsőm, se szemfedőm,
se csókom, se szeretőm.

Harmadnapja nem eszek,
se sokat, se keveset.
Húsz esztendőm hatalom,
húsz esztendőm eladom.

Hogyha nem kell senkinek,
hát az ördög veszi meg.
Tiszta szívvel betörök,
ha kell, embert is ölök.

Elfognak és felkötnek,
áldott földdel elfödnek
s halált hozó fű terem
gyönyörűszép szívemen.

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Below in the valley the flowers are resplendent,
Outside by the window the poplars still glow,
But see where the winter, already ascendant,
Has covered the far distant hilltops with snow.
My heart is still bathed in the fierce sun of passion,
All spring is in bloom there, by spring breezes tossed,
But look how my hair turns hoary and ashen,
Its raven black touched by the premature frost.

The petals are falling and life is declining.
Come sit in my lap, my beloved, my own!
You, with your head, in my bosom repining,
Tomorrow perhaps will you mourn me alone?
Tell me the truth: should I die, will your sorrow
Extend to the day when new lovers prepare
Your heart for forsaking, insisting you borrow
Their name, and abandon the one we now share?

If once you should cast off the black veil of mourning,
Let it stream like a flag from the cross where I lie,
And I will arise from the place of sojourning
To claim it and take it where life is put by,
Employing it there to dry traces of weeping
For a lover who could so lightly forget,
And bind up the wounds in the heart in your keeping
Which loved you before and will worship you yet.

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2nd poem Ady Endre
Párisban járt az Ősz

Párisba tegnap beszökött az Ősz.
Szent Mihály útján suhant nesztelen,
Kánikulában, halk lombok alatt
S találkozott velem.

Ballagtam éppen a Szajna felé
S égtek lelkemben kis rőzse-dalok:
Füstösek, furcsák, búsak, bíborak,
Arról, hogy meghalok.

Elért az Ősz és súgott valamit,
Szent Mihály útja beleremegett,
Züm, züm: röpködtek végig az uton
Tréfás falevelek.

Egy perc: a Nyár meg sem hőkölt belé
S Párisból az Ősz kacagva szaladt.
Itt járt s hogy itt járt, én tudom csupán
Nyögő lombok alatt.

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2.Autumn passed through Paris Written by: Ady Endre

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2.Autumn passed through Paris Written by: Ady Endre

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Autumn sliped into Paris yesterday,
came silently down Boulevard St Michel,
In sultry heat, past boughs sullen and still,
and met me on its way.

As I walked on to where the Seine flows by,
little twig songs burned softly in my heart,
smoky, odd, sombre, purple songs. I thought
they sighed that I shall die.

Autumn drew abreast and whispered to me,
Boulevard St Michel that moment shivered.
Rustling, the dusty, playful leaves quivered,
whirled forth along the way.

One moment: summer took no heed: whereon,
laughing, autumn sped away from Paris.
That it was here, I alone bear witness,
under the trees that moan.

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1st poem: Szeptember végén by Petőfi Sándor

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1st poem: Szeptember végén by Petőfi Sándor

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Még nyílnak a völgyben a kerti virágok,
Még zöldel a nyárfa az ablak előtt,
De látod amottan a téli világot?
Már hó takará el a bérci tetőt.
Még ifju szivemben a lángsugarú nyár
S még benne virít az egész kikelet,
De íme sötét hajam őszbe vegyűl már,
A tél dere már megüté fejemet.

Elhull a virág, eliramlik az élet...
Űlj, hitvesem, űlj az ölembe ide!
Ki most fejedet kebelemre tevéd le,
Holnap nem omolsz-e sirom fölibe?
Oh mondd: ha előbb halok el, tetemimre
Könnyezve borítasz-e szemfödelet?
S rábírhat-e majdan egy ifju szerelme,
Hogy elhagyod érte az én nevemet?

Ha eldobod egykor az özvegyi fátyolt,
Fejfámra sötét lobogóul akaszd,
Én feljövök érte a síri világból
Az éj közepén, s oda leviszem azt,
Letörleni véle könyűimet érted,
Ki könnyeden elfeledéd hivedet,
S e szív sebeit bekötözni, ki téged
Még akkor is, ott is, örökre szeret!

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Challenge accepted by Anselmo de Andrade. Translation into Portuguese.

