Nòvas d’Occitània    Nòvas d'Occitània 2014

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Nòvas n.131 Genoier 2014

Emily Dickinson, poesie. N 12-13-35-52

Emily Dickinson - poesias N 12-13-35-52

Rubrica di letteratura "Chaminar e Pensar" traduzione in lingua occitana a cura di Peyre Anghilante

Emily Dickinson, poesie. N 12-13-35-52
English

12

The morns are meeker than they were -

The nuts are getting brown -

The berry'cheek is plumper -

The rose is out of town.

The Maple wears a gayer scarf -

The field a scarlet gown -

Lest I sh'd be old fashioned

I'll put a trinket on.



13

Sleep is supposed to be

By souls of sanity

The shutting of the eye.

Sleep is the station grand

Down wh', on either hand

The hosts of witness stand!

Morn is supposed to be

By people of degree

The breaking of the Day.

Morning has not occurred!

That shall Aurora be -

East of Eternity -

One with the banner gay -

One in the red array -

That is de break of the day!


35

Nobody knows this little Rose -

It might a pilgrim be

Did I not take it from the ways

And lift it up to thee.

Only a Bee will miss it -

Only a Butterfly,

Hastening from far journey -

On it's breast to lie -

Only a Bird will wonder -

Only a Breeze will sigh -

Ah Little Rose – how easy

For such as thee to die!


52

Whether my bark went down at sea -

Whether she met with gales -

Whether to isles enchanted

She bent her docile sails -

By what mystic mooring

She is held today -

This is the errand of the eye

Out upon the Bay.



occitan

12


Lhi matins son pus dòuç,

Las notz devenon mai escuras,

Las granas an un visatge pus reond.

La ròsa es fòra de la vila.


L'aserau pòrta un'eissarpa pus gaia,

La campanha una còta escarlata.

E per pas èsser passaa de mòda,

Decò mi me butarei un joièl.


13




Lhi esperits sans


creon que lo sòm


sie lo sarrar di uelhs.




Lo sòm es la frontiera


solemna que, ai dui cants,


a de rinjas de testimònis!




De monde autorévol


cre que lo matin


sie l'esponchar dal jorn!




Mas lo matin es pas encara arribat!




Aquela serè l'auròra -


Orient de l'Etèrne -


una embe lo gai drapèl -


una embe lo ros mantèl-


Alora esponcharè lo Jorn!


35




Degun conois aquesta pichòta Ròsa.


Poleria èsser una pelegrina


se l'auguesse pas arranchaa a si viòls


e gardaa per tu.


Masque un'abelha la perderè,


masque un parpalhon,


s'empressat de luenh


per jaire sus son sen;


masque un aucèl s'estonarè,


masque un'aureta sospirarè.


Òh pichòta ròsa, coma es de bèl


murir per las creaturas coma tu!


52




Se ma barca s'enfonzet dins la mar,


se encontret las tempèstas,


Se a d'islas enchantaas


dreicet sas pàsias vèlas,




Da quala mística amarra


es tengua encuei -


Vai cerchant mon uelh


defòra sus la baia.





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