Nature of Man
… nothing that happens to Man is ever natural

17 February 2009, Tuesday

Who Speaks for Them as has no Voices?

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mordred @ 21:49
Them as can do has to do for them as can’t. And someone has to speak up for them as has no voices.
– Granny Aching, “The Wee Free Men”

The Sea Shepherd Conservation Society does.

Read it up, the guys fucking sank ten whaling ships. They also currently battle Japanese whaling operations in whale sanctuaries. The Japanese of course “don’t do no whaling” anymore, these are just science research vessels for their Institute of Cetacean Research And Sushi Bar

“I stand in honorable company as a modern-day pirate, though I’ve not shot anyone, burned any ships, looted any cargoes or kidnapped anyone. We are also pirates with a sense of humor and a moral code of non-violence. In 30 years of eco-piracy we have never injured a single poacher, though we’ve sent nine whalers to the bottom. Instead of cannon balls, our guns shoot coconut cream and chocolate pie-filling. We toss stink bombs instead of grenades and we are so non-violent we don’t even eat meat or fish on our ships. No fish, fowl or mammals have died in the making of our high seas campaigns. What we do is defend the whales from illegal slaughter by ruthless and merciless killers. If people want to call us pirates for that, we’re proud to be so. We have whales to save and Japanese ships to attack.”

15 February 2009, Sunday

Amorphous Lyrics

Filed under: Uncategorized — Mordred @ 00:08

(This post collects a couple of translations of lyrics of Amorphis I made (while facing certain deadlines, excuse the pun) at hazel’s blog. Don’t miss her translations as well!)

Няма да пускам английския текст, да не се вижда как се разминава превода, но почти навсякъде сричките се напасват (само един Изгрев трябва да е изгрЕв и някои думи трябва да се изтъгъдъкат), така че да става за пеене. Демек, чуйте го с песента, няма да стане само с четене ;) Нишката на мисълта (кавичка, кавичка) се губи и в оригинала, но какво пък, това е песен, не философска поезия ;)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVLCHDw9vOk

Black Winter Day

This is how the lucky feel
How the blessed think
Like daybreak in spring
The sun on a spring morning

Like the flat brink of a cloud
Like a dark night in autumn

But how do I feel
In my gloomy depths?

Is this how the lucky feel
How the blessed ones think
Like a daybreak in spring

Like the flat brink of a cloud
Like a dark night in autumn
A black winter day

This is how the lucky feel
How the blessed think
Like daybreak in spring
The sun on a spring morning

Like the flat brink of a cloud
Like a dark night in autumn

A black winter day
No, darker than that
Gloomier than an autumn night

A black winter day

Мрак в зимен ден

Късметлиите тъй мислят
Тъй блажените се чувстват
Като пролетна зора
Изгрев в лятно утро

Като ръб на облак чер
Като тъмна нощ наесен:

Тъй чувствам се аз
В сумрачния ден

Така ли щастливите,
блажените, чувстват -
зора в пролетта?

Като чер ръб на облак,
нощ тъмна наесен,
сумрак в зимен ден

Късметлиите тъй мислят
Тъй блажените се чувстват
Като пролетна зора
Изгрев в лятно утро

Като ръб на облак чер
Като тъмна нощ наесен

Сумрак в зимен ден,
не, много по-чер,
тъмен като адска нощ

Мрак в зимен ден



Сричките са напасвани с чистите вокали, при другите и без тва няма значение какво се пее ;)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QU2ovtmL7Zk

Better Unborn

Better it would be for me
And better it would have been
Had I not been born, not grown
Not been brought into the world
Not had to come to this earth
Not been suckled for the world

If I’d died a three-night-old
Been lost in my swaddling band
I’d have needed but a span of cloth
A span more of wood,
But a cubit of good earth
Two words from the priest
Three verses from the cantor
One clang from the bell

Нероден

За мен било би по-добре,
така бих искал аз,
Да не бях роден, ни расъл
ни донесен в този свят.
Пръкнат не на таз земя,
ни откърмен тук.

Ако бях след нощи три
изгубен в пелени,
Бих требвал само педя плат,
и още педя дърво,
лакът праведна пръст,
две думи от поп,
три строфи от псалтира,
един звън от камбаната.

Да бях умрял, да бях не-роден…

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