Long Translation Poems
Long Translation Poems. Below are the most popular long Translation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Translation poems by poem length and keyword.
LAND OF THE CLOUDS
Oh, let me be with you, if only for
a day of two.
To rest my poet head on a divine
soft crest!
And listen to what memories you
want to share,
As we move along in the wondrous
atmosphere.
I'd love some excitement, too.
Rolling and being tossed gently,
bumping into other clouds too.
You, tender trampoline sweet!
How soft you are under my feet.
Please take me to the sparkling
land of rainbows?
Where clouds like cotton candy glow!
Just allow me some sweet, grateful
moments, do!
To float through this luminescent
light show.
Allow me the blessing to sleep
on your silky comforting down..
With stars keeping me breathless!
And yet,only the sound of God's breath,
all around.
~~A most blessed interlude~~
10/30/2019
Credits to Carol Connell for assistance
with French translation.*****
Form:
Spring
Spring is being born
in the early morning...
The glades are awakening
into gentle green,
The dawn songs of
bashful blackbirds
Are echoing through
the woods...
I am listening to the warbling
of blackbirds,
The harmonic singing
of black choirs
Lead by an
invisible conductor.
The chattering of
the blackbirds' chorus
Is getting ever louder
And now uttering their
songs are others too.
A heavenly melody of
birds' choirs
has emerged
Which - off the slopes
of a forest glade -
Echoes in the pleasant
Symphony of a
blissful morning.
TRANSLATION FROM SINTI /GYPSY
Milaiy
Milaiy biyanelpe
teharinasa ko dive,
ushtel hem pravelpe dive
sar baiyrola kham,
ashunelpes khurlo zorale
e chyiriklenghero o ladjutno,
kaiy ashunelpe lenghoro
khurlo khem khi vosh...
Ashunaw chirklenghero ghyliavybe,
kydimo djal khalenghero khurlo,
khay legarolen lenghoro
bashaldo khurlo.
Marinduy o muy ykhalen ghylialia,
sar synfonia kana si khydimi,
mai but zurali, mai but pho zurali.
Chiriklenghri gylii khay ashunelpes
lenghoro khurlo.
Sar edevleskheri ghilii,
sar ashunes maj baro baro synfonia,
chirklenghoro ashunelpe sar
devleskheri ghilii,
synfonia kydimi e Devlestar.
Homer, Aristotle, Hobbes, Locke, Goethe, and Crane;
Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dickens, Tolstoy, Whitman, and Twain;
Whose imagination and toil helped to unfold
Stories, philosophies, and lessons to be told.
The inquisitive student absorbed in his books,
Contemplating and learning while everyone looks
At him with judgmental glances, as if to say,
“Strange seeing him indoors even on this fine day.”
But to him, the weather is of little concern
While he is satisfying his deep thirst to learn.
Taken in by tales of peasants, lovers, and knights,
And those waxing on people’s and government’s rights.
Just then, he feels a chilly draft, but no matter,
As he tugs at his worn jacket collar’s tatter.
Off in the distance, he hears children playing games,
But no match for his fables with fanciful names.
Lost in some fiction, he really can’t help himself,
He thirstily reads his way across his bookshelf.
Hungry – but his knowledge appetite can outlast,
He ignores stomach growls as the lunch hour has passed.
The reader pores on in utter fascination,
As if in a trance, but not caused by libation.
Searching, grasping, he is mentally enraptured,
With meanings bold to subtle all being captured.
In deep translation of the scenes, plots, and faces
Scribed in earlier times and in other places.
He can wait for frolic, frills and things of that kind.
For now, the scholar will sit and enrich his mind.
2/26/17
As goes old scriptures’ guiding word,
The elderly should sure be heard,
But never still those far too old--
Backward bound they be in babe’s mould.
