POETRY BOOK Croatia Dobria Cesari 10 January 1902

POETRY BOOK

Croatia Dobriša Cesarić (10 January 1902 – 18 December 1980) Born in Pozega, he was a Croatian poet and translator from German, Russian, Italian, Bulgarian and Hungarian. He is famous for ten poem books and a few translations. He used simple language to talk about life, joy and pain. His poetry features light which has a double meaning for him.

Voćka poslije kiše Gle malu voćku poslije kiše: Puna je kapi pa ih njiše. I bliješti suncem obasjana, Čudesna raskoš njenih grana. Al nek se sunce malo skrije, Nestane sve te čarolije. Ona je opet kao prvo, Obično, jadno, malo drvo. Fruit tree after the rain Look at the fruit tree after the rain: All of its raindrops it will sway. The sun makes it glimmer like a gown, The magnificent glory of its crown. If the sun, a little should hide, The tree’s magic, away will glide. She is once again, what she was before, Ordinary and pathetic, magnificent no more

Croatia Josip Pupačić (19 November 1928 – 23 May 1971) Born in Slime, he lived in Zagreb. As a poet, he centred around childhood experiences, frequently drawing upon nature and the local folklore. from being a poet, Josip Pupačić was also a respected researcher of literature and literary history, and an anthologist. He is the author of an anthology about the sea, printed in 2005. Apart

More I gledam more gdje se k meni penje I slušam more dobrojutro veli I ono sluša mene I ja mu šapćem O dobrojutro more kažem tiho Pa opet tiše ponovim mu pozdrav A more sluša pa se smije Pa šuti pa se smije pa se penje I gledam more zlato I gledam more gdje se k meni penje I dobrojutro kažem more zlato I dobrojutro more kaže I zagrli me more oko vrata I more I ja s morem zlatom sjedimo skupa na žalu vrh brijega I smijemo se moru, The sea I watch the sea where it climbs up to me And I listen to it, goodmorning it says And I listen to it and to it I whisper Oh goodmorning, sea, I say soundlessly And then still, I repeat my hello While the sea listens, listens and then smiles And then quiten and laughs and climbs it does I watch the sea, I watch the golden sea I watch the sea where it climbs up to me And goodmorning I say my golden sea And goodmorning, sea it says to me And arround the neck it hugs me And the sea and me with the golden sea Sitting together at the harbor hill And laughing we are, laughing at the see

Estonia Juhan Liiv (30 April 1864 – 1 December 1913) Juhan Liiv became successful in 1894 when his first short story, Vari (The Shadow), was released. It was dark and gloomy, foreshadowing his future works. A comparison is drawn between Liiv and the main character of the story, who is physically weak but mentally strong. Soon after Liiv’s first story was published, he was admitted to a psychiatric clinic in Tartu, where he was diagnosed with Schizophrenia. He considered himself the son of Czar Alexander II, the king of Poland. He continued struggling with his mental illness until his death.

Lauliku talveüksindus Bard`s Winter Isolation Lumi tuiskab, mina laulan, Laulan kurba laulukest, Lumi kogub aia äärde, Valu minu südame. The snow whirls, I sing a song of sadness The snow drifts to the fence Pain to my heart distressed. Lumi tuiskab, mina laulan , Laulan kurba laulukest. Laulan kuni hauas kaetud Olen jääst ja lumest. The snow whirls, I sing a song of sadness. Sing till the snow and ice Surround my grave in coldness. Lumi tuiskab, mina laulan, Laulan kurba laulukest. Lumi keerleb tuulehoodest, Minu süda valudest. The snow whirls, I sing a song of sadness. In the winds the snow howls My heart`s in great distress.

