ZiN Daily s radošću donosi pet soneta iz zbirke Portugalski soneti Elizabeth Barrett Browning koju je na hrvatski jezik upravo preveo naš uvaženi i višestruko nagrađivani prevoditelj g. Mate Maras. Podsjećamo, g. Maras nam je prije nekog vremena poslao na objavu u naš časopis svoj rukopis u pripremi: 2000 stihova Roberta Browninga, literarnog suradnika i supruga Elizabeth Barrett Browning, autora pamfleta Bells and Pomegranates kojima, između ostalog, ZVONA i NARI (dijelom) duguju svoje ime. Jeste li znali da su Portugalski soneti trebali biti Bosanski soneti? Naime, podaci upućuju na to da se autorica nećkala oko objavljivanja zbirke budući da joj se činilo da previše otkrivaju o njezinoj intimi pa je sugestijom da se radi o prijevodu htjela zaštiti privatnost. Suprug Robert, zaljubljenik u portugalsku književnost ipak ju je nagovorio da se odluči objaviti sonete i to pod naslovom po kojem su i danas poznati.
Portugalske sonete na hrvatskom smo jeziku mogli do sada čitati u prijevodu našeg iznimnog pjesnika i prevoditelja Luke Paljetka, a u izdanju Matice hrvatske Dubrovnik te Durieuxa (1995.)
ZiN Daily proudly presents five last sonnets from the newest translation into the Croatian of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's 1850 collection of 44 Sonnets from the Portuguese authored by the award-winning translator Mate Maras. Elizabeth Barret Browning and Robert Browning have a special connection to ZVONA i NARI, which in Croatian stands for 'Bells and Pomegranates', a name that was the title for eight pamphlets Robert Browning edited between 1841 and 1846. The collaboration of these two 19th century literary partners inspired not only us, but Mr. Maras as well, who generously offered us to publish from his 2000 verses long translation of Robert Browning's poems into Croatian, soon to be put in print by Matica hrvatska.
Sonnets from the Portuguese were initially planned to be titled Sonnets from the Bosnian. By suggesting that sonnets are a translation, Elizabeth Barrett Browning wanted to protect her privacy - she considered the verses to be too revealing of her private life. It was her partner's, Robert Browning's "admiration for Camões and Robert's nickname for Elizabeth: "my little Portuguese" that decided. The title is also a reference to the 17th century epistolary fiction - Les Lettres Portugaises (1669)." (source: https://tinyurl.com/kmx3q7u)
So here they are: Sonnets from the Portuguese, which are not from the Portuguese, which were supposed to be from the Bosnian and which are now sonnets into the Croatian. Enjoy the beautiful bilingual play of longing, ardor and faithfulness.
Sonnets from the Portuguese Portugalski soneti
XL
Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours! I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth. I have heard love talked in my early youth, And since, not so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Belovèd! thou canst wait Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch, And think it soon when others cry "Too late."
XL.
Da, ljube se diljem toga našeg svijeta! Ne ću nijekat ljubav što je zbiljnom zvana. O ljubavi govor čuh za mladih dana, I otad koliko traje miris cvijeta
Nakon branja. Muslimani i kauri Rupcem kriju smiješak, i milosti nema Prema plaču. Bijeli zubi Polifema Po orahu skliznu, kad mu pljusci burni
Ljusku izglade. I ne treba toliko Da ljubav u mržnju il' zaborav ode. Ali ti ne posta takvim ljubavnikom,
Ljubljeni! Ti možeš čekat, jer se sviknu Kroz tugu i bolest, da se duše srode — Misliš da je brzo kad „Prekasno“ viknu.
XLI
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts, With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all Who paused a little near the prison-wall To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's Or temple's occupation, beyond call. But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall, When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot To hearken what I said between my tears,-- Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My soul's full meaning into future years, That they should lend it utterance, and salute Love that endures, from Life that disappears!
XLI.
Tko ljubljaše mene srcem, hvala svima, Od srca ih ljubim. Svima hvala ide Tko zastade malo uz tamničke zide Te mi glazbu ču u glasnim dijelovima,
Dok ne ode dalje, kamo zove sreća, Na trg ili u hram, gdje posla imade. Ali ti, kad glas mi potonu i pade, Jer ga jecaj shrva, glazbalo Umijeća
Svog božanstvenoga spusti dolje k peti, Slišeć što kroz suze rekoh — pouči me Kako ti zahvalit! Da mi duša leti
S punim značenjem u buduće godine, Da mu izraz zajme i pozdrave njime Trajnu ljubav iz života koji mine!
XLII
"My future will not copy fair my past"-- I wrote that once; and thinking at my side My ministering life-angel justified The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I turned at last, And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried By natural ills, received the comfort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled. I seek no copy now of life's first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled, And write me new my future's epigraph, New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
XLII.
„Budućnost mi ne će prošlost preslikati“ — To napisah jednom; misleć da mi anđel Služnički kraj mene opravdanje náđe Za tu riječ, jer preklinjući pogled svrati
Na bijel Božji prijestol; a kad se okrenuh, Vidjeh tebe, s anđelima tvoje duše U jedinstvu! Dobih tad, za duge kušnje Prirodnih nedaća, utjehu u trenu —
Videć tebe, štap propupa pokloniku, Prolista biserno na jutarnjoj rosi. Ne ištem od pola života presliku:
Tu ostavi svite stranice i sjetu, Piši novo geslo moje budućnosti, Anđele moj novi, nenadān u svijetu!
XLIII
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
XLIII.
Kako te ja ljubim? Da načine brojim. Ljubim te duboko, široko, visoko Dokle duša segne, kad ne vidi oko Svrhu Bića i Milosti što postojim.
Ja te ljubim do razine svakidanje Potrebe, po suncu i pri svjetlu svijeće. Slobodno te ljubim, željna Pravde veće; Ja te ljubim čisto, bez Hvale najmanje.
Vjerom iz djetinjstva svoga ja te ljubim, Strašću koja stare moje tuge prati. Ljubavlju te ljubim koju kanda gubih
S gubitkom svetaca — Ljubim te dok dišem, Smiješkom, suzom, svim životom! — Bog će dati, Ljubit ću te samo poslije smrti više.
XLIV
Belovèd, thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden, all the summer through And winter, and it seemed as if they grew In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours, Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too, And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue, And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine, Here's ivy!--take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.
XLIV.
Ljubljeni, od tebe mnogo cvijeća dobih Ubrana u vrtu, tijekom cijelog ljeta I zime, i regbi da bez sunca cvjeta, Bez pljuska, u ovoj zatvorenoj sobi.
U ime te naše ljubavi jednako, Uzmi ove misli, ovdje uzgajane, Iz tla srca sam ih čupala u dane I tople i hladne. Obrasle su jako
Sjenice i lijehe korovljem, što čeka Da ga plijeviš. Ipak, evo divlje ruže, Tu je bršljan — uzmi, kako i ja nekad
Tvoje cvijeće, pazeć da se ne osuše. I naputi oči da boje zadrže; A korijen im osta usred moje duše.
