Lectura in limbi straine
1. Dylan, Bob Blowin’ in the wind |
How many roads must a man walk down
continuare |
2. de la Fontaine, Jean La cigale et la fourmi |
La Cigale, ayant chanté continuare |
3. Kipling, Rudyard If |
If you can keep your head when all about you
continuare |
4. Kundera, Milan The Book of Laughter and Forgetting |
She sat on a corner bench in the jolting streetcar, her face sullen, closed, surprisingly old. continuare |
5. Sainte-Marie, Buffy Universal soldier |
He's five feet two and he's six feet four continuare |
6. Waters, Roger Hey You |
Hey you, out there in the cold continuare |
Oferite de : Sorin Corbu (1, 4, 5, 6), Florin Romila (2), Horia Corceovei ( 3 ).
..
..
..
..
..
.
.
..
Blowin’ in the wind
|
by Bob Dylan
|
How many roads must a man walk down Before you call him a man? Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail Before she sleeps in the sand? Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly Before they're forever banned? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind. How many times must a man look up Before he can see the sky? Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have Before he can hear people cry? Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind. How many years can a mountain exist Before it's washed to the sea? Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist Before they're allowed to be free? Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head, Pretending he just doesn't see? The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind, The answer is blowin' in the wind. . |
.Top
..
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
La cigale et la fourmi
|
by Jean de la Fontaine
|
La Cigale, ayant chanté Tout l'été, Se trouva fort dépourvue Quand la bise fut venue : Pas un seul petit morceau De mouche ou de vermisseau. Elle alla crier famine Chez la Fourmi sa voisine, La priant de lui prêter Quelque grain pour subsister Jusqu'à la saison nouvelle. "Je vous paierai, lui dit-elle, Avant l'Oût, foi d'animal, Intérêt et principal. " La Fourmi n'est pas prêteuse : C'est là son moindre défaut. Que faisiez-vous au temps chaud ? Dit-elle à cette emprunteuse. - Nuit et jour à tout venant Je chantais, ne vous déplaise. - Vous chantiez ? j'en suis fort aise. Eh bien! dansez maintenant. *
* * The Cicada, having sung |
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
If
|
by Rudyard Kipling
|
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you But make allowance for their doubting too, If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream--and not make dreams your master, If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much, If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son! |
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The Book of Laughter and Forgetting
|
by Milan Kundera |
translated by Aaron Asher
|
She sat on a corner bench in the jolting streetcar, her face sullen, closed, surprisingly old. When he asked her why she was so silent she told him she had not been satisfied with their lovemaking. She said he had made love to her like an intellectual.In the political jargon of those days, the word “intellectual” was an insult. It indicated someone who did not understand life and was cut off from the people. All the Communists who were hanged at the time by other Communists were awarded such abuse. Unlike those who had their feet solidly on the ground, they were said to float in the air. So it was fair, in a way, that as punishment the ground was permanently pulled out from under their feet, that they remained suspended a little above the floor. |
.
.
.
.
.
.
Universal soldier
|
by Buffy Sainte-Marie
|
I wrote "Universal Soldier" in the basement of The Purple Onion coffee house in Toronto in the early sixties. It's about individual responsibility for war and how the old feudal thinking kills us all. Donovan had a hit with it in 1965. |
He's five feet two and he's six feet four He fights with missiles and with spears He's all of 31 and he's only 17 He's been a soldier for a thousand years He's a Catholic, a Hindu, an atheist, a Jain, a Buddhist and a Baptist and a Jew and he knows he shouldn't kill and he knows he always will kill you for me my friend and me for you And he's fighting for Canada, he's fighting for France, he's fighting for the USA, and he's fighting for the Russians and he's fighting for Japan, and he thinks we'll put an end to war this way And he's fighting for Democracy and fighting for the Reds He says it's for the peace of all He's the one who must decide who's to live and who's to die and he never sees the writing on the walls But without him how would Hitler have condemned him at Dachau Without him Caesar would have stood alone He's the one who gives his body as a weapon to a war and without him all this killing can't go on He's the universal soldier and he really is to blame His orders come from far away no more They come from him, and you, and me and brothers can't you see this is not the way we put an end to war. |
..Top
.
.
Hey You
|
by Roger Waters
|
Hey you, out there in the cold Getting lonely, getting old, Can you feel me? Hey you, standing in the aisles With itchy feet and fading smiles, Can you feel me? Hey you, don’t help them to bury the light Don’t give in without a fight. Hey you, out there on your own But it was only fantasy, Hey you, out there on the road |