Sedulia's Translations

Mary Queen of Scots: What use is my life?

What am I, alas! And what use is my life?
I am nothing but a body bereft of a heart,
a vain shadow, an object of bad luck,
who wants nothing more than to die.

Don't be envious, O enemies,
of one who has no more taste for grandeur.
I have consumed excessive grief;
in short, your wrath will be sated.

And you, friends, who held me dear,
remember that without fortune, without health,
I cannot do any good work.

Wish then for the end of my calamity
and that, having been punished enough on this earth,
I may have my part in the infinite joy.

      --Mary Queen of Scots (1542-1587). Her mother was French and she grew up at the French court. If you know the source of this poem, please let me know.

Que suis-je, hélas ! et de quoi sert ma vie ?
Je ne suis fors qu'un corps privé de coeur,
Une ombre vaine, un objet de malheur,
Qui n'a plus rien que de mourir envie.

Plus ne portez, ô ennemis, d'envie
A qui n'a plus l'esprit à la grandeur,
Ja consommé d'excessive douleur.
Votre ire en bref se verra assouvie.

Et vous, amis, qui m'avez tenue chère,
Souvenez-vous que sans heur, sans santé,
Je ne saurais aucun bon oeuvre faire.

Souhaitez donc fin de calamité
Et que ci-bas, étant assez punie,
J'aye ma part en la joie infinie.

Màiri Mhór: I am weary of the speakers of English

I am weary of the speakers of English
I long for some warmth and music
I am truly tired of the speakers of English

I dreamt I saw soldiers
closing in around me
in my nightmare, the Captain Turner
and the ladies: I jumped up in terror

They gave me stone slabs
to walk on, a board for a pillow
A clear conscience helped me then
protected me, kept out all harm

It was good that I felt no guilt
My conscience wasn't choking me
That was what kept me going
when I was in my deep despair

Our land is defiled by sheep
coming up from the South like a plague
There's not a creature that moves
not tormented and torn apart

That was not what I was used to
from the kindly people I knew
They helped each other
They found warmth in being together

Now they're driven over the ocean
by hard-hearted men
No cattle to be heard in the pasture
no herdsmen to call them home

Gone are the kindest of people,
their joys, their songs, their ceilidhs
Where their homes were
now deer run

Where the people lived
now sheep--
a shepherd on every hill
and barking dogs on the moor.

     --Màiri Mhór (Mary MacPherson) (1821-1898) was a Gaelic-speaking woman from the Isle of Skye, in Scotland, at a time when the local Gaelic-speaking crofters were being forced to emigrate en masse while the English-speaking landlords put sheep on what had been the common land. She was left a widow with five small children to support, and although she claimed to be innocent, she was thrown into prison for 42 days for petty theft. This was her first song, written there, but she wrote many more and became a well-known poet. Thanks to Donncha for the Gaelic words. The translation is by John McGrath (1935-2002) and Simon MacKenzie (1949-2008), in the liner notes to Catherine-Ann MacPhee Sings Mairi Mhor, issued by Greentrax Recordings, 1994. Perfect photo of abandoned croft in Cabrach by Retsum at Flickr.

Tha mi sgìth de luchd na Beurla,
Tha mi sgìth dhiubh cheart da rìreadh,
'S ann leam fhéin gur fhada 'n céilidh --
Tha mi sgìth de luchd na Beurla.

Chunnaic mise ann am bruadar,
Saighdearan a' tighinn mun cuairt dhomh,
Caiptin Turner's dà mhnaoi uasail,    
'S ghabh mi uamhas 's rinn mi éirigh.

Chuir iad mi air leacan fuara,
'S chuir iad bòrd fo m' cheann mar chluasaig,
'S b'fheumail cogais shaor dhomh 'n uair sin --
Chùm i suas mi 's rinn i m'éideadh.

Bu mhath dhòmhsa mar a thachair,
Nach robh chogais 'ga mo thacadh,
Sud an nì a chùm an taic rium,
Nuair a thachair dhomh bhith 'm éiginn.

Tha ar dùthaich air a truailleadh,
Leis a' ghràisg tha tighinn mu thuath òirnn;
Chan eil creutair bochd a ghluaiseas,
Nach téid a chuaradh 's a reubadh.

Cha b'e sud a bha mi faicinn,
Aig na daoine còir' a chleachd mi,
Ach bhith blàth ann an caidreamh,
'S a bhith cumail taic ri chéile.

