Václav Pinkava překládá Ivana Blatného
Ivan Blatny je prima, ale potrebuje spis na povrch nez do podzemky.
Jelikoz, jak znamo, neni jedina pravda, nabizim
alternativni preklad:
Spring
Atop the bungalow, stopped dead, a cauliflower
the swallow has returned, your gaze follows its dart
the first buds pop with metal-beating power
there'll be manure to wheel, I know it off by heart
Above, the purring sky, still tucked up, snuffled, dozing
It's due to brighten up, a glorious day will pass
like the far whistling train, whose distance blows imposing
as silver droplets come tapping the window glass.
Pitched tight around the goal the little lads are busy,
in its new wicker nest the cauliflower rests easy,
come, sun of France,with your light lend a hand.
Aching to leave , I'm flinging wide the door
I'd fly, were this the Riviera shore
then all my toil would turn to silver sand.
