Sunday, March 04, 2007

Kubla Khan

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)

Ακούστε τον Richard Pasco να διαβάζει το ποίημα:

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... και τον John Nettles:



In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Διαβάστε την μετάφραση του Γ. Ν. Πολίτη στο Αλωνάκι της Ποίησης.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

Ακούστε τον Dylan Thomas να διαβάζει το ποίημα:

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... και τον Richard Burton (1925-1984):

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And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Through they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Monday, February 26, 2007

La femme qui est dans mon lit

Ακούστε τον Serge Reggiani (1922-2004) να ερμηνεύει το πολύ τρυφερό τραγούδι του Georges Moustaki.



Sarah

Si vous la rencontrez, bizarrement parée, traînant dans le ruisseau un talon déchaussé, et la tête et l'œil bas, comme un pigeon blessé, monsieur; ne crachez pas de juron ni d'ordure, au visage fardé de cette pauvre impure, que déesse famine a par un soir d'hiver contrainte à relever ses jupons en plein air. Cette bohème là c'est mon bien, ma richesse, ma perle, mon bijou, ma reine, ma duchesse...

La femme qui est dans mon lit
N'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps.
Les yeux cernés
Par les années,
Par les amours
Au jour le jour,
La bouche usée
Par les baisers,
Trop souvent mais
Trop mal donnés,
Le teint blafard
Malgré le fard,
Plus pâle qu'une
Tache de lune.

La femme qui est dans mon lit
N'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps.
Les seins si lourds
De trop d'amours
Ne portent pas
Le nom d'appâts,
Le corps lassé
Trop caressé,
Trop souvent mais
Trop mal aimé.
Le dos voûté
Semble porter
Les souvenirs
Qu'elle a dû fuir.

La femme qui est dans mon lit
N'a plus vingt ans depuis longtemps.
Ne riez pas.
N'y touchez pas.
Gardez vos larmes
Et vos sarcasmes.
Lorsque la nuit
Nous réunit,
Son corps, ses mains
S'offrent aux miens
Et c'est son cœur
Couvert de pleurs
Et de blessures
Qui me rassure.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Ακούτε Θέατρο; Δευτέρων Ρόλων συνέχεια (05)




Mercy, show some mercy!




Η Lynn Collins, στον ρόλο της Portia, μεταμφιεσμένη ως Διδάκτωρ Δικαίου, στο φιλμ «Ο Εμπορος της Βενετίας» (2004), του Michael Radford.

Ακούστε την Hannah Gordon σε ηχογράφηση εκ των αρχείων του BBC:



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The Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Sc. I

PORTIA
The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The thronèd monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this-
That in the course of justice none of us
Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy,
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

Friday, February 23, 2007

Ταξιδεύετε με τραίνο;

Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat
Από το Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats του T. S. Eliot (1888-1965).

Διαβάζει ο ίδιος. Ακούστε τον:

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There's a whisper down the line at 11.39
When the Night Mail's ready to depart,
Saying "Skimble where is Skimble has he gone to hunt the thimble?
We must find him or the train can't start."
All the guards and all the porters and the stationmaster's daughters
They are searching high and low,
Saying "Skimble where is Skimble for unless he's very nimble
Then the Night Mail just can't go."
At 11.42 then the signal's nearly due
And the passengers are frantic to a man--
Then Skimble will appear and he'll saunter to the rear:
He's been busy in the luggage van!

He gives one flash of his glass-green eyes
And the signal goes "All Clear!"
And we're off at last for the northern part
Of the Northern Hemisphere!

You may say that by and large it is Skimble who's in charge
Of the Sleeping Car Express.
From the driver and the guards to the bagmen playing cards
He will supervise them all, more or less.
Down the corridor he paces and examines all the faces
Of the travellers in the First and in the Third;
He establishes control by a regular patrol
And he'd know at once if anything occurred.
He will watch you without winking and he sees what you are thinking
And it's certain that he doesn't approve
Of hilarity and riot, so the folk are very quiet
When Skimble is about and on the move.
You can play no pranks with Skimbleshanks!
He's a Cat that cannot be ignored;
So nothing goes wrong on the Northern Mail
When Skimbleshanks is aboard.

Oh, it's very pleasant when you have found your little den
With your name written up on the door.
And the berth is very neat with a newly folded sheet
And there's not a speck of dust on the floor.
There is every sort of light-you can make it dark or bright;
There's a handle that you turn to make a breeze.
There's a funny little basin you're supposed to wash your face in
And a crank to shut the window if you sneeze.
Then the guard looks in politely and will ask you very brightly
"Do you like your morning tea weak or strong?"
But Skimble's just behind him and was ready to remind him,
For Skimble won't let anything go wrong.
And when you creep into your cosy berth
And pull up the counterpane,
You ought to reflect that it's very nice
To know that you won't be bothered by mice--
You can leave all that to the Railway Cat,
The Cat of the Railway Train!