Tha iad a nis air am fuadach,
Aig an naimhdean thar nan cuantan,
Chan eil geum aig mart air buaile,
'S chan eil buachaille 'nan déidh ann.

Gum b'iad sud na daoine còire,
'S ann 'nam measg a gheibht' a' chòisir;
Far am b'àbhaist daibh bhith còmhnaidh,
'S ann tha ròidean aig na féidh ann.

Far an robh móran de dhaoine,
'S ann a tha e 'n diugh fo chaoraich,
Cìobair am mullach gach maoile,
Coin 'san aonach 's iad ag éigheach.

Carla Bruni: Someone told me

They tell me our lives are not worth much
They pass in an instant as roses fade
They tell me that time slipping by is a bastard
he makes coats from our problems
However someone told me

That you still loved me...
It's someone who told me that you still loved me.
Is it possible then?

They tell me that fate enjoys making fools of us
That it gives us nothing and promises everything
It seems that happiness is within arm's reach
Then you reach out your hand and find yourself foolish
however someone told me...
but who is it who told me that still you loved me?
I don't remember now it was late in the night
I still hear the voice, but I can't see the features
"He loves you, it's secret, don't tell him I told you"
You see someone told me...

that you still loved me-- did they really say it?
That you still loved me, is it possible then?

They tell me our lives aren't worth much
They pass in an instant as roses fade
They say that the time that passes is a bastard
That from our sorrows it makes coats
However someone told me that....

       --Carla Bruni Tedeschi (1967-), first lady of France, song published 2002

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses.
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud
Que de nos chagrins il s'en fait des manteaux
Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit...

Que tu m'aimais encore
C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore.
Serait-ce possible alors ?

On me dit que l'destin se moque bien de nous
Qu'il ne nous donne rien et qu'il nous promet tout
Paraît que le bonheur est à portée de main
Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou
Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit...
Mais qui est-ce qui m'a dit que toujours tu m'aimais ?
Je ne me souviens plus c'était tard dans la nuit
J'entends encore la voix, mais je n'vois plus les traits
"Il vous aime, c'est secret, lui dites pas que j'vous l'ai dit"
Tu vois quelqu'un m'a dit...

Que tu m'aimais encore - me l'a-t-on vraiment dit ?
Que tu m'aimais encore, serait-ce possible alors ?

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud
Que de nos tristesses il s'en fait des manteaux
Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit que...

Countess Marion Dönhoff finds out she must flee from East Prussia

In the evening-- it was already dark-- I made a phone call once again from the road to the local district leadership in Prussian Holland [a town], which at that time had to give permission for every train trip. I asked if I could buy a train ticket, since early the next morning at six I wanted to go to Königsberg*, to take care of some problems at Friedrichstein**, the second property I had to take care of. For several seconds the voice at the other end was silent, then I heard the words, "Ja, don't you even know that the entire district has to be evacuated before midnight?"

"I had no idea," I answered without surprise, and yet I was surprised. "Where are the Russians?"

"No idea," he answered.

"Ja, and how are we supposed to leave, and where are we supposed to go?"

The voice, which up till then had never tired of reaffirming that the officials would take care of everything, that there was no need for unrest, answered this question: "We don't care at all-- by land, by water or through the air...."

       --Marion Hedda Ilse Dönhoff (1909-2002) was an East Prussian aristocrat of anti-Nazi sympathies. She had to flee the advancing, vengeful Russian army with millions of other German refugees in the middle of January, 1945, in subzero temperatures. Although, unlike many Prussians, she had known the moment would come, it came more suddenly than expected, and was announced in this manner. Up until the very day of departure, the Nazi authorities in beleaguered East Prussia had forbidden anyone, even children, to be sent west to safety. From Dönhoff's book Namen die Keiner Mehr Nennt [Names No Longer Named] (1961, 2004).

* Now Kaliningrad, Russia

** Now Kamenka, Russia

Gegen Abend, es war schon dunkel, rief ich von unterwegs noch einmal die Kreisleitung in Preußisch Holland an, die zu jener Zeit jede Eisenbahnfahrt genehmigen mußte. Ich bat darum, mir eine Fahrkarte auszustellen, da ich am nächsten Morgen früh um sechs Uhr nach Königsberg fahren wolle, um in Friedrichstein, dem zweiten Besitz, für den ich mit zu sorgen hatte, nach dem Rechten zu sehen. Sekundenlang schwieg die Stimme auf der anderen Seite, dann hörte ich die Worte: "Ja, wissen Sie denn gar nicht, daß der Kreis bis Mitternacht geräumt sein muß?"