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Challenge accepted by Anselmo de Andrade. Translation into Portuguese.

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Pregare Per L'acqua: ceca

Il posto dove lei solitamente andava era in asciutta
"o vecchia cara"
Dove le corde spente e tristi.
Dove la rugiada vive
E dei pellegrini sono piegati sull acqua
Per bere dai palmi delle loro mani
L'acqua ricorda
L'acqua è bella
L'acqua ha
L'acqua ha i capelli sciolti
Proteggi l'acqua
Non lasciare che l'antico specchio delle stelle non rifletta più
Porta il cavallo sino all'acqua
Porta un cavallo che ha una ferita
Come l'oscurità
L'acqua è triste
L'acqua è triste
i capelli dell'acqua non sono più ordinati
E colui che affonda nella parte più profonda sprofonda
Chi affonderà nelle stelle per un richiamo
L'acqua è la finestra del lutto
L'acqua ha
Il capello dell'acqua sono come la cenere sparsa
Acqua ci manchi

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FLUSSO NERO

Al primo imbarco capitò un carico per il Sud,

turni difficili, malaria e sonno infame.

I fari sono strani in India,

sono invisibili a prima vista.

Oltre il ponte di Adamo nella Cina meridionale,

caricavi migliaia di sacchi di soia,

Ma neppure per un istante scordavi le parole

che sfortunatamemte ti dissero ad Atene.

Si insinua sotto le unghie il catrame e le fa bruciare,

l'odore dell'olio del pesce rimane impregnato nei vestiti per anni,

e le parole di lei a ronzarti nel cervello:

"È la bussola a girare o la nave?".

Presto il tempo è cambiato in peggio

hai finito il turno, ma un grande dolore ti trafigge.

Stasera entrambi i miei pappagalli sono morti

insieme alla scimmietta che avevi ammaestrato con cura.

Il timone… il timone cancella ogni cosa

il flusso nero ci ha stretti come una cintura

e tu guardi ancora oltre alla barra

come la bussola oscilla incontrollata

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Vento

Il poeta, allevatore dei venti, dà

ad essi un nome di donna: il

vento del nord è erica, il fiore

Che rimane e dura nel tuo orecchio;

Il vento del sud è margherita, che

Ognuno di noi deve scegliere, e appartiene

A tutti e a nessuno quando

Entra da un orecchio ed esce dall'altro;

Il vento da ovest è aumentato, che

Brilla molto ma dura poco, e ancora

Punge mentre muore; il vento da est

È viola, quello che si sdraia con

Il poeta e si alza con il vento del sud-est,

Dipingere la giornata con i colori delle farfalle

translated by 5 BTL Italy

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Compagni
Voglio scrivere di uomini
Voglio metterli sulla terra
Voglio essere la via marittima
che continua dopo l'ultima strada
e quand'è senza di me non avrò scritto
ma per voi fratelli di un sogno
per voi che non sarete sconfitti
Vi lascio la pazienza dei fiumi
l'età dei libri che non sfogliate
ma non vi lascio mappe o bussole
perché io ho sempre camminato sui miei piedi
e alcune volte mi ha fatto male vivere
Io inventerò un verso che vi rende giustizia
per adesso mi basta l'arcobaleno in cui vi sogno
È’ abbastanza sapere che muori troppo
per vivere troppo poco
ma che rimanete inestimabili
compagni.

translated by 5 BTL Italy

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Challenge accepted by Koldo Mitxelena. Translation into Basque.

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Challenge accepted by Koldo Mitxelena. Translation into Basque.

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Uraren aldeko otoitza-Modlitba za vodu by Jan Skácel

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Challenge accepted by Koldo Mitxelena. Translation into Basque.

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Challenge accepted by Koldo Mitxelena. Translation into Basque.

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Aduanazainen etxea-La casa dei doganeri by Eugenio Montala

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You don’t remember the house of the customs men

perched high on the edge of the sheer cliff:

deserted, it has been waiting for you since the evening

your restless thoughts swarmed in and lingered.

For years the libeccio has lashed the walls

and the carefree sound of your laughter has gone:

the compass needle spins round at random

and the dice seem to be loaded.

You don’t remember; another time clouds

your memory; a thread unravels.

I still hold one end; but the house recedes

and up on the roof the smoke-stained weathercock

creaks and whirls without pity.

