Mi te dankar amik, m’i ramemat K’amor existar, ed an amikeso.
A. Werfel-Lachin.
salut al mond!
(Salut al Mond!) (Da пит 3 a пит 12 nur I’enso del strofos.)
Oh, prenu ma man, Walt Whitman! Ka marvos fildar ye, ka spektos e sonos!
Ka katenelos senende unat, shakun jukat al folga Shakun a tos rispande, kon tos lo ter partande.
Ко largar ine tu, Walt Whitman ? Ka ondos e suolos ensuvar ? Ka klimos ? Ka personos e ka civos ik ? Ki et infanos, dey unos ludar, osunos dormelar ? Ki lo felos ? ki lo femos marlat ?
Ki lo grupos d’oldunos, lent-vada, uce brasos al kolo ?
Ka flumos etunos ? Et forestos, et frutos ? Ka lo nam d’et montos tan alta nel brumos ? Et sennuma demoros, plena de demoreros ?
Ine mi latitud largar, longitud longar,
Azyo, Afrik, Europ oryente, Amerik ar sa plas weste, Bendande lo med del ter, lo brula eqator volvar, Strane norde e sude l’endos del ax tornar,
Ine mi l’id longesta, in anelos obliqa lo solyo volvar, dun mesos no kushar,
In mi justempe ritirat minoxa solyo ju parsar orizonye e it rekushar, Ine mi zonos, maros, kataraktos, forestos, volkanos, grupos, Malezyo, Polinezyo e lo gran West-Ind Islos.
3 Ke udar tu, Walt Whitman ?
Mi udar l’oprer kantanda e l’farmerin kantanda
Mi udar in dus id-ense rumos d’infanos e d’animalos,
Mi udar gridos d’Australyanos emulanda in persek de vildipos,
Mi udar Espanas dansi kon kastanyelos, ombre lo kastanyer, kon
rebek e gitar,
Mi udar ekelos sencesa dal Tamiz,
Mi udar fyera fransa kantos de frid
Mi udar del itala barker lo meloda ricit d’old poemos…
Ke vidar tu, Walt Whitman ?
Ki los ke tu salutar, ki un do un te salutar ? Mi vidar un gran runda marvo volvi nel spaso,
Mi vidar minuskla farmos, dorfolos, ruinos, paxaros, prizos, fabrikos, palasos, barakos, kabanolos de barbaras, tendos de nomadas ol surfaco…
Mi vidar lo veos del firveos del ter, Mi ze vidar in Brit, ze vidar in Europ, Mi ze vidar in Azyo, ze vidar in Afrik…
I see the site of the old empire of Assyria, and that of Persia, and that of India,
I see the falling of the Ganges over the high rim of Saukara…
I see the battle-fields of the earth, grass grows upon them and blossoms and corn,
I see the tracks of ancient and modern expeditions…
I see the regions of snow and ice,
I see the sharp-eyed Samoiede and the Finn…
I see the cities of the earth and make myself at random a part of them, I am a real Parisian,
I am a habitant of Vienna, St. Peterburg, Berlin, Constantinople…
I see vapors exhaling from unexplored countries,
I see the savage types, the bow and arrow, the poison’d splint, the fetich, and the obi…
You whoever you are!
You daughter or son of England!
You of the mighty Slavic tribes and empires! you Russ in Russia! You Norwegian! Swede! Dane! Icelander! you Prussian!…
You Hottentot with clicking palate! you woolly-hair’d hordes! You own’d persons dropping sweat-drops or blood-drops!…
My spirit has pass’d in compassion and determination around the whole earth,
I have look’d for equals and lovers and found them ready for me in all lands,
I think some divine rapport has equilized me with them.
You vapors, I think I have risen with you, moved away to distant
continents, and fallen down there, for reasons,
I think I have blown with you you winds;
You waters I have finger’d every shore with you,
I have run through what any river or strait of the globe has run
through,
I have taken my stand on the bases of peninsulas and on the high embedded rocks, to cry thence :
“SALUT AU MONDE!”
What cities the light or warmth penetrates I penetrate those cities myself,
All islands to which birds wing their way I wing my way myself.