"Keine Ahnung," antwortete ich ohne Überraschung und doch auch wieder überrascht, "wo sind denn die Russen?"

"Keine Ahnung," antwortete er.

"Ja, und auf welche Weise, und wohin sollen wir?"

Auf diese Frage antwortete die Stimme, die bisher nie müde geworden war zu beteuern, die Behörden sorgten für alles, es gäbe daher keine Grund zur Beunruhigung: "Das ist uns ganz egal, zu Lande, zu Wasser oder durch die Luft..."

Georg Herwegh: Freedom comes like a thief in the night

Parable

Allow me to tell you all
a silly story:
it's just come to mind,
patience is German,
that's what it's about.

There was a good, good woman,
who always did her duty precisely,
and however good she was,
she never thought it was much.

The woman had a lively rooster,
that crowed at her every morning,
and following his rooster-nature
was the best alarm clock she had.

As soon as the day announced itself,
the woman woke her lazy maid,
which made our girl so grumpy
that she once decided grimly

to cut off his noise
and, I'll say it quickly, to kill him.
No sooner thought than done,
the gods received a rooster.

But what did the maid get for it?
While before she was woken with the sun,
she was now woken at midnight,
after she killed the rooster.

Ach! said the maid, who felt very foolish,
if only I could hear the rooster crow!
His crowing sounded as beautiful
as a nightingale singing.

"And now you're joking? Please!"
You know the woman as well as I do;
she is the loveliest far and wide,
to look at her is sheer bliss.

You also know the neighbor's rooster,
that has bothered you so much;
and when you ask me what comes next:
"You, German people, are the maid!"

So when you kill the rooster, you slaves,
don't think you'll get to sleep any longer,
first the woman woke you at the rooster's cry,
now slumber is past forever.

Freedom comes like a thief in the night
and calls to you, "Wake up! Wake up!"

 --Georg Herwegh (1817-1875)

Parabel

Erlaubt mir, daß ich 'mal berichte
Euch eine alberne Geschichte:
Sie kommt mir eben in den Sinn,
Geduld ist deutsch, drum nehmt sie hin.

War eine brave, brave Frau,
Die nahm's im Dienste wohl genau,
Und macht', so brav sie auch gewesen,
Doch niemals vieles Federlesen.

Die Frau hatt' einen muntern Hahn,
Der kräht' ihr stets den Morgen an,
Und war nach seiner Hahn-Natur
Für sie die allerbeste Uhr.

Sobald den Tag er angesagt,
Da weckt' die Frau die faule Magd,
Was unsre Magd gar schwer verdroß,
Daß sie im Grimme einst beschloß,

Dem Vogel zu stutzen seine Schwingen
Und, meld' ich's kurz, ihn umzubringen.
Es war gedacht, es war getan,
Die Götter bekamen einen Hahn.

Was aber hat die Magd gewonnen?
Die sonst geweckt ward mit der Sonnen,
Ward nun geweckt um Mitternacht,
Nachdem den Hahn sie umgebracht.

Ach! sprach die Magd, die schwer Betörte,
Wenn ich den Hahn doch krähen hörte!
Sein Krähen hat so schön geklungen,
Als hätt' eine Nachtigall gesungen.

"Und nun der Witz? wir bitten dich!"
Ihr kennt die Frau so gut wie ich;
Sie ist die schönste weit und breit,
Ihr Anblick die volle Seligkeit.

Ihr kennt wohl auch des Nachbars Hahn,
Dem ihr soviel zuleid getan;
Und wenn ihr mich nach dem Dritten fragt:
"Du, deutsches Volk, du bist die Magd!"

Doch wenn ihr den Hahn auch mordet, ihr Sklaven,
So denkt darum nicht länger zu schlafen,
Erst weckt' euch die Frau nach dem Hahnenschrei,
Nun ist's mit dem Schlummer auf ewig vorbei.

Die Freiheit kommt wie ein Dieb in der Nacht
Und ruft euch zu: "Erwacht! erwacht!"