I hold one end; but you are alone here,

holding your breath in the dark.

Oh the vanishing horizon lit by the faint light

of the distant oil tanker!

Is the passage here? (The recurrent roar

of breakers way down under the crags…)

You don’t remember the house of this, my evening.

And I don’t know who’s going and who’ll stay.

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Your fair song that scorns the shadows

Clean of life, widower of person

Your courageous daring to be nobody

Your navigation with compass and without stars

Your exact knowledge impossessive

Created your poem architecture

And you are like a four-faced god

And you are like a many names’ god

A karyathid of absence without destination

Summoning the already lost presence

And saying about the evasion from the roads

You were like the unharvested herbs

Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen, The Sixth Book, 1964

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Teu canto justo que desdenha as sombras

Limpo de vida viúvo de pessoa

Teu corajoso ousar não ser ninguém

Tua navegação com bússola e sem astros

Teu exacto conhecimento impossessivo

Criaram teu poema arquitectura

E és semelhante a um deus de quatro rostos

E és semelhante a um deus de muitos nomes

Cariátide de ausência isento de destinos

Invocando a presença já perdida

E dizendo sobre a fuga dos caminhos

Que foste como as ervas não colhidas

Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen, Livro Sexto, 1964

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Portuguese poet and writer (2019-2014)

In this poem, the poetess writes about Fernando Pessoa.

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The poet, herder of winds, gives

each a woman’s name: the

north wind is heather, the flower

that stays and lasts in your ear;

the south wind is daisy, which

each of us must choose, and belongs

to all and to no one when

it goes in through one ear and out the other;

the west wind is rose, which

shines a lot but lasts little, and still

pricks while dying; the east wind

is violet, the one that lies down with

the poet and rises with the south-east wind,

painting the day in butterfly colours

in The Brief of Everlasting Feeling, 2008

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O poeta que apascenta os ventos dá a

cada um nome de mulher: ao

vento norte chama-lhe perpétua, a flor

que fica e se prolonga no ouvido;

o vento do sul é o malmequer, que

cada um tem de escolher, e é de

todos sem ser de nenhum quando

entra por um ouvido e sai pelo outro;

o vento oeste é a rosa, que

brilha muito e dura pouco, e quando

morre ainda pica: e o vento leste

é a violeta, que se deita com o

poeta e se levanta com o sueste,

pintando o dia com cores de borboleta.

in O Breve Sentimento do Eterno, 2008

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Poet and fiction writer (1949-)

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I want to write myself of men

I want to put on earth

I want to be

the marine route

that goes on after the last road

and when it is without me

I won't have written

but for you

brothers of a dream

for you

who you will not be defeated

I leave you

the patience of rivers

the age of books that you don’t unleaf

but I do not bequeath

neither map nor compass

for I have always walked

on my feet

and sometimes it hurt me to live

I will invent

a verse that does you justice

for now

the rainbow is enough for me

in which I dream of you

it’s enough for you to know that you die too much

for living too little

but that you remain priceless

companions

Mia Couto, Dew Root and other poems, 1983

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quero escrever-me de homens
quero calçar-me de terra
quero ser
a estrada marinha
que prossegue depois do último caminho
e quando ficar sem mim
não terei escrito
senão por vós
irmãos de um sonho
por vós
que não sereis derrotados
deixo-vos
a paciência dos rios
a idade dos livros que não se desfolham
mas não lego
mapa nem bússola
porque andei sempre
sobre meus pés
e doeu-me às vezes viver
hei-de inventar
um verso que vos faça justiça
por ora
basta-me o arco-íris
em que vos sonho
basta-te saber que morreis demasiado
por viverdes de menos
mas que permaneceis sem preço
companheiros

Mia Couto, Raiz de Orvalho e Outros Poemas, 1983

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A Mozambican poet and novelist. (1955-)

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SOUTH OF LOST    by     Mikel Ibarguren, 2011

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SOUTH OF LOST    by     Mikel Ibarguren, 2011

