Posts Tagged ‘Maria Duszka. Przekłady na języki obce’

Łyczezar Seliaszki, przełożył na język

bułgarski 17 moich wierszy z tomiku „Galeria świat”.

Łyczezar Seliaszki ukończył filologię bułgarską na Uniwersytecie
Sofijskim. Pracuje jako nauczyciel języka i literatury bułgarskiej.
Został laureatem orderu im. „Neofita Rylskiego” – najwyższej
nagrody w bułgarskim systemie edukacyjnym. Autor wielu
utworów publicystycznych, poetyckich i prozatorskich,
a także studium poświęconego twórczości bułgarskiego
poety Atanasa Dalczewa. Na język polski przełożył m.in.
wiersze Haliny Poświatowskiej, Doroty Koman i Beaty Zalot.

MARIA DUSZKA

WIERSZE

МАРИЯ ДУШКА

СТИХОТВОРЕНИЯ

GALERIA ŚWIAT

ГАЛЕРИЯ СВЯТ

 

снежинки

листа от дървета

– никой не ще се повтори

 

Бог е съвършен художник

 

 

*  * *

 

все така нищо не знаем

 

приличаме на спрели

на прага деца

 

 

*  * *

стоя до прозореца

отдавам се на пространството

задържам времето

 

 

*  * *

 

преди да те позная

вече обичах само

тази брезова гора

ливадата

тъмната свежа ивица на елшите

и нежния въздух над нас

 

достатъчно утоляваха

моята нужда

да обожавам нещо

 

а ти дойде

закри с тялото си дърветата

ливадата

 

и също като тях

със спокойствие и безгрижие

приемаш моята любов

 

 

*  *  *

 

първата любов

като светкавица

показва отвореното небе

 

след това за дълго идва
тъмнина

 

 

*  *  *

 

ТОВА, КОЕТО Е ГЛУПАВО

В ОЧИТЕ НА СВЕТА

 

селският малоумник

седи до гроба на майка си

 

обхванал с ръце коленeте си

и поклащайки се

повтаря:

мама е в земята

земята е в мама…

 

 

*  *  *

 

понякога завиждам

на кучето

което милваш

 

 

*  *  *

когато идва час да умрем

(макар по-рано сме говорили

че не си струва да се живее)

светът се изпълва с багри

и изразителни контури

както лятото през август

 

и всички мигове

които бяха

и които още биха могли да бъдат

изведнъж добиват значение и стойност

 

*  *  *

 

когато ме срещна

моят дом се изпълни

с невероятна тишина

 

слушахме смълчани предсказанието

„ще се събудим прегърнати…“

 

днес седим сред тревите

слушам твоя монолог

– най-хубавата поезия

която зная

 

близо до мен са

ръцете ти

и билките

 

далече пред нас са

градът

и децата които пускат хвърчила

„в пладнето на лятото…“

 

 

*  *  *

есента е потънала в дъжд и мъгла

 

ти не напускаш моите мисли

 

кротко потъвам

в твоите очи

в твоите длани

 

*  *  * (s. 49

 

майка ми ме е родила

за този свят

 

майка ми е добра

кротка

и праволинейна

като дете

 

не мога да й се сърдя

че ме е родила за този свят

 

Малин 1986

СЛЕД 20 ГОДИНИ

ПРЕБИВАВАНЕ В ШЕРАДЗ

 

неделен следобед

 

цъфтят акации и детелини

 

тяхното ухание ме пренася

в друго време и място

причинява ми болка

 

никога не ще бъда оттук

 

 

ЛЮБОВ

не съм те виждала много дни

 

сега стоиш

срещу мен

като море

 

стоя пред теб

беззащитна

 

 

*  *  *

 

търкалят се годините

закръглени и празни

 

очаквам няколкото летни дни

 

докосването на твоите устни

би трябвало да ми стигне

за следващата година

или завинаги

 

кръвта във вените ми

преминава

в очакване

пулсира

и ме обръща

натам където си ти

 

