• Язык:
    Польский (Polska)

Bramy raju

Ворота рая

Nie na siedem pieczęci brylantowych
W Boży Raj zamknięto wieczne drzwi,
One nie wabią blaskiem pokus nowych,
Omijają także ludzkie sny.

To drzwi w ścianie, od dawna porzuconej,
Którą nadgryzł swoim zębem czas,
Obok - nędzarz, jegomość nieproszony
I pęk kluczy zdobi jego pas.

Jadą hufce rycerstwa wspaniałego,
Jęk bojowych surm i srebra brzęk
I nikt przy tym nie widzi odźwiernego,
On, Apostoł Piotr nie wzbudza lęk.

Wszyscy marzą: „Gdzie kryje się Grób Boży,
Drzwi do raju powitają nas
Gdzie zaś góruje Tabor, u podnóży
Dźwięczeć będzie obiecany czas".

Tak przechodzi maszkaron spowolniony,
Wyje i jazgocze dźwięczny róg,
Piotr Apostoł w łachmany obleczony
Niczym żebrak na rozstaju dróg.

Другие переводы:


А вот еще:

I`m dreaming that both of us dead…

I'm dreaming that both of us dead. / We're lying - so peaceful for ever. / Two white heavy coffins of lead / Put down together. / / And when did we say that "enough"? / What for then and what means the trying? / But strange that's not aching my heart, / My heart is not crying. / ...

Unperturbed and indifferent sun contemplated the planet…

Unperturbed and indifferent sun contemplated the planet / There all was infested with terror and eaten by rot, / There rocks in the distance appeared a huge shaggy dog, / There black boiling copper spewed out collapsing volcanoes. / Was the night of the world. / / Unexpectedly rolled i...

Their souls` love had been born beside the sea…

Their souls' love had been born beside the sea, / In sacred groves of virginal naiads, / Whose songs, arguing with the play of wind, / With strings, ring joyfully, eternally. / / Great oracle... the majesty of man / Has never been more strange and more severe, / The closed lips and th...

The Magic Violin

Pretty boy, / you are so merry / and your smile's - so light, so sunny. / Don't you ask me for this passion / that is poison to the worlds. / You don't know, don't know how dreadful / is this Magic Violin, sonny, / And how gloomy is the horror / of the one who strikes the ...

Comfort

He that has been burried / Hears a glorious chime, / Smells the whitest lilies / In his dream beyond time. / / He that in his grave lies / Sees an endless light / As the wings of Seraphs / Shed their snow-flakes bright. / / You are on your death-bed / And your hands are cold....

The Giraffe

Today, I can see that your glance is especially sad, / And your hands are especially frail and your hair especially a mess. / There, there now... Just listen... far, far away, on Lake Chad / Roams a proud and graceful giraffe... / / An exquisite figure and a leisurely life are his boon / ...