Varbūt kāds zinās pateikt, vai šis te ir tulkots latviski?, "Anything Goes", "Goodbye my lover", "Gardens of P Opcijas

[Aiva]

Interesējos, vai šai dziesmai būtu oficiāls tulkojums latviski, ja ne, tad varbūt kāds ieteiktu, frāzes 'anything goes' tulkošanas variantus?

"Anything Goes," written in 1934 by Cole Porter for his musical by the same name.

https://youtu.be/as-whCYL4ns

https://youtu.be/wYahz6VIpIM

Times have changed,
And we've often rewound the clock,
Since the Puritans got a shock,
When they landed on Plymouth Rock.
If today,
Any shock they should try to stem,
'Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock,
Plymouth Rock would land on them.

In olden days a glimpse of stockings
Was looked on as something shocking,
Now, heaven knows,
Anything Goes.

Good authors too who once knew better words,
Now only use four letter words
Writing prose,
Anything goes.

The world has gone mad today
And good's bad today,
And black's white today,
And day's night today,
When most guys today
That women prize today
Are just silly gigolos

So though I'm not a great romancer
I know that I'm bound to answer
When you propose,
Anything goes

The world has gone mad today
And good's bad today,
And black's white today,
And day's night today,
When most guys today
That women prize today
Are just silly gigolos

So though I'm not a great romancer
I know that I'm bound to answer
When you propose,
Anything goes...
Anything goes!

Šo rakstu rediģēja Aiva: 21.12.2018 17:30

[Aiva]

The Garden of Proserpine
By Algernon Charles Swinburne

Here, where the world is quiet;
- Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot
- In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
- A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,
- And men that laugh and weep;
Of what may come hereafter
- For men that sow to reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
- And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbour,
- And far from eye or ear
Wan waves and wet winds labour,
- Weak ships and spirits steer;
They drive adrift, and whither
They wot not who make thither;
But no such winds blow hither,
- And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice,
- No heather-flower or vine,
But bloomless buds of poppies,
- Green grapes of Proserpine,
Pale beds of blowing rushes
Where no leaf blooms or blushes
Save this whereout she crushes
- For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number,
- In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
- All night till light is born;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
- Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven,
- He too with death shall dwell,
Nor wake with wings in heaven,
- Nor weep for pains in hell;
Though one were fair as roses,
His beauty clouds and closes;
And well though love reposes,
- In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal,
- Crowned with calm leaves, she stands
Who gathers all things mortal
- With cold immortal hands;
Her languid lips are sweeter
Than love's who fears to greet her
To men that mix and meet her
- From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other,
- She waits for all men born;
Forgets the earth her mother,
- The life of fruits and corn;
And spring and seed and swallow
Take wing for her and follow
Where summer song rings hollow
- And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither,
- The old loves with wearier wings;
And all dead years draw thither,
- And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
- Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow,
- And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
- Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
- Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,
- From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
- Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
- Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,
- Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
- Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
- In an eternal night.


The Garden of Proserpine
By Algernon Charles Swinburne

Aldžernons Čārlzs Svinbērns,

Swinburne was one of the most accomplished lyric poets of the Victorian era and was a preeminent symbol of rebellion against the conservative values of his time.

Interesē, vai viņš būtu tulkots latviski?


Tumsā dunēdams ledus : dzeja, atdzeja
Creator: Majevskis, Hermanis Marģers


Rīga : Elpa, 2001

ISBN:
9984543889 (ies.)

Minētajā krājumā ir viens Svinbērna dzejolis, diemžēl ne "Proserpines dārzs", tā ka nāksies Jums pieciest manu laušanos caur celmiem...

Šo rakstu rediģēja Aiva: 06.11.2018 12:47