Üle vee Over the water Üks laevuke lääb üle vee, Lääb üle vee Ja lainete. One ship Goes over the water And the waves. Kui valge luik Kaob üle vee, Kaob üle vee Ja lainete. Like a white swan Disappears in the waters And the waves. Mu armuke, Mu kullake Läks yle vee Ja lainete. My lover My darling Moved over the waters And the waves. Silm kaugele Käib yle vee, Käib yle vee Ja lainete. Ei laineke Ei kõnele Mul üle vee Ja lainete. Mu armuke Ja kullake On üle vee Ja lainete. My eye stretches far Far over the water And the waves. No waves Dont talk Far over the water And the sea. My lover My darling Is far over the water Far over the water And the waves.

Greece Constantine Petrou Photiades Cavafy (29 April 1863 – 29 April 1933) Cavafy was a cosmopolitan by birth, his family roots extending from Constantinople to London (via Alexandria, Trebizond, Chios, Trieste, Venice and Vienna), and was the youngest of seven brothers. Cavafy developed a unique method for publishing his poems. He never published a collection in a book form. Instead, he opted to publish his poems in newspapers, periodicals and annuals. Cavafy wrote his most important poems after he turned 40, calling himself a ”poet of old age”. He is famous for ridiculing traditional values of Christianity or patriotism, often focusing on historical themes.

Ithaka As you set out for Ithaka hope the voyage is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them: you’ll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you. Hope the voyage is a long one. May there be many a summer morning when, with what pleasure, what joy, you come into harbors seen for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind— as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars. Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich. Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you would not have set out. She has nothing left to give you now. And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

Poland Wisława Szymborska (2 July 1923 - 1 February 2012) Born in Prowent, Wisława Szymborska was a poet, essayist and translator. She lived in Cracow for the rest of her life. The poet was awarded the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature "for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality” (1), as a result of which she received international recognition. She was described as a "Mozart of Poetry” (2). (1) "The Nobel Prize in Literature 1996". Nobelprize. 7 October 2010. Retrieved 7 October 2010. (2) "Polish Nobel winning poet Szymborska dies at 88". Reuters. 1 February 2012. Retrieved 1 February 2012.

Nic dwa razy Nothing twice Nic dwa razy się nie zdarza i nie zdarzy. Z tej przyczyny zrodziliśmy się bez wprawy i pomrzemy bez rutyny. Nothing happens twice and it never will. For this reason, we were born without skills and we will die without routine. Choćbyśmy uczniami byli najtępszymi w szkole świata, nie będziemy repetować żadnej zimy ani lata. Even if we were the worst students In the school of world We won’t repeat Any winter , any summer Żaden dzień się nie powtórzy, nie ma dwóch podobnych nocy, dwóch tych samych pocałunków, dwóch jednakich spojrzeń w oczy. Any day won’t repeat There are no similar nights, Two the same kisses, Two the same glances in the eyes. Wczoraj, kiedy twoje imię ktoś wymówił przy mnie głośno, tak mi było jakby róża przez otwarte wpadła okno. Yesterday, when your name Someone said loudly next to me I felt like a rose had fallen Through an open window into my room Dziś, kiedy jesteśmy razem, odwróciłam twarz ku ścianie. Róża? Jak wygląda róża? Czy to kwiat? A może kamień? Today, when we’re together, I turned my face to the wall. Rose? How does a rose look like? Is it a flower? Or is it a rock? Czemu ty się, zła godzino, z niepotrzebnym mieszasz lękiem? Jesteś - a więc musisz minąć. Miniesz - a więc to jest piękne. Why do you, oh evil hour Bring the unneeded fear? You live - so you must perish You pass away- how charming this is. Uśmiechnięci, współobjęci spróbujemy szukać zgody, choć różnimy się od siebie jak dwie krople czystej wody. Delighted, caught in one’s arms Seeking harmony Although we differ As two peas in a pod…

Spain José Espronceda (25 March 1808 – 23 May 1842) He was born in Madrid in 1808. He established a secret society with some other guys, called „The Numantios”. He was against dictatorship, and because of this he went to prison. He participated in the French Revolution in 1830. He kidnaped Teresa, who was married, and finally they returned to Madrid. He was selected to be one of the congressmen by Almeria. He died when he was thirty four in Madrid.