___________________________
Translation | 20.10.2025 | childhood, elderly/old,
Note: This verse is taken form Mahabharata, Udyoga Parva wherein avenues for peace between the two warring cousins are explored. Duryodhan is advised to listen to the elderly. But this is his response. Here is the transliteration of the verse in Sanskrit:
Shrotavyam khalu vrddhnaam iti shaastra nidarshanam |
Na tu eva hi ati-vrddhaanaam punah baalaa hi te mataah || Mahabharata, Udyoga Parva ||
Ancient Greek and Roman Epigrams
Stranger, rest your weary legs beneath the elms;
hear how coolly the breeze murmurs through their branches;
then take a bracing draught from the mountain-fed fountain;
for this is welcome shade from the burning sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here I stand, Hermes, in the crossroads
by the windswept elms near the breezy beach,
providing rest to sunburned travelers,
and cold and brisk is my fountain’s abundance.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sit here, quietly shaded by the luxuriant foliage,
and drink cool water from the sprightly spring,
so that your weary breast, panting with summer’s labors,
may take rest from the blazing sun.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is the grove of Cypris,
for it is fair for her to look out over the land to the bright deep,
that she may make the sailors’ voyages happy,
as the sea trembles, observing her brilliant image.
—Anyte, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is nothing sweeter than love.
All other delights are secondary.
Thus, I spit out even honey.
This is what Gnossis says:
Whom Aphrodite does not love,
Is bereft of her roses.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Most revered Hera, the oft-descending from heaven,
behold your Lacinian shrine fragrant with incense
and receive the linen robe your noble child Nossis,
daughter of Theophilis and Cleocha, has woven for you.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stranger, if you sail to Mitylene, my homeland of beautiful dances,
to indulge in the most exquisite graces of Sappho,
remember I also was loved by the Muses, who bore me and reared me there.
My name, never forget it!, is Nossis. Now go!
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pass me with ringing laughter, then award me
a friendly word: I am Rinthon, scion of Syracuse,
a small nightingale of the Muses; from their tragedies
I was able to pluck an ivy, unique, for my own use.
—Nossis, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords: ancient, Greek, translation, epigram, epigrams, epitaph, epitaphs, lament, mourning, funeral, grave, death, death of a friend, dead, bereavement, eulogy, funeral, goodbye, loss
"See of Ghosts"
ghosts never leave
they watch you
while you sleep
casting dreams
of their return
they wait for you
to see
ghosts never leave
whispering their
absent stories
into your delta heart
constant in deep shadows
along the undulating waves
the rocky path to them, you walk
ghosts never leave
whispering their
gracious dreams
in you they live
through all your worst
war-walled nightmares
ghosts never leave
they set their intent
in all your torrid storms
to reach you, a compass set
before you, in all your southward stories
closer north than the distant pall
ghosts never leave
you hear them
in the undertow,
their wishful tone
of eternal wanting,
peace, and love
you hear
underneath the
incessant chatter
the white noise
of who is right
and who knows best
you listen to your heart, alone,
you hear,
a ghost
and its
constant call
ghosts never leave
they watch you
while you sleep
casting dreams
of their return
they wait for you
to wake,
to see
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
Easter Sunday, Sydney, Australia
Home
gvlm
“Faith requires following the power of a whisper”
pall
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/pall
communion.
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/communion_1007994
The Lord's Prayer - in Aramaic + English Translation - https://youtu.be/KdXFIYug9HE
(The Lord's Prayer - in Aramaic + English Translation to be
played simultaneously with primary video (set on loop) -
285Hz + 432Hz + 639Hz - Physical Healing + Aura Cleanse + Open Heart Chakra - Through the Mist (II) -
https://youtu.be/KdXFIYug9HE)
The Sleeping Watchman
The things I had lived through demanded another translation through my tired body,
there were so many roads, so many doors shut with keys made of wax,
I walked through fog, exhausted, and by mistake fell asleep in the cold sand,
far off towers were collapsing, bell towers swaying without sound,
in the heavy silence of things an old man made signs to me from the dark,
"I am your watchman," he whispered, "come and lie down inside my sleeping wolf."
I would lie down and wake in the green light of a foreign moon,
a ship passed by with no masts, no sailors, only shadows on its deck,
it was the hour that calls toward forgetting, the hour with no hands and no name,
my eyelashes still held the world shut, the dew had filled them with salt,
somewhere closer the old man kept whispering, "come, come, I am your watchman,"
with a light wave of his hand he wanted to lead me toward a gate of smoke.
