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Proofreading requested
Original lyrics
Balada unui greier mic
Peste dealuri zgribulite,
Peste ţarini zdrenţuite,
A venit aşa, deodată,
Toamna cea întunecată.
Lungă, slabă şi zăludă,
Botezând natura udă
C-un mănunchi de ciumafai, -
Când se scutură de ciudă,
Împrejurul ei departe
Risipeşte-n evantai
Ploi mărunte,
Frunze moarte,
Stropi de tină,
Guturai...
Şi cum vine de la munte,
Blestemând
Şi lăcrimând,
Toţi ciulinii de pe vale
Se pitesc prin văgăuni,
Iar măceşii de pe câmpuri
O întâmpină în cale
Cu grăbite plecăciuni...
Doar pe coastă, la urcuş,
Din căsuţa lui de humă
A ieşit un greieruş,
Negru, mic, muiat în tuş
Şi pe-aripi pudrat cu brumă:
- Cri-cri-cri,
Toamnă gri,
Nu credeam c-o să mai vii
Înainte de Crăciun,
Că puteam şi eu s-adun
O grăunţă cât de mică,
Ca să nu cer împrumut
La vecina mea furnică,
Fi'ndcă nu-mi dă niciodată,
Şi-apoi umple lumea toată
Că m-am dus şi i-am cerut...
Dar de-acuş,
Zise el cu glas sfârşit
Ridicând un picioruş,
Dar de-acuş s-a isprăvit...
Cri-cri-cri,
Toamnă gri,
Tare-s mic şi necăjit!
Submitted by Valeriu Raut on 2016-08-17
Translation
The Ballad of a Small Cricket
Over barren, shriveling hills,
‘Cross tattered, empty plains,
Dark Autumn, murk and fearsome,
To lay bedlam hath come.
Skinny, long and crazy-set,
Christening the nature wet
With a hefty laurels wad, -
Madly shaking it in threat
As she wastefully unweaves
Fanning harmful, harsh and bold
Frigid rains,
Dying leaves
Slushy mist,
The common cold…
As from the mountain down she scurries,
All-out cursin’,
Tears flowin’,
All the thistle in the valleys
Head off into sheltered nooks,
While the briars on the glen
Harried greet her down the alleys
Bowing heads and hiding looks…
Yet on the climb, up on the cliff,
Comes out from his clay hut
A tiny cricket, small and stiff,
With frosty wings, looking as if
In black ink was besot:
- Chirr-chirr-chirr,
Gray Autumn brrr,
Didn’t think you’d show up, lass
Not before the ol’ Christ mass,
So at least I could amass
Whatsoever tiny grain,
So I don’t go beg to borrow
From the neighbor ant in vain,
For she never gives me none,
Yet the whole world knows I’ve gone
To her house again to wallow…
Yet, by now it is all moot,
He admits with faded breath
Gently lifting up his foot,
It’s over; the end is set…
Chirr-chirr-chirr
Gloom Autumn brrr,
I am tiny and upset!
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Submitted by Valeriu Raut on 2016-08-17
Translation source:
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George Topîrceanu: Top 3
1. | Balada unui greier mic |
2. | Rapsodii de toamnâ |
3. | M-am procopsit |
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Name: Vale
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Translated by Adi.