تويت
البارودي - شفني وجدي وأبلاني السهر \ ترجمة انجليزية
سبق لي وأن ترجمت القصيدة أعلاه تحت عنوان : classical Arab poetry من ضمنها خمس قصائد أخرى للشاعر ذاته
هذه ترجمة أخرى للقصيدة
البارودي
شَفَّنِي وَجْدِي وأَبْلانِي السَّهَرْ وَتَغَشَّتْنِي سَمَادِيرُ الْكَدَرْ
فَسَوادُ اللَّيْلِ مَا إِنْ يَنْقَضِي وَبَيَاضُ الصُّبْحِ مَا إِنْ يُنْتَظَرْ
لا أَنِيسٌ يَسْمَعُ الشَّكْوَى وَلا خَبَرٌ يَأْتِي وَلا طَيْفٌ يَمُرْ
بَيْنَ حِيطَانٍ وَبَابٍ مُوصَدٍ كُلَّمَا حَرَّكَهُ السَّجَّانُ صَرْ
يَتَمَشَّى دُونَهُ حَتَّى إِذَا لَحِقَتْهُ نَبْأَةٌ مِنِّي اسْتَقَرْ
كُلَّمَا دُرْتُ لأَقْضِي حَاجَةً قَالَتِ الظُّلْمَةُ مَهْلاً لا تَدُرْ
أَتَقَرَّى الشَّيءَ أَبْغِيهِ فَلا أَجِدُ الشَّيءَ وَلا نَفْسِي تَقَرْ
ظُلْمَةٌ مَا إِنْ بِهَا مِنْ كَوْكَبٍ غَيرُ أَنْفَاسٍ تَرامَى بِالشَّرَرْ
فَاصْبِرِي يَا نَفْسُ حَتَّى تَظْفَرِي إِنَّ حُسْنَ الصَّبْر مِفْتَاحُ الظَّفَرْ
هِيَ أَنْفَاسٌ تقَضَّى وَالْفَتَى حَيْثُمَا كَانَ أَسِيرٌ لِلْقَدَرْ
سبق لي وأن ترجمت القصيدة أعلاه تحت عنوان : classical Arab poetry من ضمنها خمس قصائد أخرى للشاعر ذاته
هذه ترجمة أخرى للقصيدة
البارودي
شَفَّنِي وَجْدِي وأَبْلانِي السَّهَرْ وَتَغَشَّتْنِي سَمَادِيرُ الْكَدَرْ
فَسَوادُ اللَّيْلِ مَا إِنْ يَنْقَضِي وَبَيَاضُ الصُّبْحِ مَا إِنْ يُنْتَظَرْ
لا أَنِيسٌ يَسْمَعُ الشَّكْوَى وَلا خَبَرٌ يَأْتِي وَلا طَيْفٌ يَمُرْ
بَيْنَ حِيطَانٍ وَبَابٍ مُوصَدٍ كُلَّمَا حَرَّكَهُ السَّجَّانُ صَرْ
يَتَمَشَّى دُونَهُ حَتَّى إِذَا لَحِقَتْهُ نَبْأَةٌ مِنِّي اسْتَقَرْ
كُلَّمَا دُرْتُ لأَقْضِي حَاجَةً قَالَتِ الظُّلْمَةُ مَهْلاً لا تَدُرْ
أَتَقَرَّى الشَّيءَ أَبْغِيهِ فَلا أَجِدُ الشَّيءَ وَلا نَفْسِي تَقَرْ
ظُلْمَةٌ مَا إِنْ بِهَا مِنْ كَوْكَبٍ غَيرُ أَنْفَاسٍ تَرامَى بِالشَّرَرْ
فَاصْبِرِي يَا نَفْسُ حَتَّى تَظْفَرِي إِنَّ حُسْنَ الصَّبْر مِفْتَاحُ الظَّفَرْ
هِيَ أَنْفَاسٌ تقَضَّى وَالْفَتَى حَيْثُمَا كَانَ أَسِيرٌ لِلْقَدَرْ
Al- Barudi
Wasted by grief, worn out by lack of sleep,
I am blinded by curtains of care.
Neither will the darkness of night pass,
Nor is the bright morning to be expected.
There is no companion to listen to my complaint,
No news to come, no figure to pass my way.
(Here I am) between the walls and behind a door securely bolted.
Which creaked as soon as the jailer began to open it,
Pacing up and down he is outside.
But at the slightest sound I make he halts.
Whenever I turn to do a thing darkness says to me-
Hold it, do not move.
I grope my way, looking for what I want,
But neither do I find the object of my search.
Nor does my soul find its repose.
Darkness without a single star,
Broken only by the fire of my breath.
So be patient, my soul, till you attain your desire,
For good patience is the key to success.
We are indeed no more than breaths which are spent,
And man is a prisoner of Fate, wherever he may be
Wasted by grief, worn out by lack of sleep,
I am blinded by curtains of care.
Neither will the darkness of night pass,
Nor is the bright morning to be expected.
There is no companion to listen to my complaint,
No news to come, no figure to pass my way.
(Here I am) between the walls and behind a door securely bolted.
Which creaked as soon as the jailer began to open it,
Pacing up and down he is outside.
But at the slightest sound I make he halts.
Whenever I turn to do a thing darkness says to me-
Hold it, do not move.
I grope my way, looking for what I want,
But neither do I find the object of my search.
Nor does my soul find its repose.
Darkness without a single star,
Broken only by the fire of my breath.
So be patient, my soul, till you attain your desire,
For good patience is the key to success.
We are indeed no more than breaths which are spent,
And man is a prisoner of Fate, wherever he may be