Sedulia's Translations

Tonguetwisters

Italian

Sopra la panca la capra campa.
Sotto la panca la capra crepa.

German

Fischers Fritz fischt frische Fische.
Frische Fische fischt Fischers Fritz.
.............................................
Blaukraut bleibt Blaukraut und Brautkleid bleibt Brautkleid.

French

Les chaussettes de l'archiduchesse sont-elles sèches ou archi-sèches?
...............................
Un chasseur sachant chasser doit savoir chasser sans son chien.
.................................
La roue sur la rue roule; la rue sous la roue reste.
..................................
Suis-je bien chez ce cher Serge?

English

Theophilus Thistle the successful thistle-sifter. [This one really separates the men from the boys when it comes to non-native English speakers!]
...........................
Betty Botter had some butter,
But she said, "This butter's bitter.
If I put it in my batter,
it would make my batter bitter.
But a bit of better butter--
that would make my batter better."

So she bought a bit of butter,
better than her bitter butter,
and she put it in her batter,
and the batter was not bitter.
So 'twas better Betty Botter
bought a bit of better butter.
.................................
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.
A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked.
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
how many pecks of pickled peppers did Peter Piper pick?
.....................................
A skunk sat on a stump and thunk the stump stunk,
but the stump thunk the skunk stunk.
..................................
How much would could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
.......................................

She sells sea shells by the sea shore.
she shells she sells are surely seashells.
So if she sells shells on the seashore,
I'm sure she sells seashore shells.
........................................

A tutor who tooted the flute
tried to tutor two tooters to toot.
Said the two to the tutor, is it better to toot
or to tutor two tooters to toot?
...............................................

If you like them, I just found a whole website of them.

Heine: If I think of Germany in the night

If I think of Germany in the night,
I am jolted from my sleep,
I can no longer close my eyes,
and my hot tears flow.

The years come and go away!
since I have seen my mother,
twelve years have already gone by;
my longing and yearning are growing.

My longing and yearning are growing.
The old woman has bewitched me.
I keep thinking about the old lady,
the old lady, may God keep her!

The old lady loves me so much,
and in the letters that she writes,
I see how her hand trembles,
how deep her mother's heart is shaking.

Mother is always on my mind.
Twelve long years have flowed away,
twelve years have gone by,
since I have hugged her to my heart.

Germany endures,
it is a heartily healthy country!
With its oaks, its linden trees
I will always find it again.

I would not pant so much after Germany,
if my mother were not there;
the fatherland will never be spoiled,
but the old lady can die.

Since I left the country,
so many there sank to the grave,
people I loved-- when I count them,
my soul wants to bleed to death.

And I must count them-- with the number
my torment swells ever higher.
It feels as if the corpses are waltzing
on my breast...thank God! They are melting away!

Thank God! through my window breaks
the cheerful French daylight;
my woman comes in, fair as the morning,
and smiles away my German cares.

--Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)

Denk ich an Deutschland in der Nacht,
Dann bin ich um den Schlaf gebracht,
Ich kann nicht mehr die Augen schließen,
Und meine heißen Tränen fließen.

Die Jahre kommen und vergehn!
Seit ich die Mutter nicht gesehn,
Zwölf Jahre sind schon hingegangen;
Es wächst mein Sehnen und Verlangen.

Mein Sehnen und Verlangen wächst.
Die alte Frau hat mich behext.
Ich denke immer an die alte,
Die alte Frau, die Gott erhalte!

Die alte Frau hat mich so lieb,
Und in den Briefen, die sie schrieb,
Seh ich, wie ihre Hand gezittert,
Wie tief das Mutterherz erschüttert.

Die Mutter liegt mir stets im Sinn.
Zwölf lange Jahre flossen hin,
Zwölf Jahre sind verflossen,
Seit ich sie nicht ans Herz geschlossen.

Deutschland hat ewigen Bestand,
Es ist ein kerngesundes Land!
Mit seinen Eichen, seinen Linden
Werd ich es immer wiederfinden.

Nach Deutschland lechzt ich nicht so sehr,
Wenn nicht die Mutter dorten wär;
Das Vaterland wird nie verderben,
Jedoch die alte Frau kann sterben.

Seit ich das Land verlassen hab,
So viele sanken dort ins Grab,
Die ich geliebt - wenn ich sie zähle,
So will verbluten meine Seele.

Und zählen muß ich - Mit der Zahl
Schwillt immer höher meine Qual,
Mir ist, als wälzten sich die Leichen
Auf meine Brust - Gottlob! sie weichen!