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That joy disappear with the swallow

you don't know if it will come back

you don't want to linger in the alley anymore

not being able to sleep in anyone's bed and not wanting to be loved

You want to go south without missing the north

crossing the exhaustion of trivial periods

renewing the traces of forgotten friends

knowing that this day will be followed by another

who will measure the gap between us

which will create another correspondence

people made up of a world

a world made up of people

you want to go south without losing the north

from time to time at dusk

overwhelmed by the will to live

which is renewed every day

you take the usual direction

from the logic of the fallen to the logic of standing

nailing down the testimony of the time

all that is lost is lost

You go with the losses in your heart

but you are on the usual way

faster or slower but on the way

probably without going anywhere

with no intention of getting anywhere

without losing the north but on the way

south on the road that belongs to you

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Maybe happiness
to be nothing more than a tiny island,
to be canceled soon
a typical island, in fact
(otherwise
loneliness would drive us crazy
starve to death);
almost an invisible stain
on an old colorless map,
a cloudy sign
of the stormy sea
in the indeterminate middle...

That's why some people simply
they reach its coast
smiling beaches;
that's why even fewer will ever succeed
staying there
as long as they wish

We have to start immediately;
leaving the hospitable land behind
compass, sextant and charts
-even though they know they are nothing-
smell of memories
between soft clothes
we will save them
at time to set sail,
read again and again
among the books;
Worn by thousands of eyes
among the photos;
the craziest dreams
and to go back
amid vain hope...

Like an evil fish,
horizons
this tiny island will soon be swallowed up
and memory
it will grow in our chest,
until finally the blind bears
will eat us
completely through
as apple honey.

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THE COMPASS OF FEELINGS
by Ignazio Aiestaran, 2003

In the west
Between the Missouri and Bravo del Norte rivers
We have the United States of America.

In the east
Between the Black and Sungari rivers
We have China.

In the north
Between the Rhine and Elbe rivers
We have Germany.

Southern
Between the Orange and Olifants rivers
We have South Africa.

Here
Between the rivers Ebro and Aturri
we have a heart

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/e/2PACX-1vS0lGqstBXXUFL0faApj3gCnI0quk-Esvzxf9bfi2HNMfY4Gpp3owOmdxjM_SyFdksFGqlDWgid7Bs-/pub

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KURO SIWO, or Kuro SmIO (literally blue salt), a stream current in the Pacific Ocean, easily distinguishable by the warm temperature and blue colour of its waters, flowing northeastwards along the east coast of Japan, and separated from it by a strip of cold water. The current persists as a stream to about 40 N., between the meridians of 150° E. and 160° E., when it merges in the general easterly drift of the North Pacific. The Kuro Siwo is the analogue of the Gulf Stream in the Atlantic

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Nikos Kavvadias was born in 1910 in a small town in Manchuria near Harbin. His parents were from the Greek island of Kefalonia. When he was very young, the family returned to Greece.

For a few years, they stayed in Kefalonia and from 1921 to 1932 in Piraeus, where Nikos Kavvadias finished Primary and High School. As a primary school student, he wrote his first poems. In 1929, he became a clerk in a naval Office and a few months later he started working as a sailor on a freighter ship. For a few years, he continued this job in the sea, returning exhausted and penniless, only to leave again shortly. Until he decided to get a radio operator's diploma.

Originally he wanted to become a captain, but he had already lost several years in his wanderings and the radio operator's diploma was a shorter solution. He got it in 1939 -- but World War II happened, and he went as a  soldier in Albania and during the years of the German Occupation in Greece he was in Athens without work.

He re-embarked in 1944 and traveled non-stop, as a radio operator, around the world until November 1974 -- three months before his stroke on February 10, 1975.

"The Shift", his only novel, was first published in 1954. The poetry collection "Marabou" was published in 1933,  the "Pusi (Fog)" in 1947, and "Traverso" in 1975. The short stories "Li", and "On the War/On My Horse" was published in 1987. "Li" was made into a motion picture in 1995 called "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea".

