J’aime la nuit
le chat dit et est toujours assis sur le tapis
La nuit
Elle va plus loin
C’est une célébration du ciel
Vous avez raison, chuchote quelqu’un,
la souris, assis à côté du tapis
la nuit se cache toutes les différences
 

macbiff (c) flickr.com

Robert Frost
Reluctance

 
Reluctance
by Robert  Frost 
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch hazel …

Tomas Tranströmer
Nattboksblad

Jag landsteg en majnatt
i ett kyligt månsken
där gräs och blommor var grå
men doften grön.

Jag gled uppför sluttningen
i den färgblinda natten
medan vita stenar
signalerade till månen.
En tidrymd
några minuter lång
femtioåtta år bred.
Och bakom mig
bortom de blyskimrande vattnen
fanns den andra kusten
och de som härskade.
Människor med framtid
i stället för ansikten.

(můj překlad)
List knihy noci

Přistál jsem v noci května
v chladu měsíce
kde kvítka i tráva byly šedé
ale vůně zeleně.

Klouzal jsem po svahu
nocí slepých barev
bílé kameny zatím
volaly na měsíc

Okamžik
několik minut dlouhý
široký padesát osm let

A za mnou
za šumivou masou vody
bylo další pobřeží
a ti, kteří vládnou

Lidé s budoucností
místo tváře

Recording of a poem by Tomas Tranströmer (won 2011 the Nobel Prize in Literature)

After a death by Tomas Tranströmer, Nobel Prize 2011 in LIterature
translated by Robert Bly
Once there was a shock
that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.
It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.
It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.
One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun
through brush where a few leaves hang on.
They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.
Names swallowed by the cold.
It is still beautiful to hear the heart …

One year
about two hours in the trail
on the top of those train like river
One year and nobody kept
The safe color of acers

AndyV12 (c) flickr.com

If  I were you, you black
cloud, you never fall
in tears. I’m mouse
- you hope – I’m mouse
you see. But in the minute
under wind I’ll never be again.
If you was me, you grey
mouse, you never fall
to trap, I swear.
I’m little cloud, you think,
I’m little white and clear,
just try to say what you want
and I’ll take that.
What you’ll be.
 
 pshab (c) flickr.com