HRAST, KI VIHAR ... BATTERED BY WINTER STORMS ...
France Preseren trans. Toby Garfitt
Hrast, ki vihar na tla ga zimski trešne,
ko toplo sonce pomladansko séje,
spet ozelénil semtertjè bo veje,
naenkrat ne zgubi moči popréšne:

al vènder zanjga n pomóči rešne;
ko spet znebi se gôjzd snega odeje,
mladik le malo, al nič več ne šteje,
leži tam rop trohljivosti požrešne:

tàk siromak ti v bran, sovražna sreča!
stoji, ki ga iz visokosti jasne
na tla te1ébi tvoja moč gromeča;

ak hitre ne, je smrti svest počasne,
bolj dan na dan brli življenja sveča,
doklèr ji reje zmanjka, in ugasne.
Battered by winter storms a great oak lay
Prostrate: when spring returned, warmed by the sun,
It made a show of green, yet sparsely won,
Refusing to surrender straight away.

My shoulders on themselves their burdens bind,
My mouth accepts the bitter draught that's poured;
My skin, now leather-tough and hard as board,
To fear the cruel thorn is disinclined.

My sinews have surrendered their control,
And my once lively heart has turned to stone
While many ills have corseted my soul;

Both worry and deceitful hope have gone:
Now, Fate, come smile on me or on me scowl,
Indifferent shall I be from this day on.

Trans. Copyright © Toby Garfitt 2003


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