More in https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nikos_Kavvadias

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Kuro Siwo song (one of our favorite Greek songs)

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Kuro Siwo song (one of our favorite Greek songs)

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https://youtu.be/-2jfhrJF704

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Ελληνικό Τραγούδι

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Θάνος Μικρούτσικος - Γιάννης Κούτρας - Kuro Siwo - Official Audio Release

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1. "Σταυρός του Νότου" by Nikos Kavvadias

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1. "Σταυρός του Νότου" by Nikos Kavvadias

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Έβραζε το κύμα του γαρμπή
είμαστε σκυφτοί κι οι δυο στο χάρτη
γύρισες και μου ‘πες πως το Μάρτη
σ’ άλλους παραλλήλους θα ‘χεις μπει

Κούλικο στο στήθος σου τατού
που όσο κι αν το καις δε λέει να σβήσει
είπαν πως την είχες αγαπήσει
σε μια κρίση μαύρου πυρετού

Βάρδια πλάι σε κάβο φαλακρό
κι ο Σταυρός του Νότου με τα στράλια
Κομπολόι κρατάς από κοράλλια
κι άκοπο μασάς καφέ πικρό

Το Άλφα του Κενταύρου μια νυχτιά
με το παλλινώριο πήρα κάτου
μου `πες με φωνή ετοιμοθανάτου
να φοβάσαι τ’ άστρα του Νοτιά

Άλλοτε απ’ τον ίδιον ουρανό
έπαιρνες τρεις μήνες στην αράδα
με του καπετάνιου τη μιγάδα
μάθημα πορείας νυχτερινό

Σ’ ένα μαγαζί του Nossi Be
πήρες το μαχαίρι δυο σελίνια
μέρα μεσημέρι απά στη λίνια
ξάστραψες σαν φάρου αναλαμπή

Κάτω στις ακτές της Αφρικής
πάνε χρόνια τώρα που κοιμάσαι
τα φανάρια πια δεν τα θυμάσαι
και το ωραίο γλυκό της Κυριακής

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Translation of the poems (we have 2 poems, please, if you have to choose one then choose "Kuro Siwo")

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Translation of the poems (we have 2 poems, please, if you have to choose one then choose "Kuro Siwo")

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https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?
title=Orhan_Veli_Kan%C4%B1k&oldid=1120129253
Translation into English
I CANNOT TELL
If I cry,can you hear my voice,
Through my lines,
Can you touch,
My tears with your hands.

I hadn't known  how the songs were beautiful,
How the words were inadequate
Before I fell in this trouble.

I know there is a place,
Where it is possible to say everything,
I am too close,I can hear,
I cannot tell.

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A Compass- J.L.  Borges    Dedicated to Esther Zemborain de Torres

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A Compass- J.L.  Borges    Dedicated to Esther Zemborain de Torres

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All things are words of the
language in which Someone or Something, night and day,
writes that infinite din
that is the history of the world. In its tropel

Carthage and Rome pass by, me, you, him,
my life that I do not understand, this agony
of being enigma, chance, cryptography
and all the discord of Babel.

Behind the name there is what is not named;
today I have felt its shadow gravitate
on this blue needle, lucid and light,

that towards the confines of a sea tends its endeavor,
with something of a watch seen in a dream
and something of a sleeping bird that moves.

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)

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The places she used to go for water are dwindling.
♪ The old dear ♪
where the ropes quenched thirst where the dewdrop lived
and pilgrims bent over the water
to drink from the palms of their hands

The water remembers
The water is beautiful
Water has
The water's hair is melted
Protect the water
Don't let the ancient mirror of stars go blind

And bring the horse to the water
♪ Bring a horse that's as wounded as the dark ♪
The water is sad
♪ The water's sad ♪
♪ The water's hair's a mess ♪
And he who sinks to the bottom
Who will sink to the stars for a ring

Water is a grieving widow
Water has
Water's hair is ash-strewn
Water misses us

Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)

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Jan Skácel was a Czech poet who was born in 1922 in the small Moravian village of Vnorovy. He moved to Brno to study and spent the rest of his life there. Between 1957 and 1969, he published several collections and became the editor-in-chief of a monthly journal Welcome, Guest. After the Soviet occupation of 1969, the communist regime prevented him from publishing in Czechoslovakia. Some of his work was published in samizdat and abroad. The loosening of restrictions in the 1980s allowed him to publish several books of older and new poems. Skácel received the Petrarch Prize for Poetry in the spring of 1989; in the fall of the same year, he received the Prize for Central European Literature. Skácel died in the same year, just ten days before the November 1989 revolution that overthrew the communist regime in Czechoslovakia.

