Salut numele meu este Liviu şi sunt român.
Hello my name is Liviu and i am romanian.
For those who want to know romanian language in depth ill post romanian poetry and the english translation of the text.
First the original romanian version:
Mihai Eminescu (1850 - 1889)
La steaua
La steaua care-a răsărit
E-o cale-atât de lungă,
Că mii de ani i-au trebuit
Luminii să ne-ajungă.
Poate de mult s-a stins în drum
În depărtări albastre
Iar raza ei abia acum
Luci privirii noastre.
Icoana stelei ce-a murit
Încet pe boltă suie:
Era pe când nu s-a zărit,
Azi o vedem, şi nu e.
Tot astfel când al nostru dor
Pieri în noapte-adâncă,
Lumina stinsului amor
Ne urmareşte încă.
And now the english translated version:
Mihai Eminescu (1850 - 1889)
To The Star
Up to the star that’s just appeared
The journey’s long, and so
For thousand years its light careered
To reach us here, below.
It may have faded on its way
Of old, in blue spheres bright
Though only now its shining ray
Unfolds to this our sight.
The image of the star that died
Comes slowly to the fore:
It used to be when it would hide -
We see what is no more.
And likewise, while our yearning dove
Died in the deepest night,
The light of the extinguished love
Still follows us in flight.
You can listen to another romanian beautiful poetry:
Mistretul cu colţii de argint
The Silver-tusked Boar
by
Ştefan Augustin Doinaş (1922 - 2002)
Here: Wild boar with silvery fangs - Mistretul cu colti de argint - YouTube
And here you have the text:
Mistretul cu colţii de argint
The Silver-tusked Boar
by
Ştefan Augustin Doinaş (1922 - 2002)
Un prinţ din Levant îndrăgind vânătoarea
prin inimă neagră de codru trecea.
Croindu-şi cu greu prin hăţişuri cărarea,
cânta dintr-un flaut de os şi zicea:
-
Veniţi să vânâm în păduri nepătrunse
mistreţul cu colţi de argint, fioros,
ce zilnic îşi schimbă în scorburi ascunse
copita şi blana şi ochiul sticlos… -
Stăpâne, ziceau servitorii cu goarne,
mistreţul acela nu vine pe-aici.
Mai bine s-abatem vânatul cu coarne,
ori vulpile roşii, ori iepurii mici …
Dar prinţul trecea zâmbitor înainte
privea printre arbori atent la culori,
lăsând în culcuş căprioara cuminte
şi linxul ce râde cu ochi sclipitori.
Sub fagi el dădea buruiana-ntr-o parte:
-
Priviţi cum se-nvârte făcându-ne semn
mistreţul cu colţi de argint, nu departe:
veniţi să-l lovim cu săgeata de lemn!.. -
Stăpâne, e apa jucând sub copaci,
zicea servitorul privindu-l isteţ.
Dar el răspundea întorcându-se: - Taci…
Şi apa sclipea ca un colţ de mistreţ.
Sub ulmi, el zorea risipite alaiuri:
-
Priviţi cum pufneşte şi scurmă stingher,
mistreţul cu colţi de argint, peste plaiuri:
veniţi să-l lovim cu săgeata de fier!.. -
Stăpâne, e iarba foşnind sub copaci,
zicea servitorul zâmbind îndrăzneţ.
Dar el răspundea întorcându-se: - Taci…
Şi iarba sclipea ca un colţ de mistreţ.
Sub brazi, el striga îndemnându-i spre creste:
-
Priviţi unde-şi află odihnă şi loc
mistreţul cu colţi de argint, din poveste:
veniţi să-l lovim cu săgeata de foc!.. -
Stăpâne, e luna lucind prin copaci,
zicea servitorul râzând cu dispreţ.
Dar el răspunde întorcându-se: - Taci…
Şi luna sclipea ca un colţ de mistreţ.
Dar vai! sub luceferii palizi ai bolţii
cum stă în amurg, la izvor aplecat,
veni un mistreţ uriaş, şi cu colţii
îl trase sălbatic prin colbul roşcat.
-
Ce fiară ciudată mă umple de sânge,
oprind vânătoarea mistreţului meu?
Ce pasăre neagră stă-n lună şi plânge?
Ce veştedă frunză mă bate mereu?.. -
Stăpâne, mistreţul cu colţi ca argintul,
chiar el te-a cuprins, grohăind, sub copaci.
Ascultă cum latră copoii gonindu-l…
Dar prinţul răspunse-ntorcându-se. - Taci.
Mai bine ia cornul şi sună întruna.
Să suni până mor, către cerul senin…
Atunci asfinţi după creste luna
Şi cornul sună, însă foarte puţin.
The english version:
Stefan Augustin Doinaş (1922-2002)
The Silver-tusked Boar (Mistreţul cu colţi de argint)
A prince from the East with a fondness for hunting
through forests of darkness was trudging his way.
While striving and toiling a pathway to render,
a flute he was playing and this he would say:
"Oh come, let us hunt in mysterious forests
the silver-tusked boar that is stalwart and sly;
in secretive hiding he daily reshuffles
his hoof and his fur and his glistening eye… "
“My Lord”, said his servants, his yeomen and huntsmen,
“that boar is not known to have roamed around here.
So what we should chase are those flamy-furred foxes,
or frolicky rabbits, or fidgety deer…”
The prince did not listen, he just went on smiling
and gazing at colors, in constant advance.
He heeded no doedeer, he minded no stagdeer,
he never afforded the lynxes a glance.
He pushed off the weeds as he stood under beechtrees:
“Oh, look how he’s whirling, in turbulent mood!
The silver-tusked boar is no doubt very near us!
Come on, let us smite him with arrows of wood!”
“My Lord, 'tis the water, reflecting the light rays”,
his cunning retainer was quick to remark.
“Enough!”, he retorted, beholding the water
that gleamed like the tusk of a boar in the dark.
He goaded the men as he stood under elmtrees:
“Oh, look how he burrows, himself to conceal!
The silver-tusked boar, how he’s huffing and puffing!
Come on, let us smite him with arrows of steel!”
“My Lord, it is only the rustle of grasses”,
replied the retainer, increasingly stark.
“Enough!”, he retorted, beholding the grasses
that gleamed like the tusk of a boar in the dark.
He further emboldened the men under firtrees:
“Oh, look where he seeks to escape and retire,
the silver-tusked boar of the legends and stories!
Come on, let us smite him with arrows of fire!”
“My Lord, it is merely the shimmering moonlight”,
the sneering retainer did scornfully bark.
“Enough!”, he retorted, beholding the moonlight
that gleamed like the tusk of a boar in the dark.
But woe! at the spring, as his thirst he was quenching,
as over the water he leaned in the dusk,
a boar most enormous sprang up out of nowhere
and savagely gored him with murderous tusk.
“What beast so ferocious is bleeding my bosom,
aborting the hunt of my coveted boar?
What ominous fowl on the moon is now weeping?
What leaf is upon me, all withered and sore?”
“My Lord”, said his servant, “Your Lordship fell prey to
the silver-tusked boar that Your Lordship pursued.
The hounds are still barking and trying to get him…”
“Enough!”, he retorted, forlorn and subdued.
“I wish that you blew toward heaven your horn now,
till heaven receives me in it on that tune …”
Beyond the horizon, the pale moon was sinking.
The hunting horn sounded, then quieted soon.
(1945)
I think this will help you to have a better image of romanian language and to understand why is considered one of the romance or romantic languages.
I hope you will enjoy this.
Pe curând,
Liviu