XXI (Prima parte)

Primăvara s-a întors; pământul
pare copilul ce versuri recită:
multe, ce multe!… Sârgul avântul
învăţăturii: răsplata-i primită!

Aspru fu dascălul! Cuget măiastru
cu barba-i de nea, colilie.
Dar cum vom numi, verde şi-albastru
Se cade s-o ştim. El o ştie, o ştie!

Voios cu copii, pământ dezlegat
vrem să te prindem la joacă!
Cel mai voios izbuteşte, pământ!

Că harnicul dascăl, sespus te-a-nvăţat:
ce-i rădăcină, slova-şi desface,
lungi şi grele tulpini cântând al tău cânt.

(trad de N. Argintescu-Amza de aici)

XXI (ERSTER TEIL)

Frühling ist wiedergekommen. Die Erde
ist wie ein Kind, daß Gedichte weiß,
viele, o viele . . . . Für die Beschwerde
langen Lernens bekommt sie den Preis.

Streng war ihr Lehrer. Wir mochten das Weiße
an dem Barte des alten Manns.
Nun, wie das Grüne, das Blaue heiße,
dürfen wir fragen: sie kanns, sie kanns!

Erde, die Frei hat, du glückliche, spiele
nun mit den Kindern. Wir wollen dich fangen,
fröhliche Erde. Dem Frohsten gelingts.

O, was der Lehrer sie lehrte, das Viele,
und was gedruckt steht in Wurzeln und langen
schwierigen Stämmen: sie singts, singts!

(aus: Sonetten an Orpheus)

XXI (FIRST PART)

Spring has again returned. The Earth
is like a child that knows many poems,
many, o so many . . . . For the hardship
of such long learning she receives the prize.

Strict was her teacher. The white
in the old man’s beard pleases us.
Now, what to call green, to call blue,
we dare to ask: she knows, she knows!

Earth, now free, you happy one, play
with the children. We want to catch you,
joyful Earth. Only the most joyful can do it.

O, what her teacher taught her, such plenitude,
and that which is pressed into roots and long
heavy, twisted trunks: she sings, she sings!

from: Sonnets to Orpheus
(tr. Cliff Crego) de aici