Gottlob! durch meine Fenster bricht
Französisch heitres Tageslicht;
Es kommt mein Weib, schön wie der Morgen,
Und lächelt fort die deutschen Sorgen.

Ach, du lieber Augustin

Oh, you darling Augustin, Augustin, Augustin,
oh, you darling Augustin,
everything is gone!
The gold is gone, the girl is gone,
everything gone, Augustin!
Oh, you darling Augustin, everything is gone!

Coat is gone, cane is gone,
Augustin lies in the filth!

Every day was a festival,
now we have the plague!
Only a corpse-party! Everything is gone!
Lay yourself down in the grave!

Yes and even the wealthy Vienna
is as poor as Augustin,
sighs with him in the same mood, "Everything is gone!"
Lay me in the grave with you, O my heart's darling Vienna!
O, you darling Augustin, everything is gone!

Many people know this song, but the last verse above is not as well known. Apparently it comes from the desperate year 1683, when it was generally believed that Austria would fall to the Ottoman Turks besieging Vienna. According to legend, the Turks were secretly tunneling under the walls in the small hours of the night when the bakers, who had to get up that early to bake their bread, heard and reported the suspicious sounds. The attack was prevented, the Turks were defeated, and the bakers began to make crescent-shaped pastries to celebrate the victory over the crescent flag of the Ottoman Empire. These were the first croisssants, and they went very well with the coffee discovered in the abandoned Turkish camp. This is the reason that Vienna boasted the first cafés in Europe.

Tradition holds that Augustin was a street singer and piper in Vienna, who in the Plague Year 1679 fell into an open grave of plague victims but did not get the disease. He died in 1685 and there is a fountain dedicated to him in Vienna.

I don't know if any of it is true, but the song does have a melancholy air.

You can hear it here or here.

Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin,
ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!
Geld ist weg, Mädl ist weg,
alles weg, Augustin!
Ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!

Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin,
ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!
Rock ist weg, Stock ist weg,
Augustin liegt in Dreck!
Ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!

Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin,
ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!
Jeden Tag war ein Fest, 
jetzt haben wir die Pest!
Nur ein grosses Leichenfest! Alles ist hin!

Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin,
ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!
Leg' nur ins Grab dich hin!
Ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!

Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin,
ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!
Ja und selbst das reiche Wien
arm ist's wie Augustin,
seufzt mit ihm gleichen Sinn, "Alles ist hin!"
Ach, du lieber Augustin, alles ist hin!

An Austrian folksong: I love to be in the mountains

I love to be in the mountains
and my mood grows joyful,
where the Alm-roses grow
and the gentian blooms!

And so many would like to fly
high up like the swallows--
but I am much higher
up there on the Alm!

When the sun goes down
and in the valley it's already night,
that's when the mountain begins to glow,
as in heavenly glory!

And the snow will soon be gone
and it will be beautiful again
and now I will soon
go up the Alm again!

        --A folk song from Carinthia, Austria. There are many songs in German celebrating the mountains, the forests, and "wandering." This is missing from English, maybe because the mountains were missing from England. Anyway this is one of my favorites. I first heard it sung by the Viennese Boys' Choir.

In die Berg bin i gern
und da freut si mei Gmüat,
wo di Almröserln wachsen
und der Enzian blüht!

Und so mancher möcht fliagn
hoch hinauf wia die Schwalben--
aber i bin viel höcher
droben hoch auf der Alm!

Wann die Sunn untergeht
und in Tal ist scho nacht,
fängt der Berg erscht zum glüahn an,
wia in himmlischer Pracht!

Und der Schnee geht bald weg
und es wird wieder scheen
und hiazt werd i bald wieder
auf die Alm auffi gehn!

Heine: I had a beautiful native land

Once I had a beautiful native land.
The oak tree
grew so high there, the violets nodded softly.
It was a dream.

It kissed me in German and said in German
(you could scarcely believe
how good it sounded): "I love you!"
It was a dream.

         

  --Heinrich Heine (1797-1856) was Jewish. The Nazis tried to forbid his poetry and songs, but Heine was too popular and they abandoned the effort.

Ich hatte einst ein schönes Vaterland.
Der Eichenbaum
wuchs dort so hoch, die Veilchen nickten sanft.
Es war ein Traum.

Das küsste mich auf deutsch und sprach
auf deutsch
(man glaubt es kaum
wie gut es klang) das Wort: "Ich liebe dich!"
Es war ein Traum.
 

