Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Somernokto - By Kálmán Kalocsay

[A spectacular reading by A.Z. Foreman of this beautiful poem written by Kálmán Kalocsay in Esperanto can be found here. Mr. Foreman's blog entry for this poem can be found here. Please visit and introduce yourselves and enjoy his many other fine translations and readings here.]

By Kálmán Kalocsay

La nokto de somero flustre
Ekzumas per kantet' sekreta,
La nokto lulas brust-ĉe-bruste
Nin sur insul' de Margareta.

Ĉi kie staris iam klostro
De palaj mutaj monakinoj,
Kaj kie nun amkaŝa bosko
Pagane kreskas sur ruinoj,

La nokt' incensas nin per mento,
Rezedo, malvo kaj narciso,
Kaj unktas nin per sakramento
De amo: nefinebla kiso.

Kiel jubile ĉiuj griloj
Per sia ĉirpo frenezumas!
Inter la herboj la lampiroj
Diskrete, sole por si, lumas.

Kiel grandega strasa tulo
Nin kovras la ĉiela arko,
Kaj lante kun ni la insulo
Eknaĝas kiel nupta barko.


Summer Night
By Kálmán Kalocsay
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

The summer's night begins abuzz
Humming a secret arietta.
Night beds and lulls us breast to breast
Upon the isle of Margaretta.

Out here where once a cloister stood
Haven to pale and silent nuns,
Where now a love-secluding wood
Grows pagan over ruined stones,

The night incenses us with mint,
Mallow, narcissus and the wind,
Anoints us with a sacrament
Of love: a kiss we cannot end.

What jubilee the reveling crickets
Chirrup in one frenetic drone!
Amid the grass the glow-worms flicker
Discreetly for themselves alone.

Like an enormous veil of tinsel
Round us lies the celestial arc,
And slowly with us now the island
Here sails out like a bridal barque.

[This is an older, original translation]

A Summer Night
By Kálmán Kalocsay
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

The night of summer at a whisper
Hums with a secret undertone.
The night is rocking, breast to breast
On Margaret Island, us alone.

Here where there was a standing cloister
Of mute pale nuns in ages gone,
Where now a love-secluded thicket
Grows pagan over ruined stone,

The night incenses us with mallow,
Mint and narcissus burnt on wind,
Anoints us with a sacrament
Of love: a kiss we cannot end.

How jubilantly every cricket
Chirps in a sweet deranging choir!
The fireflies low amid the grasses
Discreetly light themselves a fire.

Like monumental jeweled glass netting
The skies' arc covers us, in awe
As Margaret Island swims out with us
Slow as a nuptial gondola.



Wine and Words said...

Yes. The sound of it...exotic, yet as familiar as a prayer. Passionate reading, the rolling r's. The poem itself is lovely, but far more so in the language of origin. Thank you! Getting an education here.

AF said...

Oh by the way, dunno if you care- but I've revised this poem heavily since you posted it.

Noxalio said...

Annie, i'm glad to oblige ...

Noxalio said...

A.Z. ... ah, thank you for the heads-up ... (i'll revise my blog appropriately) and also, thank you kindly for allowing me to point to your work from here ...