няма нищо по-хубаво

от твоите рамене

 

 

*  *  *

 

даде ми любов

като камък

като остър нож

 

даде ми любов

пълна със светлина и въздух

 

 

*  *  *

 

ден в пътуване

 

не отварям книгата

 

чета света

 

 

*  *  *

 

толкова пъти вече

се сбогувах с тази любов

 

засипваха я пожълтели листа

разделяше ни времето

като мъгла

 

някога през цялото лято

не успявахме да се намерим

и си мислехме

– нищо вече няма да ни спаси

 

но внезапно

падат от нас сухите листа

стопява се мъглата

 

сърцата ни отново летят високо

и любовта отново е зелена

 

 

 

 

W pierwszym tegorocznym numerze wydawanego

w Wilnie kwartalnika „Znad Wilii” ukazało się

18 moich wierszy –  w wersji polskiej i litewskiej,

w przekładzie wiceprezes Związku Pisarzy

Litewskich, Birutė Jonuškaitė.

Utwory pochodzą z tomu „Freienwill” wydanego

w 2012 r. przez Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Sopotu.

Pismo „Znad Wilii” ukazuje się od 25 lat.

Jego założycielem i redaktorem naczelnym

jest Romuald Mieczkowski.

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



E N G L I S H

About me

I was born on April, 28th in Zduńska Wola, Poland.
I am a poet, journalist and librarian. As a poet I debuted in 1981 in „Nowy Medyk”. My poems have also been published in „Tygiel Kultury”, „Poezja Dzisiaj”, „Przekrój”, „Metafora”, „Filipinka”, „Topos”, „Modern Haiku” (USA), „Reibeisen” (Austria), „Bdenje” (Serbia) and in the following antologies:
– „Contemporary Writers of Poland”  (USA 2005),
– „Enough Questions, Enough Answers : Modern Polish Poetry in Translation” ( Rice Uniwersity w Houston, 2008),
– „Uwalniam ptaki sny : Ich befreie Vogel – Traume – Polish and German poems: Deutsche und polnische Gedichte” (Łódź 2009),
-”Oblaci u najkracoj noci : Clouds in the shortest night” – svetska haiku antologija: World Haiku Anthology”(Valjevo – Belgrad 2009),
– „Meine Welt – unsere Welt : Lyrik und Prosa”  (Germany 2011).
I am a laureate of many literature competitions and C. K. Norwid Poetry International Competition. I have published seven books of poetry: „Poezja przypadków” („Poetry of Accidents”), „Zupełnie szczęśliwa marionetka” („A Quite Happy Puppet”), „Może się przyśnisz” („Maybe You’ll be Dreamed About”), „Nieopisanie” („Undescription”), „I pomyśleć,  że jesteś” („And Thinking, You Do Exist”,  „Kora” („Bark”),  „Galeria świat” („Gallery World”) and „Freienwill”
As a journalist I work with Sieradz press (the city where I live) and Łódź cultural monthly journal „Kalejdoskop”. I run a library in a hospital in Sieradz.

 

Poems

Translation:  Marek Marciniak & Kalina Duszka

 

x x x

 

the eyes of animals
are always pure

 

the animals do not have a soul
or remorse
it looks at me
scrutinizing
carefully

 

I do not have curage
to look them in the eyes

 

 

 

x x x

 

a village crackpot
sits at his mother grave

 

embracing his knees
and rocking he is repeats:
mother in the ground
the ground in mother

 

 

 

x x x

 

years are going by
round
and empty

 

I’m waiting for several summer days
the touch of your lips
must suffice
for next year
or forever

 

blood in my veins
changes in expectation
pulsating
and turning me
to your side
there is nothing better
than your arms

 

 

 

x x x

 

I was at the bottom
not once

 

I was in the depth
My Lord saved me

 

He sent for me
when I was at the bottom

 

 

x x x

 

I’m lying in forest
birches are blessing me
with their branches

 

 

 

x x x

 

the first love
like a lightning
shows an open sky

 

then for a long time
darkness

 