In the watches of the night he is always fresh and bright;
Every now and then he has a cup of tea
With perhaps a drop of Scotch while he's keeping on the watch,
Only stopping here and there to catch a flea.
You were fast asleep at Crewe and so you never knew
That he was walking up and down the station;
You were sleeping all the while he was busy at Carlisle,
Where he greets the stationmaster with elation.
But you saw him at Dumfries, where he speaks to the police
If there's anything they ought to know about:
When you get to Gallowgate there you do not have to wait--
For Skimbleshanks will help you to get out!
He gives you a wave of his long brown tail
Which says: "I'll see you again!
You'll meet without fail on the Midnight Mail
The Cat of the Railway Train."

Διαβάστε και την εξαιρετική απόδοση στα ελληνικά της Παυλίνας Παμπούδη και του Γιάννη Ζέρβα στο «Εγχειρίδιο Πρακτικής Γατικής του γέρο-Πόσουμ», Εκδόσεις ΑΓΡΑ.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Βαναυσότητες στο «24»; και στο «22»!

Οδυσσείας 22 (Χ), 487-504

Το τέλος των θεραπαινίδων και του Μελάνθιου

Μετάφραση Ν. Καζαντζάκη-Ι. Κακριδή

Και τότε ο γνωστικός Τηλέμαχος το λόγο επήρε κι είπε:
«Όχι, σ' αυτές δε θέλω θάνατο να δώσω τιμημένο—
που στο κεφάλι της μητέρας μου κι εμένα καταφρόνια
σκορπούσαν και ντροπή, και πλάγιαζαν μαζί με τους μνηστήρες!»
Είπε, και γαλαζόπλωρου άρμενου χοντρό σκοινί στεριώνει
από τρανή κολόνα, κι έζωσε μ' αυτό το θόλο γύρα,
ψηλά τανιώντας το, τα πόδια τους στο χώμα να μη φτάνουν.
Πως όταν τσίχλες απλοφτέρουγες για περιστέρες θέλουν
να φτάσουν στη φωλιά τους κι άξαφνα φριχτή κούρνια τις δέχτη,
τι πιάστηκαν στα βρόχια, που έτυχαν στημένα μες στα θάμνα —
όμοια κι οι δούλες τα κεφάλια τους γραμμή κρατούσαν, κι όλες
θελιά είχαν στο λαιμό, από θάνατο να παν συφοριασμένο,
και σπάραζαν με τα ποδάρια τους — για λίγην ώρα μόνο.
Μετά και το Μελάνθιο τράβηξαν στην πόρτα του αντρωνίτη
μπροστά, μες στην αυλή, και με άσπλαχνο χαλκό του κόψαν μύτη
κι αφτιά, κι όλο θυμό του τσάκισαν τα χέρια και τα πόδια,
και τ' αχαμνά του ξεριζώνοντας στους σκύλους τα πετάξαν,
για να τα φαν’ ωμά ….

Ακούστε τον Ian McKellen να διαβάζει.
Μετάφραση: Robert Fagles (1990)

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and stern Telemachus gave the men their orders:
“No clean death for the likes of them, by god!
not from me – they showered abuse on my head,
my mother’s too! You sluts – the suitors’ whores!”
With that, taking a cable used on a dark-prowed ship
he coiled it over the roundhouse, lashed it fast to a tall column,
hoisting it up so high no toes could touch the ground.
Then, as doves or thrushes beating their spread wings
against some snare rigged up in thickets – flying in
for a cozy nest but a grisly bed receives them –
so the women’s heads were trapped in a line,
nooses yanking their necks up, one by one
so all might die a pitiful, ghastly death…
they kicked up heels for a little – not for long.
Melanthius?
They hauled him out through the doorway, into the court,
lopped his nose and ears with a ruthless knife,
tore his genitals out for the dogs to eat raw
and in manic fury hacked off hands and feet.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

Gie fools their silks

For A' That and A' That
του Robert Burns (1759-1796)

Διαβάζουν οι John Ramage, Nancy Doherty, Bill Torrance, σε ηχογράφηση του 1985.
Ακούστε τους:

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Is there for honest poverty
That hings his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by;
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea stamp -
The man's the gowd for a' that!

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray, and a' that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine -
A man's a man for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, and a' that,
The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that!

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that -
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might -
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dignities, an' a' that,
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may -
As come it will for a' that, -
That sense and worth o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
It’s comin' yet for a' that,
That man to man, the warld o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.