CANCIÓN DEL PIRATA THE PIRAT SONG Con diez cañones por banda, viento en popa, a toda vela, no corta el mar, sino vuela un velero bergantín. Bajel pirata que llaman, por su bravura, el Temido, en todo mar conocido del uno al otro confín. Ten cannons side to side, wind strong, full sails ahead, not slicing the ocean, but flying comes soaring a winged bergantin. Here comes the pirate called, for his bravery, Chilling, known throughout the sea from East to West. La luna en el mar rïela, en la lona gime el viento, y alza en blando movimiento olas de plata y azul; y ve el capitán pirata, cantando alegre en la popa, Asia a un lado, al otro Europa, y allá a su frente Stambul: The moon reigns oversea, on the mount weeps the wind, and with a motion it raises waves of blue and silver; and behold the pirate king, by the helm he gayly sings, On one side Asia, on the other Europe, and before him, Istanbul. «Navega, velero mío, sin temor, que ni enemigo navío ni tormenta, ni bonanza tu rumbo a torcer alcanza, ni a sujetar tu valor. " Ride forth, my ship, without fear, no enemy, my ship, no storm, no bonanza will dare change your course, nor restrain your valor. Veinte presas hemos hecho a despecho del inglés, y han rendido sus pendones cien naciones a mis pies. And when the thunder is violently roaring, and the wind Overpowering, I sleep, peacefully, rocked by the sea. Que es mi barco mi tesoro, que es mi dios la libertad, mi ley, la fuerza y el viento, mi única patria, la mar. What is my treasure but my ship, Who is my God but liberty, my law, my force and the wind, my only homeland, the sea.

Turkey Orhan Veli Kanık (13 April 1914 – 14 November 1950) Born in Istanbul, he was raised by his father, a conductor of the Presidential Symphony Orchestra. His younger brother, Adnan Veli, was a well known journalist whose memoir of his time in prison on political charges, ”Mahpushane Çeşmesi (The Prison Fountain)", was published in 1952. Orhan Veli studied at the Ankara Gazi High School before he started his university education which lasted one year at Istanbul University's Philosophy department before dropping out in 1935. He was employed by the Ministry of Education as a translator from 1945 to 1947. Later, he worked as a freelance translator and journalist. As also evidenced from the contents of some of his deeply humorous poetry, he was a heavy drinker. His death was due to a brain hemorrhage a few days after he fell into a pot hole on the street while intoxicated. He is known for advocating a poetry without excessive stylistic elements and adjectives, and preferring a style closer to free-verse. He is known for his unique voice, and depth of emotion underlying the seemingly easycoming nature of his verse. His poetry is highly admired by the public as well as in academic circles.

İSTANBUL’U DİNLİYORUM «I AM LISTENING TO ISTANBUL» I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed: At first there is a gentle breeze And the leaves on the trees Softly sway; Out there, far away, The bells of water-carriers unceasingly ring; I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed; Then suddenly birds fly by, Flocks of birds, high up, with a hue and cry, While the nets are drawn in the fishing grounds And a woman's feet begin to dabble in the water. I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. The Grand Bazaar's serene and cool, An uproar at the hub of the Market, Mosque yards are full of pigeons. While hammers bang and clang at the docks Spirng winds bear the smell of sweat; I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed; Still giddy from the revelries of the past, A seaside mansion with dingy boathouses is fast asleep. Amid the din and drone of southern winds, reposed, I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. A pretty girl walks by on the sidewalk: Four-letter words, whistles and songs, rude remarks; Something falls out of her hand It is a rose, I guess. I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed. A bird flutters round your skirt; On your brow, is there sweet? Or not ? I know. Are your lips wet? Or not? I know. A silver moon rises beyond the pine trees: I can sense it all in your heart's throbbing. I am listening to Istanbul, intent, my eyes closed Orhan Veli Kanık

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