Cyrano - what can I say?
You are such a treasure
(and no blush, please, this is the truth)

Thanks a lot, Cyrano
This is really wanderful poem!
Can you tell us more about the author?
Or give us a link?

Thanks dear Bliss
I hope our friends will respond your message and let us know what would they like to read at this topic.
And until we wait to hear your wishes, dear friends, I recommend you couple of classic pieces of Mikhail Lermontov, one of the greatest Russian poets and one of my favourites.
He was killed in his 27th. He left us real literal treasure. And can you imagine what he could do if he didn't die so young...


The Prayer

When my life is arduous,
If sadness freezes blood,
I say one prayer marvelous,
I learned it all by heart.

There's vigor unbelievable
In living words' accords,
And breathes unfamiliar
And holly charm in words.

A heart becomes not troublesome,
And doubts go awry,
And comes the truth and tears come,
And soul wants to fly.


Bored And Sad

It's boring and sad, and there's no one around
In times of my spirit's travail...
Desires!...What use is our vain and eternal desire?..
While years pass on by - all the best years!

To love...but love whom?.. a short love is vexing,
And permanent love's just a myth.
Perhaps look within? - The past's left no trace:
All trivial, joys and distress...

What good are the passions? For sooner or later
Their sweet sickness ends when reason speaks up;
And life, if surveyed with cold-blooded regard,-
Is stupid and empty - a joke...


I Go Out On The Road Alone

Alone I set out on the road;
The flinty path is sparkling in the mist;
The night is still. The desert harks to God,
And star with star converses.

The vault is overwhelmed with solemn wonder
The earth in cobalt aura sleeps. . .
Why do I feel so pained and troubled?
What do I harbor: hope, regrets?

I see no hope in years to come,
Have no regrets for things gone by.
All that I seek is peace and freedom!
To lose myself and sleep!

But not the frozen slumber of the grave...
I'd like eternal sleep to leave
My life force dozing in my breast
Gently with my breath to rise and fall;

By night and day, my hearing would be soothed
By voices sweet, singing to me of love.
And over me, forever green,
A dark oak tree would bend and rustle.


Since this is classic, I hope it won't be difficult for you, our precious friend Cyrano, to find Turkish translations.

This is for those who would like to read more poetry of Mikhail Lermontov, translated to English:
http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/lermontov/lermontov_ind.html
http://www.poemhunter.com/mikhail-yuryevich-lermontov/poet-34520/
and for those who can read it in Russian:
http://litera.ru/stixiya/authors/lermontov.html
Enjoy it!

This poem I've got from a very special friend.
I have great pleasure to share it with you, my dear friends, poetry lovers.
And maybe someone (hmm... meaning Cyrano, actually) could help about finding Turkish translation?

NOSTALGIA by Kostas Karyotakis

(from the depth of good times our loves greet us bitterly...)

You're not in love, you say, and you don't remember.
And if your heart has filled and you shed the tears
that you couldn't shed like you did at first,
you're not in love and you don't remember, even though you cry.

Suddenly you'll see two blue eyes
- how long it's been!- that you caressed one night;
as though inside yourself you hear
an old unhappiness stirring and waking up.

These memories of time past
will begin their dance macabre;
and like then, your bitter tear
will well up on your eyelid and fall.

The eyes suspended - pale suns -
The light that thaws the frozen heart,
The dead loves that begin to stir,
The old sorrows that again ignite...

********************************

ΝΟΣΤΑΛΓΙΑ

(μεσ' από το βάθος των καλών καιρών, οι αγάπες μας πικρά μας χαιρετάνε

Δεν αγαπάς και δε θυμάσαι, λες.
Κι αν φούσκωσαν τα στήθη κι αν δακρύζεις
που δεν μπορείς να κλάψεις όπως πρώτα,
δεν αγαπάς και δε θυμάσαι, ας κλαις.

Ξάφνου θα ιδείς δυο μάτια γαλανά
-πόσος καιρός!- τα χάιδεψες μια νύχτα,
και σα ν' ακούς εντός σου να σαλεύει
μια συφορά παλιά και να ξυπνά.

Θα στήσουνε μακάβριο το χορό
Οι θύμησες στα περασμένα γύρω,
και θ' ανθίσει στο βλέφαρο σαν τότε
και θα πέσει το δάκρυ σου πικρό.

Τα μάτια που κρεμούν - ήλιοι χλωμοί-
το φως στο χιόνι της καρδιάς και λιώνει,
οι αγάπες που σαλεύουν πεθαμένες,
οι πρώτοι ξανά που άναψαν καημοί...

My dear Sophie! You're so imapatient!
OK... What else I can do but fulfill your wish!

XLI.
Who would not see her silent suffering
In that brief instant and not understand?
Who would not know in the princess's glance
The former Tanya, her simplicity.
In a spasm of remorseful pity
Yevgeny fell down at her feet;
She shuddered, but she does not greet
Him; her gaze fixes on him silently,
Without surprise and without anger...
His frail and wasted countenance,
Beseeching look and dumb insistence
Is clear to her. That simple Tanya,
With the dreams and ideals of former years,
Arises within her and annuls her fears.

XLII.
She does not seek to make him stand,
And not withdrawing from him her eyes
From his greedy lips she does not prize
Her senseless and unconscious hand.
What at this moment are her dreams? ...
A long and silent interval
Then passes. Then quietly she speaks:
"Enough; stand up. To you I shall
Declare my thoughts quite openly.
Onegin, you remember, surely,
That hour, when in our garden alley,
Fate brought us close, and unprotestingly
I heard the sermon that you thought to preach.
But now it is my turn to teach.

XLIII.

Onegin, I was then much younger,
And better it seems, though not so sound,
And then I loved you; you well might ponder
Within your heart what reply I found.
What answer? Only fierce rejection.
Is it not so? For to you nothing new
Was there in a love that was simple and true.
And now? My God! My blood congeals
When I think of that cold look of yours,
That heartless lecturing... But at least
I do not fault you. In that hour so fateful
You acted with genuine nobility,
You were just in the crisis which conquered me,
And with all my soul I am ever grateful.

XLIV.
For then ― is it not true ― in that rural waste
Far from the world's ignoble fuss,
I did not appeal to you... why now do you thus
Pursue me with this unseemly haste?
Why now should I be your occupation?
Is it not that now, in society
I must appear, that I have a station,
That I am rich and amongst nobility,
That my husband in the wars was wounded,
And therefore the court still honours us?
And because you know that my fall from grace
Would be seen by all and notorious,
And to you it would bring a general renown,
And pleasant success would your efforts crown?

For epilogue - you have to wait a little more...

Thanks for your suport, dear Bliss.
Thank you, dear Mella, for your contribution.
We are all loking foreward to Eglish translation of this wanderful song. So we could give the chance Cyrano for translating it to Turkish

I'm glad you woke up, my friends!

O, my god!
Happy birthday to you, Fatih!
Wish you lots of happiness from all my heart! May all your wishes come true!
Thanks Catwoman for letting us know!
And thanks again and again to both of you for giving us this precious place!
Sibel

Oh, dear Sophie, but this not all yet!
Sure he will get what he deserved, just be patient!