Author Topic: Dylan Thomas, Do Not Gentle Go Into That Good Night & William Carlos Williams, Tract  (Read 4933 times)

elena petelos

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Do Not Gentle Go Into That Good Night

by Dylan Thomas


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Poems published in Translatum:




Tract  

by William Carlos Williams  

 
I will teach you my townspeople
how to perform a funeral–
for you have it over a troop
of artists–
unless one should scour the world–
you have the ground sense necessary.

See! the hearse leads.
I begin with a design for a hearse.
For Christ's sake not black–
nor white either–and not polished!
Let it be weathered–like a farm wagon–
with gilt wheels (this could be
applied fresh at small expense)
or no wheels at all:
a rough dray to drag over the ground.

Knock the glass out!
My God–glass, my townspeople!
For what purpose? Is it for the dead
to look out or for us to see
how well he is housed or to see
the flowers or the lack of them–
or what?
To keep the rain and snow from him?
He will have a heavier rain soon:
pebbles and dirt and what not.
Let there be no glass–
and no upholstery, phew!
and no little brass rollers
and small easy wheels on the bottom–
my townspeople what are you thinking of?

A rough plain hearse then
with gilt wheels and no top at all.
On this the coffin lies
by its own weight.

         No wreaths please–
especially no hot house flowers.
Some common memento is better,
something he prized and is known by:
his old clothes–a few books perhaps–
God knows what! You realize
how we are about these things
my townspeople–
something will be found–anything
even flowers if he had come to that.
So much for the hearse.

For heaven's sake though see to the driver!
Take off the silk hat! In fact
that's no place at all for him–
up there unceremoniously
dragging our friend out to his own dignity!
Bring him down–bring him down!
Low and inconspicuous! I'd not have him ride
on the wagon at all–damn him–
the undertaker's understrapper!
Let him hold the reins
and walk at the side
and inconspicuously too!

Then briefly as to yourselves:
Walk behind–as they do in France,
seventh class, or if you ride
Hell take curtains! Go with some show
of inconvenience; sit openly–
to the weather as to grief.
Or do you think you can shut grief in?
What–from us? We who have perhaps
nothing to lose? Share with us
share with us–it will be money
in your pockets.

                         Go now
I think you are ready.

 



« Last Edit: 08 Aug, 2011, 07:43:47 by Frederique »


crystal

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Dylan Thomas, And Death Shall Have No Dominion
« Reply #1 on: 07 Aug, 2011, 22:46:20 »



Dylan Thomas, And Death Shall Have No Dominion

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;
Though 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.


Κι ο θάνατος δεν θα 'χει πια εξουσία

Κι ο θάνατος δεν θα 'χει πια εξουσία,
Γυμνοί οι νεκροί θα γίνουν ένα,
Με τον άνθρωπο του ανέμου και του δυτικού φεγγαριού
Οταν ασπρίσουν τα κόκαλά τους και τριφτούν τ' άσπρα κόκαλα
θα 'χουν αστέρια στον αγκώνα και στο πόδι
Αν τρελάθηκαν, η γνώση τους θα ξανάρθει,
Αν βούλιαξαν στο πέλαγος, θ' αναδυθούν,
Αν χάθηκαν οι εραστές, δεν θα χαθεί η αγάπη,
Κι ο θάνατος δεν θα 'χει πια εξουσία.


Κι ο θάνατος δεν θα 'χει πια εξουσία,
Όσους βαθιά σκεπάζουν οι στροφάδες των νερών
δεν θ' αφανίσει ανεμοστρόβιλος,
Κι αν στρίβει ο τροχαλίας κι οι κλειδώσεις ξεφτίζουν,
Στον τροχό αν τους παιδεύουν, δεν θα τους συντρίψουν,
Στα σπασμένα τα χέρια τους θα 'ναι η πίστη διπλή,
Κι οι μονόκεροι δαίμονες ας τρυπούν το κορμί,
Χίλια κομμάτια θρύψαλα κι αράγιστοι θα μείνουν,
Κι ο θάνατος δεν θα 'χει πια εξουσία.

Κι ο θάνατος δεν θα 'χει πια εξουσία,
Ας μη φωνάζουν πια στο αυτί τους γλάροι,
Ας μη σπάζει μ' ορμή στο γιαλό τους το κύμα,
Εκεί που έν' άνθι φούντωνε, δεν έχει τώρα ανθό,
Να υψώσει την κορφή του στης βροχής το φούντωμα
Τρελοί, μπορεί, και ξόδια, ψόφια καρφιά, μα ιδές,
Φύτρα των σημαδιών τους, να, σφυριές οι μαργαρίτες,
Ορμούν στον ήλιο ωσότου ο ήλιος να καταλυθεί,
Κι ο θάνατος δεν θα 'χει πια εξουσία.




Dylan Thomas, “And Death Shall Have No Dominion” from The Poems of Dylan Thomas.
Μετάφραση: Λύντια Στεφάνου