 

 

SLEEPWALKER

 

I loved the moon
and when it
turned away
my silver way
ended suddenly

 

I had not know
that there could be
so far
to stars
and to poeple

 

 

 

x x x

 

sometimes I envy
the dog
which you pet

 

 

 

x x x

 

I have hung your jacket
in my wardrobe

 

all my clothes
want to be close to it

 

 

 

x x x

 

when you are silent
silence is
like just before
the end of my world

 

when you are speaking
I am obedient your whisper
and I am dancing on the back of your hand

 

 

x x x

 

you tell me:
you want everything

 

and for me it is enough
to look through the window
at your side
and think
that you exist

 

 

 

x x x

 

before I met you
I had liked just
that brich forest
meadow
dark vivid strip of alder
and tender air above it
It had been enough
to fulfill my need
to worship something

 

and you have come
you veiled the trees meadow
and the same as they do
with calmness and indifference
you accept my love

 

 

 

QUESTION

 

we parted without words
time of becoming used to
loneliness

 

only when I came here
birch
jasmine
grass and mulleins
are asking
what I am doing here
without you

 

 

 

x x x

 

greyness has many colours
I have discovered it recently
in your eyes

 

 

 

x x x

 

I have said goodbye to that love so many times
yellowed leaves were carpeting it
time like a mist
was separating us

 

one summer
we could not find each other
and we though
– nothing would save us anymore

 

but suddenly
the dried leaves are falling of it
the mist is melting
and our love is green again

 

 

 

x x x

 

he looked through the window
in a very misty morning:
“oh, there is no world…”

 

 

 

 

x x x

 

trees
– are what is left for us
from paradise

 

 

 

x x x

 

22 years
after the beginning of our love
we talk about men
that live double life
-they have wife and lovers
(because they can afford that)

 

I ask
if you would like to live like they do

you reply
“I think I would like to have doubled you”

 

 

 

x x x

 

June is like
being
eighteen years old

 

 

 

x x x

 

stop
look through the window
(there is
nearly always)

a poem around

 

Przełożył na język angielski Marek Marciniak

 

Translation: Marek Marciniak

x x  x

in memory of people close to me

 

and it seemed

they would last forever

in that camomile yard

in that warm house

in that safe bed

 

time blows them up one after another

 

A Goodnight Phone Talk

 

Version 1:

– Hold on…

– What am I to hold?

– My love

 

Version 2:

 

– Keep well…

– What am I to keep?

– My love

 

x x x

love was for you

„ a horrible word

meaning fucking and subjugation”

 

love was the word

you did not utter

 

once you said to me:

„ coming here

brings me pleasure,

not coming here brings me pain”

and

„let it be so

until it is so”

 

yesterday I got books

returned by you

on top there was

a collection of poems

by Majakovski „I love”

 

 

X X X

 

God

with his love

is unprotected

 

X X X

 

Oh, to hug myself

to the thought of you

and to fall asleep

 

X X X

 

What does loneliness

consist of?

 

emptiness

 

X X X

 

I have my head in the clouds

I have a poem in my head

a never-ending poem of you

 

X X X

 

you logged

in my head

 

your gentle words

follow me

 

our voices

kiss

by phone

 

X X X

 

we remain

in modern relationships

free and open

with the fading hope for

the occurrence

of the old-fashioned relationship

wonderfully closed

 

 

 

 

 

 

X X X

 

„ I hate women

I am a womanizer

I am a virtuous man”,

you introduced yourself to me day by day

 

„ he is a poet

though he is not aware of it”,

so said about you

our common female friend

 

X X X

 

Where are poetesses from?

B.

 

I was a girl

of a bad home

 

but my yard

faced

a holy birch wood

 

but a rich red rose

gave its flowers to us

through the window

 

and mum used to sing songs

once she told me

she would go mad

if she could not sing

 

everything turned into poetry

 

The Gallery WORLD

 

snow flakes

tree leaves:

none is to be repeated

 

God is a perfectional artist