Toward you all, in America’s name, I raise high my perpendicular hand, I make the signal, To remain after me in sight forever, For all the haunts and homes of men.
Walt Whitman.
the old man’s song
The prophets of old — long long ago — Preached to the peoples of love and peace; Centuries have passed since Christ’s voice was heard And decades since Beethoven’s Peace Symphony, But still we are arming ourselves against each other, And new war-words creep into our dictionaries : “Atom Bomb” and “Guided Missile” and “Rockets” And “Bombers” and “Aircraftcarriers”.
Mi vidar lo lok del antik imper d’Asiryo, lo de Persyo, d’Indyo, Mi vidar lo kaskad del Gan jo ol alta krest de Saukara…
Mi vidar lo batalkampos del ter, erbos, floros, frum ye kreskar, Mi vidar lo vegos d’antik e moderna spedos…
Mi vidar lo rejonos de nev e de glazo, Mi vidar l’akut-oka Samoyed e l’Finlandan…
Mi vidar Turbos del ter, e ye mi wandolar, Mi un vera Parisa,
Mi un abiter de Wien, San Petersburg, Berlin, Konstantinoplo…
Mi vidar vapos exali da noexplorat kontrelos,
Mi vidar vilda tipos, l’arko, lo flesh, lo klatir toxa, lo fetish, ГоЫ’…
Tu, kelun tu!
Tu filin о filyo d’Anglo!
Tu del posa slava tribos e imperos! tu Rusa de Rusio! Tu Norga, Sveda, Danska, Islanda, tu Prusa!
Tu Otentot jel klapa palatyo ! Vu lankapla urdos! Vu sklavos ki gocar suv e sang…
Ma spirto volvir um Fenta ter kon barmo e risolvo,
Mi kirir omos amanda ed egala e mi ze trir pronta po mi totlandye, Mi krar som dea ril me fir za egala.
Vu vapos, mi krar mi levir kon vu, mi movir ver dus kontinentos e
kadir ye, po un о unosa grun.
Vu, ventos, mi krar mi soplir kon vu ;
Mi gir kon vu, aqos, e kon vu mi tokir lo rivos.
Mi perkursir to ke kel flum о stret del globo perkursir,
Mi prenir plas baze lo penislos e on solida rokos, ut klami da ye :
“SALUT AU MONDE”! Salut al Mond!
Kel civos ke lum о varmo penetrar, miself ze penetrar,
Kel islos qo ezos flugar, miself ye flugar.
Ver vu tos, name Amerik, Mi levar alta ma man dritela, mi far lo segnal, Do mi po sem in vid restenda, Po tot laguyos e demoros d’omos.
Walt Whitman.
lo kant deloldun
Yolong l’antika profetos Amor e pax ne preskir. Mo, seklos dol vok de Krist, Long dol Nona Sinfonio, Feroce nos armucar. Bombos A, superfortonos, Ivioros e radar, Fucelos e satelitos Nun formar na vokablar.
Old King Avarice is still on his throne Each man wanders with his torments, Modern Hamlet is more than ever lugubrious, And old Doctors merge in doubt, Famous Authors preach absurdities To the disorientated youth, And the artist’s vision is clouded, While the poet is in despair.
Never content with his wages for working,
Never content with his prices for selling,
Fishing politics from the waters he muddies
Prating the Protocol but refusing to look for themselves;
The officials long for sleep ;
Those who are poor suffer hunger and cold,
Those who are rich have awful nightmares,
Those who are young lose faith and ideals
And beset themselves to the rhythm of rock and roll.
The fault is ours if we allow this mania To possess the whole of the human species. Have we no eyes, no sense, no ears To see the frenzy all over the earth And hear the endless Babel of language ? Truly this earth in all its beauty Has room enough for everyone; Earth and machinery join in bestowing Bread and wealth in great aboundance.
And life could once more raise up in men of peace
The urge to explore into realms of light.
For wonder is hidden in sun and rain,
In field and town, in sky and earth,
And understanding comes from patient research
And song from honest work or thought.
All brings us joy : Colours, words, perfumes, wine…
And women are always so pretty!