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Prayer for Water later adapted by Hradišťan Band as a song

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Prayer for Water later adapted by Hradišťan Band as a song

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Prayer for Water (Modlitba za vodu)

Ubývá míst kam chodívala pro vodu
starodávná milá
kde laně tišily žízeň kde žila rosnička
a poutníci skláněli se nad hladinou
aby se napili z dlaní

Voda si na to vzpomíná
voda je krásná
voda má
voda má rozpuštěné vlasy
chraňte tu vodu
nedejte aby osleplo prastaré zrcadlo hvězd

A přiveďte k té vodě koníčka
přiveďte koně vraného jak tma
voda je smutná
voda má
voda má rozcuchané vlasy
a kdo se na samé dno potopí
kdo potopí se k hvězdám pro prstýnek

Voda je zarmoucená vdova
voda má
voda má popelem posypané vlasy
voda si na nás stýská

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GALEREN HEGOALDEA        Mikel Ibarguren, 2011

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GALEREN HEGOALDEA        Mikel Ibarguren, 2011

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enarekin batera joan zitzaizun poz hura

itzuliko ote den ez dakizu

ez duzu gehiago kalezuloan luzetsita egon nahi

inoren ohean lorik hartu ezinda maitatzeke egon nahi

hegoaldera nahi duzu iparra galdu gabe

aldi hutsalen agortea zeharkatuz

lagun ahantzien arrastoak berrituz

egun honen atzetik beste bat etorriko dela jakitun

gure arteko erretena neurtuko duena

beste gutasun bat sortuko duena

jende bat munduz osatua

mundu bat jendez osatua

iparra galdu gabe hegoaldera nahi duzu

aldizka arrats beheran egin

egunero berritzen den bizinahiaz gailendurik

egiten duzu betiko norantzan

eroriaren logikatik zutik jartzeko logikara

garaion testigantza oharretan iltzatuz

galdutako guztia galdua ei dago

bihotzondoetan bildutako galerekin zoaz

baina betiko bidean zara

azkarrago edo motelago baina bidean

edonora gabe seguruenik

inora iristeko asmorik gabe

iparra galdu gabe baina bidean

zurea den bidean hegoaldera

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ZORIONTASUNA        Luigi Anselmi , 2008 

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ZORIONTASUNA        Luigi Anselmi , 2008 

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ZORIONTASUNA by Luigi Anselmi, 2008

Baliteke zoriontasuna

irla ñimiño bat baizik ez izatea,

luze gabe bertan behera utzi beharreko

irla ttipia, hain zuzen ere

(osterantzean

erotuko gintuzke bakardadeak,

goseak hilko);

orban ikusezin bat kasik

kolorerik gabeko mapa zahar batean,

zeinu lainotsu bat

enbatetako itsasoaren

erdialde zehaztugabean...

Horregatik bakan batzuek soilki

iristen dituzte haren kostaldeko

hondartza irribarretsuak;

horregatik are gutxiagok lortuko dute inoiz

nahi beste denbora

bertan geratzea...

Berehala abiatu beharra daukagu;

lur abegikorra atzean utzi eta

iparrorratza, sestantea eta kartak

—ezdeus direla jakin arren—

oroitzapen usaineko

arropa bigunen artean

gordeko ditugu

itsasoratzeko tenorean,

behin eta berriz irakurritako

liburuen artean;

Milaka behakok higatutako

argazkien artean;

amets eroen

eta atzera itzultzeko

itxaropen hutsalaren artean...

Arrain gaitz baten gisan,

zerumugak

irla ñimiño hori irentsiko du laster

eta oroitmina

bularrean haziz joango zaigu,

harik eta azkenik hartxo itsuak

sagar eztiaren bihotza legez,

barrena oso-osorik

jango digun arte.

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ZORIONTASUNA

Luigi Anselmi , 2008

Baliteke zoriontasuna

irla ñimiño bat baizik ez izatea,

luze gabe bertan behera utzi beharreko

irla ttipia, hain zuzen ere

(osterantzean

erotuko gintuzke bakardadeak,

goseak hilko);

orban ikusezin bat kasik

kolorerik gabeko mapa zahar batean,

zeinu lainotsu bat

enbatetako itsasoaren

erdialde zehaztugabean...

Horregatik bakan batzuek soilki

iristen dituzte haren kostaldeko

hondartza irribarretsuak;

horregatik are gutxiagok lortuko dute inoiz

nahi beste denbora

bertan geratzea...

