| |
Parodos 1
262-274
Socrates . Let this old man observes silence and listen to the prayer: "Supreme Master, Air immense, which envelopes the earth on all sides, Ether brilliant, and you, Clouds, venerable goddesses, mothers of thunder and lightning, stand up, O Sovereign, appears at the thinker in the upper regions!
Strepsiades . Not yet, not yet, not until I'm wrapped in this cloak of fear of being flooded. Have failed, leaving my house, a dog-skin cap, what luck!
Socrates . Come, O Clouds revered, you show the man, either you held sacred peaks of Olympus, battered by snow, or in the gardens of Ocean, your father you formed a choir sacred with the Nymphs, is that the mouth of the Nile, you tap water in the horns gold, whether you live to marsh Maeotis or the snowy rock of Mimas, hear us, accept our sacrifice and our ceremonies that make you happy.
Strepsiades . Not yet, not yet, not until I'm wrapped in this cloak of fear of being flooded. Have failed, leaving my house, a dog-skin cap, what luck!
Socrates . Come, O Clouds revered, you show the man, either you held sacred peaks of Olympus, battered by snow, or in the gardens of Ocean, your father you formed a choir sacred with the Nymphs, is that the mouth of the Nile, you tap water in the horns gold, whether you live to marsh Maeotis or the snowy rock of Mimas, hear us, accept our sacrifice and our ceremonies that make you happy.
275-290
CHORUS. Clouds eternal, let us rise in transparent pink and light breast of our father to rustle deep ocean, to the tops of mountains crowned with forests, and discover the distant horizons, fruits adorning the sacred land, the course of the rivers sound divine, and the sea to roar deaf because the eye of the Ether shines relentlessly brilliant rays. But dispel the veil that hides our faces wet immortal, and embrace the world of our unlimited view.
291-298
Socrates . O Clouds very venerable, it is certain Did you hear my call. And you, did you hear their voice divine with the roar of thunder?
Strepsiades . I also revere you, Clouds respectable, and I want to respond to the sound of thunder, as it caused me to shake and fear. Also, right now, permit or not, I loose everything.
Socrates . Do not laugh and do not like the vintage gray poets. Be Quiet: A swarm of goddesses many advances in singing.
Strepsiades . I also revere you, Clouds respectable, and I want to respond to the sound of thunder, as it caused me to shake and fear. Also, right now, permit or not, I loose everything.
Socrates . Do not laugh and do not like the vintage gray poets. Be Quiet: A swarm of goddesses many advances in singing.
299-313
CHORUS , approaching scene. Virgin givers of rain, going to the fertile land of Pallas, see the kingdom of Cecrops, rich in great men and a thousand times beloved. Here is the worship of sacred initiations, the sacred shrine mystical ceremonies, offerings to the heavenly gods, temples and magnificent statues, holy processions three times blessed, crowned victims sacrificed to the gods; treats in all seasons; and there, renewal, celebration Bromios, the melodious music of choirs and flutes fluttering.
314-355
Strepsiades . In the name of Zeus, I beg you, tell me, Socrates, what are these women who hear a song so respectable? Are they some heroines?
Socrates. Not at all, but the heavenly Clouds, great gods of idle men, suggest that we thought, speech, intelligence, quackery, talkativeness, cunning comprehension.
Strepsiades . That is why in listening to their voice, my soul feels the wings, and seeks to hold forth, arguing about smoke, sewing joke to joke, to respond to the reasoning. So that, if possible, I sincerely hope to see them in person.
Socrates. Well, look toward the Parnes. I see them slowly down there.
Strepsiades . Where? Show me.
Socrates. They go in large numbers through the hollows and the woods, on a sloping line.
Strepsiades . What then? I do not see them.
Socrates. There, at the entrance.
Strepsiades . Ah! yes, now a little there.
Socrates. Now you must see them altogether, unless you did a gourd hunting.
Strepsiades . Yes, by Jove! O venerable deities, it fulfills the whole scene.
Socrates. And yet you did not know you did not believe that these were goddesses?
Strepsiades . No, by Jove! but I figured it was the fog, dew, and smoke.
Socrates. No, no, by Zeus! Know that it is they who feed a crowd of sophists, soothsayers Thourion, empiricists, idlers rings that go to his fingertips and long hair, manufacturers of songs for choirs cyclic drawers of horoscopes, lazy, they nourish idleness, because they sing.
Strepsiades . That is why they sing "the rapid growth of the Clouds wet throw lightning, braids Typhoon with a hundred heads, storms raging, daughters of the air, agile birds that swim in oblique flight is airborne, torrents of rain Private Clouds wet. " And the price of their verses, They swallow up enormous slices salted and good mules, and the delicate flesh of thrushes.