He made strange signs to convince me, old gestures from forgotten centuries,
he was my watchman, asleep in a very narrow place, in a cave of salt,
beyond it were others, wandering on that same endless field,
like a blind man I could see past their borders, I could only listen, not look,
three crooked trees grew there and the sky above stayed silent like a cracked bell,
it meant stillness stretching far into the distance, a stillness heavy as wet earth.
The others were on that field, I listened, I didn't speak, I felt their breathing,
each one claimed to have wandered the same endless road,
my poor watchman, condemned to a silence harsh as a river stone,
led them through the glass forest (they howled in fear, he fed them ash),
from every side dark springs flowed, the forest was inside each of them,
they slept on ash, a forest poured out of their bodies like water from a broken jar.
Someone said, "if we got out of here we'd see how many of us there are,
we swarm everywhere like shadows with no home,"
I called out to them, "sit down quietly on the shore, sit down like shadows,"
I was their watchman, lost within my own silence,
a woman had climbed into a tree, wanting to listen to the depths of the earth,
the sky showed stillness stretching far into the distance, I stood there with a horizon over my eyes,
the others had lain down inside wolves, staying deep within them, listening to the earth weep.
Awa' oan the Firth of Forth,
high oan the famous brig',
a laboring lad toils tirelessly
in the cauld and bitter wind.
Awa' aff the river shore,
a braw lassie waits for him,
scourin' and roastin' tatties
in a bonny wee but and ben.
The carls would hae him drinkin',
The cummers would pay him 'ahind the door,
but he oany has wan thing oan his mind
and she's awa' aff the river shore.
*Translation*
Away on the Firth of Forth,
high on the famous bridge,
a laboring lad toils tirelessly
in the cold and bitter wind.
Away off the river shore,
a braw lassie waits for him,
scouring and roasting tatties
in a bonny wee but and ben.
The carls would have him drinking,
the cummers would pay him behind the door,
but he only has one thing on his mind
and she's away off the river shore.
Glossary of terms:
* the Firth of Forth is the estuary of the River Forth in Scotland
braw means fine looking
tatties are potatoes
bonny means pretty or handsome
a but and ben is a modest two room cottage consisting of a kitchen and a main room
a carl is a laboring man
a cummer is a woman of questionable moral character
to pay behind the door is to engage in sexual activity as a form of 'payment' for favors, services, or goods.
Let my life for you sacrificed
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Come and intercede to this helpless servant
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Faithfuls suffer in this earth a lot
Hereafter there will be plesure and enjoyment
From eighteen thousand worlds' selected
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Traveler of seven leveled skies
Above bound of Creator flied
In his ascension for Ummah prayed
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Four caliphs are his paradise neighbor
Who is in love with him is away from evil
He is sultan of creations as a whole
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
What Dervish Jonah does in here without you
Real prophet without doubt and mistrust is you
Whom don't obey you faithlessly as an infidel go
His name lovely himself lovely Muhammad
Written by Dervish Jonah (Yunus Emre)
Translation Onur Ünlü
Me, home and loneliness, no more no less,
Ah, oh, utter darkness, no more nor less.
In birth, life, death, equity rules the same,
Suffering there’s endless, no more nor less.
A few saline tears flow caused by sore heart,
What heart held, eyes express, no more nor less.
In desert were buried my memories,
Whence my mind did retrace, no more nor less.
Our parting when sun departed that day,
Hurt was on hurt I guess, no more no less.
Homilies that the world hail as Ghazal,
Some pens tend to caress, no more nor less.
Fine, if readers relate, draw parallel,
If not, it’d them depress, no more nor less.
____________________________
Inspired by a piece in Gujarati by Dikshhita Shah, no translation
Ghazal |21.12.2024|life, birth, death, tears
Poet’s note: The tears flown from eyes or dried down therein are like documents describing painful memories. If they were to be expressed in words, there’s nothing else like poetry. And in all poetic feelings expressed, there’s nothing to compare like ghazals, or to some extent sonnets. In ghazals a reader reads his own painful memories. The poet then disappears and what remains are pure experience of feelings. It means, in poetic words there’s not just fragrance of philosophy, but there’s that perfume, the painful scent of personal suffering as well. And yet, world often sees the light lit by the lamp in front of the photograph of the person lost, but not the darkness in the life of one who has lost the person.