Berehala abiatu beharra daukagu;

lur abegikorra atzean utzi eta

iparrorratza, sestantea eta kartak

-ezdeus direla jakin arren-

oroitzapen usaineko

arropa bigunen artean

gordeko ditugu

itsasoratzeko tenorean,

behin eta berriz irakurritako

liburuen artean;

Milaka behakok higatutako

argazkien artean;

amets eroen

eta atzera itzultzeko

itxaropen hutsalaren artean...

Arrain gaitz baten gisan,

zerumugak

irla ñimiño hori irentsiko du laster

eta oroitmina

bularrean haziz joango zaigu,

harik eta azkenik hartxo itsuak

sagar eztiaren bihotza legez,

barrena oso-osorik

jango digun arte.

© Luigi Anselmi

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Euskal Poesiaren ataria - ZORIONTASUNA - Luigi Anselmi

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ZORIONTASUNA Luigi Anselmi , 2008 Baliteke zoriontasuna irla ñimiño bat baizik ez izatea, luze gabe bertan behera utzi beharreko irla ttipia, hain zuzen ere (osterantzean erotuko gintuzke bakardadeak, goseak hilko); orban ikusezin bat kasik kolorerik gabeko mapa zahar batean, zeinu lainotsu bat enbatetako itsasoaren erdialde zehaztugabean...

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SENTIMENDUEN IPARRORRATZA        Ignazio Aiestaran , 2003  

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SENTIMENDUEN IPARRORRATZA        Ignazio Aiestaran , 2003  

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SENTIMENDUEN IPARRORRATZA

Ignazio Aiestaran, 2003

Mendebaldean

Missouri eta Bravo del Norte ibaien artean

Ameriketako Estatu Batuak ditugu.

Ekialdean

Beltza eta Sungari ibaien artean

Txina dugu.

Iparraldean

Rhin eta Elba ibaien artean

Alemania dugu.

Hegoaldean

Orange eta Olifants ibaien artean

Hegoafrika dugu.

Hemen

Ebro eta Aturri ibaien artean

bihotza dugu.

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SENTIMENDUEN IPARRORRATZA

Ignazio Aiestaran , 2003

Mendebaldean

Missouri eta Bravo del Norte ibaien artean

Ameriketako Estatu Batuak ditugu.

Ekialdean

Beltza eta Sungari ibaien artean

Txina dugu.

Iparraldean

Rhin eta Elba ibaien artean

Alemania dugu.

Hegoaldean

Orange eta Olifants ibaien artean

Hegoafrika dugu.

Hemen

Ebro eta Aturri ibaien artean

bihotza dugu.

© Ignazio Aiestaran

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Euskal Poesiaren ataria - SENTIMENDUEN IPARRORRATZA - Ignazio Aiestaran

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SENTIMENDUEN IPARRORRATZA Ignazio Aiestaran , 2003 Mendebaldean Missouri eta Bravo del Norte ibaien artean Ameriketako Estatu Batuak ditugu. Ekialdean Beltza eta Sungari ibaien artean Txina dugu. Iparraldean Rhin eta Elba ibaien artean Alemania dugu. Hegoaldean Orange eta Olifants ibaien artean Hegoafrika dugu. Hemen Ebro eta Aturri ibaien artean bihotza dugu.

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Una brújula  - Jorge Luis Borges    a Esther Zemborain de Torres

Todas las cosas son palabras del

idioma en que Alguien o Algo, noche y día,

escribe esa infinita algarabía

que es la historia del mundo. En su tropel

pasan Cartago y Roma, yo, tú, él,

mi vida que no entiendo, esta agonía

de ser enigma, azar, criptografía

y toda la discordia de Babel.

Detrás del nombre hay lo que no se nombra;

hoy he sentido gravitar su sombra

en esta aguja azul, lúcida y leve,

que hacia el confín de un mar tiende su empeño,

con algo de reloj visto en un sueño

y algo de ave dormida que se mueve.

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Tu non ricordi la casa dei doganieri
sul rialzo a strapiombo sulla scogliera:
desolata t’attende dalla sera
in cui v’entrò lo sciame dei tuoi pensieri
e vi sostò irrequieto.