To Silvia

What sweet thoughts, what hearts, O my Silvia!
How human life and fate seemed to us then!
When I remember so much hope,
a bitter and disconsolate
mood oppresses me
and I turn to grieving over my bad luck.
O Nature, O Nature,
why do you never give
what you promised back then?
Why do you so deceive your children?
Before the grass withered in winter,
you died, O tender one,
attacked and conquered by a secret illness.
And you did not see
the flower of your years;
the sweet praise of your black hair
or of your shy, loving looks
never softened your heart;
nor did you talk with your girl friends of love
at the festivals.
And not long ago my own sweet hope died:
to me also fate has denied youth.  Oh how,
how did you pass,
dear companion of my fresh years,
my lamented hope! What world is this?
These delights, love, art, events
that we talked of so much together?
What is the fate of humankind?
When the truth appeared, you fell,
miserable: and with your hand
you showed me in the distance
cold death and a bare tomb.

            --Giacomo Leopardi (1798-1837) wrote this poem in 1828 after a young woman he loved died of tuberculosis. He himself suffered from illness and pain most of his life.
...
Che pensieri soave, che cori, O Silvia mia!
Quale allor ci apparia
la vita umana e il fato!
Quando sovviemmi di cotanta speme,
un affetto mi preme
acerbo e sconsolato,
e tornami a doler di mia sventura.
O natura, o natura,
perchè non rendi poi
quel che prometti allor? perchè di tanto
inganni i figli tuoi?
Tu pria che l'erbe inaridisse il verno,
da chiuso morbo combattuta e vinta,
perivi, o tenerella. E non vedevi
il fior degli anni tuoi;
non ti molceva il core
la dolce lode or delle negre chiome,
or degli sguardi innamorati e schivi;
nè teco le compagne ai dì festivi
ragionavan d'amore.
Anche peria fra poco
la speranza mia dolce: agli anni miei
anche negaro i fati
la giovanezza. Ahi com,
come passata sei,
cara compagna dell' età mia nova,
mia lacrimata speme!
Questo è quel mondo? questi
i diletti, l'amor, l'opre, gli eventi
onde cotanto ragionammo insieme?
Questa la sorte delle umane genti?
All' apparir del vero
tu, misera, cadesti: e con la mano
la fredda morte ed una tomba ignuda
mostravi di lontano.

A stubbornly persistent illusion

People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

            --Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

Naming things wrongly

Naming things wrong is adding to the world's unhappiness.

        --Albert Camus (1913-1960)

Mal nommer des choses, c'est ajouter aux malheurs du monde.

Thoughts are free

Thoughts are free;
who can guess them?
They fly by
like shadows at night.
No one can know them,
no hunter can shoot them.
The fact remains:
thoughts are free.

I think what I like,
and what makes me happy,
but all in silence,
and as it comes.
No one can shut out
my wishes and wants.
The fact remains:
thoughts are free.

And if they lock me up
in a gloomy dungeon,
that is just
useless and vain;
for my thoughts
tear the walls
and the barriers down:
thoughts are free.

So I will forever
give up worries
and will never again
care about troubles.
After all in your heart you can
always laugh and mock
and think as you do:
Thoughts are free.

I love wine
and my girl above all.
Those are the things
I like the best.
I am not alone
with my glass of wine
and my girl with me.
Thoughts are free!

This famous German folksong, which goes back to the Middle Ages, was forbidden under the Nazis for understandable reasons. You can hear it here.

Die Gedanken sind frei;
wer kann sie erraten?
Sie fliehen vorbei
wie nächtliche Schatten.
Kein Mensch kann sie wissen,
kein Jäger erschiessen.
Es bleibet dabei:
die Gedanken sind frei.

Ich denke was ich will,
und was mich beglücket,
doch alles in der Still,
und wie es sich schicket.
Mein Wunsch und Begehren
kann niemand verwehren.
Es bleibet dabei:
die Gedanken sind frei.

Und sperrt man mich ein
in finsteren Kerker,
das alles sind rein
vergebliche Werke;
denn meine Gedanken
zerreissen die Schranken
und Mauern entzwei:
die Gedanken sind frei.

Drum will ich auf immer
den Sorgen entsagen    
und will mich auch nimmer
mit Grillen mehr plagen.
Man kann ja im Herzen
stets lachen und scherzen
und denken dabei:
die Gedanken sind frei.

Ich liebe den Wein,
mein Mädchen vor allen.
Sie tun mir allein
am besten befallen.
Ich bin nicht allein
bei meinem Glas Weine,
mein Mädchen dabei.
Die Gedanken sind frei!