Romani and French Poems Translated by A Z Foreman

Poems Found in Translation: “Ilija Jovanović: Poor Black Skin (From Gurbet Romani)” plus 1 more Ilija Jovanović: Poor Black Skin (From Gurbet Romani) Posted: 30 Sep 2016 04:04 PM PDT Poor Black1 Skin By Ilija Jovanović Translated by A.Z. Foreman Poor black skin it sticks in the white of the eye like a needle like a nail like a knife A little black man didn't want to be alone anymore. His back loaded with books, he went to live among white people. He wanted to study with them, to live with them. They asked each other with hardened looks: what's that black doing here? Poor black skin it sticks in the white of the eye like a knife like a needle like a nail. Notes: 1 - The word for black, kalo, is used as an endonym by some Roma groups such as those of Finland and Spain.  The Original: ÄŒoÅ™i Kali Morči ÄŒoÅ™i kali morči pusaves e parnen ande jak sar jek čhuri sar jek dopo sar jek suv. Jek cikno kalo či kamla maj but korkoÅ™o te trajil. Lija pese lila talaj khank gelo maÅ¡kar e parne manuÅ¡o lensar te trajil lensar te sičol. Von phučle pes e zoraja so čerel kadava kalo kadathe. ÄŒoÅ™i kali morči phusaves e parnen ande jak sar jek suv sar jek čhuri sar jek dopo. Jean-Yves Masson: The Gift of Languages (From French) Posted: 30 Sep 2016 07:24 AM PDT The Gift of Languages By Jean-Yves Masson Translated by A.Z. Foreman Walk toward the light, the light that will not betray you, O my friend, in tingles and in tears, across blind landscapes, amid sighing bodies, in the dark of flesh, in the vagaries of pleasure. By evening on a dreamer sea, the sails waken and tremble by the thousand like words, like flames: Ah, word sails where a promised sun takes shelter! Walk forth toward the light, the light that will not betray you. Among the songs, the dances, get drunk on tongues unknown, ask the dead tongues, the extinguished syllables for the key to their slumber. The Original: Le Don des Langues Marche vers la lumière, celle qui ne te trahira pas, ô mon ami, dans les frissons et dans les larmes, à travers les paysages aveugles, au milieu des corps qui soupirent dans les ténèbres de la chair, dans les méandres du plaisir. Le soir, sur une mer songeuse, les voiles se réveillent et tremblent par milliers comme des mots, des flammes: ah! voiles de paroles où s'abrite un soleil promis! Marche vers la lumière, celle qui ne te trahira pas. Parmi les chants, les danses, enivre-toi des langues inconnues, demande aux langues mortes, aux syllabes éteintes, la clé de leur sommeil.