POPAJŹONY SPĔWARIK THE IMPRISONED SONGBIRD
Mato Kosyk trans. Robert Elsie (from Sorbian)
Spĕwarik bu lapjony
a do klĕtki zawrĕty,
nuzkany bu k spewanju
w snadnem smojtem domcyku.

Ptašack pak se tužašo,
głowka jomu wisašo;
Błotka su jom wezeli,
z towariškow wunjasli.

Z tsikotom jan płakašo
samotniwe ptašacko;
złamas co se wutšobka,
gaž won spewa na Błotka.

Ja som ak to ptašacko
w cuzej zemi daloko,
ow ja zgubich Łužycu,
mojog njebja kšasotu.
A songbird once was snared,
Shut up in a cage
So that it should sing
In its tiny, sunless house.

But the little bird in despair
Just hung its tiny head.
They had stolen the Spree Forest from him
And taken away all his companions.

His chirping was but a sad lament,
The poor little bird all alone,
His heart would break whenever
He sang of his lost Spree Forest.

I am like that little bird,
Far off in a foreign land,
Oh, for my lost Lusatia
And its magnificent skies.

Trans. Copyright © Robert Elsie 1990 - publ. Forest Books


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