Burns Supper, bird singing and poetry

 

This is probably not the best way to illustrate Burns Night or Burns Supper which is celebrated every year on or around 25 January. I've just read an article about Robert Burns in The Guardian and thought I'd share his poem quoted there:

As I Walk’d By Mysel
by Robert Burns
As I walk’d by myself, and talk’d by myself,
Myself said unto me:
Look to thyself,take care of thyself, For nobody cares for thee
I answer’d myself, and said to myself,
In the self same repartee:
Look to thyself, or not look to thyself,
The self same thing will be!



That might be a bit better as thistle is the national symbol of Scotland. Why thistle ? As the story goes, it saved the Scotts. How? When they were all under siege in one of their castles up on the hill, the English wanted to surprise them and took off their shoes to get nearer quietly. It didn't work as the area was full of thistles!

 

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I was going back from work totally exhausted and then entering my street I heard a bird singing up in the tree. I stopped and looked. And there it was, up on a tree branch, singing in the dark. I kept standing there, listening and watching the birds chest and throat move and felt the stress and tiredness leave me, pushed away by the sweet melody.  After a while it flew away and the branch was still trembling, just like in Julian Tuwim's poem titled 'Bird'.


Looking for a translationof 'Bird', I encountered a sad poem by Jan Brzechwa, another Polish poet. Here it is, in Polish and English:


The Road
by Jan Brzechwa

I walk the road unloved,
I walk alone—my shoes, my mud.

Full of bitter grief and sorrow,
Without a goal or guide to follow,

My heart: unease that burns and scars,
My home is close, yet home so far.

I see myself, so sad and poor,
Aimlessly down the road some more,

Of no use to anyone, I roam,
Come and go, but never home,

How much of life is left for me to touch?
Who knows. Too little or too much?

Snow to the left and snow to the right,
To the right a tree, to the left a distant light,

So I just walk along the road—walk, not run,
Abandoned and unloved by everyone,

No goodbyes ever spoken, no smiles await,
Darkness hangs over the nearby gate,

And I, waiting for this evening to fall,
Walk—a poet! How funny it’s all…


Droga
Jan Brzechwa

Niemiłowany idę drogą,
Idę sam jeden - bez nikogo,

Pełen żałości i goryczy
Idę bez celu sam i niczyj.

Złe niepokoje serce pieką,
Dom niedaleko, lecz daleko,

A ja tak smutnie i ubogo
Idę bez celu, idę drogą,

I niepotrzebny już nikomu
Idę i wracam - nie do domu.

Ileż mi życia pozostało?
Nie wiem. Za dużo czy za mało?

Śnieg jest na prawo i na lewo,
Na lewo słup, na prawo drzewo,

A ja tak idę sobie drogą
Niemiłowany przez nikogo.

Nikt mnie nie żegnał, nikt nie czeka,
I wisi ciemność niedaleka,

A ja, czekając aż się zmierzchnie,
Idę - poeta! Jak to śmiesznie...
...