Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Papusza - Layout

1 comment:

  1. Text:
    In the forest I grew like a shrub of gold,
    born in a Gypsy tent,
    akin to a boletus.
    I love fire like my own heart.
    The winds lesser and greater
    cradled the little Gypsy
    and blew her far away into the world...
    The rains washed away my tears,
    The sun my golden, Gypsy father,
    kept me warm
    and beautifully tanned my heart.
    From a blue stream I didn't take strength
    only washed my eyes...
    The bear wanders the forests
    like a silver moon,
    the wolf fears the fire,
    he won't bite a Gypsy.
    [..] Oh, how beautifully by the tent,
    sings the girl,
    the fire burns!
    Oh, how beautifully, people, from afar
    to hear the Easter songs of birds,
    the whimpers of children, and the song, and the dance
    of boys and girls.
    […] Oh, how beautifully the forest rustles for us-
    sings me songs.
    How beautifully the rivers flow,
    they fill my heart with joy.
    How delightful to behold the water deep
    and to tell her everything.
    Because no one can understand me,
    only the forests and streams.
    What I'm telling here it has all long passed
    and took everything, everything with it-
    and my younger years.'