Libeccio sferza da anni le vecchie mura
e il suono del tuo riso non è più lieto:
la bussola va impazzita all’avventura
e il calcolo dei dadi più non torna
Tu non ricordi; altro tempo frastorna
la tua memoria; un filo s’addipana

Ne tengo ancora un capo; ma s’allontana
la casa e in cima al tetto la banderuola
affumicata gira senza pietà.
Ne tengo un capo; ma tu resti sola
né qui respiri nell’oscurità

Oh l’orizzonte in fuga, dove s’accende
rara la luce della petroliera!
Il varco è qui? (Ripullula il frangente
ancora sulla balza che scoscende …)
Tu non ricordi la casa di questa
mia sera. Ed io non so chi va e chi resta.

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Read more

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We are going to write Comp@ss poems together. Each international team writes 1 poem. The rhyme pattern: ABAB

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We are going to write Comp@ss poems together. Each international team writes 1 poem. The rhyme pattern: ABAB

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"Nic dwa razy " - "Nothing Twice" sung by Sanah who is a very popular singer in Poland right now. Please listen to the poem.

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"Nic dwa razy " - "Nothing Twice" sung by Sanah who is a very popular singer in Poland right now. Please listen to the poem.

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sanah - "Nic dwa razy się nie zdarza" (W. Szymborska) (Tekst/Muzyka)

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English version  of "Nothing Twice' - translation by Class 1B

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English version  of "Nothing Twice' - translation by Class 1B

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Nothing happens twice

and it won’t happen. For this reason

We were born without a skill

and we will die without routine.

Even though we would be

the dullest students in the world school,

we will not repeat

any winter or summer.

No day will be repeated,

There aren’t two similar nights,

Two similar kisses,

Two identical glances into the eyes,

Yesterday, when someone said

your name out loudly,

it felt to me as if a rose had fallen

through an open window.

Today, when we’re together

I turned my face toward the wall,

A rose? What does a rose look like?

Is it a flower? Or maybe a stone?

Why are you, the evil hour,

mixing up  with unnecessary anxiety?

You are - and so you have to pass

You will pass - and so it  is beautiful .

Smiling, hugged

we will try to find agreement,

although we differ from each other

like two drops of pure water.

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"Nic dwa razy" - "Nothing Twice" by Wisława Szymborska 

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"Nic dwa razy" - "Nothing Twice" by Wisława Szymborska 

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This is the peom by Wisława Szymborska, the poem that we can consider to be our life compass, especially in the difficult times of the pandemic and the war.

Nic dwa razy się nie zdarza
i nie zdarzy. Z tej przyczyny
zrodziliśmy się bez wprawy
i pomrzemy bez rutyny.

Choćbyśmy uczniami byli
najtępszymi w szkole świata,
nie będziemy repetować
żadnej zimy ani lata.

Żaden dzień się nie powtórzy,
nie ma dwóch podobnych nocy,
dwóch tych samych pocałunków,
dwóch jednakich spojrzeń w oczy.

Wczoraj, kiedy twoje imię
ktoś wymówił przy mnie głośno,
tak mi było, jakby róża
przez otwarte wpadła okno.

Dziś, kiedy jesteśmy razem,
odwróciłam twarz ku ścianie.
Róża? Jak wygląda róża?
Czy to kwiat? A może kamień?

Czemu ty się, zła godzino,
z niepotrzebnym mieszasz lękiem?
Jesteś - a więc musisz minąć.
Miniesz - a więc to jest piękne.

Uśmiechnięci, współobjęci
spróbujemy szukać zgody,
choć różnimy się od siebie
jak dwie krople czystej wody.

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Although the word 'compass' does not appear in the original Polish version, it does in the English one:)

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Photograph from September 11 by Wisława Szymborska | Poetry Foundation

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by Wisława Szymborska

Skoczyli z płonących pięter w dół
– jeden, dwóch, jeszcze kilku
wyżej, niżej.
Fotografia powstrzymała ich przy życiu,
a teraz przechowuje
nad ziemią ku ziemi.
Każdy to jeszcze całość
z osobistą twarzą
i krwią dobrze ukrytą.
Jest dosyć czasu,
żeby rozwiały się włosy,
a z kieszeni wypadły
klucze, drobne pieniądze.
Są ciągle jeszcze w zasięgu powietrza,
w obrębie miejsc,
które się właśnie otwarły.
Tylko dwie rzeczy mogę dla nich zrobić
– opisać ten lot
i nie dodawać ostatniego zdania.

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1996 Nobel Prize in Literature
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