Socrates. Thanks to them, however, and is it not fair?
Strepsiades . Tell me, how is it, if they really are the Clouds, they look like death? They are not yet?
Socrates. So what are they?
Strepsiades . I do not know. They look like flakes of wool, not women, Zeus I swear, not the least. And these have noses.
Socrates . Now answer my questions.
Strepsiades . Tell me quickly what you want.
Socrates. Did you see sometimes, looking up in the air, a cloud like a centaur, a leopard, a wolf, a bull?
Strepsiades . By Jove! I've seen. Well?
Socrates. They are everything they want. And then if they see a rake with long hair, one of those wild hairy, as the son of Xénophante to make fun of his mania, they are transformed into centaurs.
Strepsiades . What does this mean? If they see Simon, the thief of cynical money, what do they do?
Socrates. To represent the natural, they suddenly become wolves.
Strepsiades . So why doubt that yesterday saw Cleonymus, who threw his shield at the sight of this cowardly, they became deer.
Socrates . And now, when they spotted Cleisthenes, you see, that's why they have become women.
Socrates. Not at all, but the heavenly Clouds, great gods of idle men, suggest that we thought, speech, intelligence, quackery, talkativeness, cunning comprehension.
Strepsiades . That is why in listening to their voice, my soul feels the wings, and seeks to hold forth, arguing about smoke, sewing joke to joke, to respond to the reasoning. So that, if possible, I sincerely hope to see them in person.
Socrates. Well, look toward the Parnes. I see them slowly down there.
Strepsiades . Where? Show me.
Socrates. They go in large numbers through the hollows and the woods, on a sloping line.
Strepsiades . What then? I do not see them.
Socrates. There, at the entrance.
Strepsiades . Ah! yes, now a little there.
Socrates. Now you must see them altogether, unless you did a gourd hunting.
Strepsiades . Yes, by Jove! O venerable deities, it fulfills the whole scene.
Socrates. And yet you did not know you did not believe that these were goddesses?
Strepsiades . No, by Jove! but I figured it was the fog, dew, and smoke.
Socrates. No, no, by Zeus! Know that it is they who feed a crowd of sophists, soothsayers Thourion, empiricists, idlers rings that go to his fingertips and long hair, manufacturers of songs for choirs cyclic drawers of horoscopes, lazy, they nourish idleness, because they sing.
Strepsiades . That is why they sing "the rapid growth of the Clouds wet throw lightning, braids Typhoon with a hundred heads, storms raging, daughters of the air, agile birds that swim in oblique flight is airborne, torrents of rain Private Clouds wet. " And the price of their verses, They swallow up enormous slices salted and good mules, and the delicate flesh of thrushes.
Socrates. Thanks to them, however, and is it not fair?
Strepsiades . Tell me, how is it, if they really are the Clouds, they look like death? They are not yet?
Socrates. So what are they?
Strepsiades . I do not know. They look like flakes of wool, not women, Zeus I swear, not the least. And these have noses.
Socrates . Now answer my questions.
Strepsiades . Tell me quickly what you want.
Socrates. Did you see sometimes, looking up in the air, a cloud like a centaur, a leopard, a wolf, a bull?
Strepsiades . By Jove! I've seen. Well?
Socrates. They are everything they want. And then if they see a rake with long hair, one of those wild hairy, as the son of Xénophante to make fun of his mania, they are transformed into centaurs.
Strepsiades . What does this mean? If they see Simon, the thief of cynical money, what do they do?
Socrates. To represent the natural, they suddenly become wolves.
Strepsiades . So why doubt that yesterday saw Cleonymus, who threw his shield at the sight of this cowardly, they became deer.
Socrates . And now, when they spotted Cleisthenes, you see, that's why they have become women.
THE CLOUDS
The cloud 
Look up! It's me that goes over your head, Sheer and lightweight, free in the sky;
wing open, awaiting the blast of the storm,
I dive and swim in the blue sky. Like a mirage
wandering, I float and I travel.
Stained by the dawn and evening alternately
Mirror air, I reflect the passage
Smile changing the date.
The sun meets me at the end of his career
Lying on the horizon which j'enflamme edge;
In my sides transparent the king of light
Lance fleeing his golden arrows.
When the moon, spreading his retinue of stars,
Take a thoughtful look at the world asleep, her forehead glossy
Before I run my sail, I raise
Or half.
One can almost see off a fleet foundering,
When a furious leap through the air shook,
Hurricane on my bow and dark inaccessible
Sits as a pilot wings.
In the fields of ether I book battles;
The ruin and death are a game for me I will arrange
hail, and carries my bowels
Lightning and fire hydra .
On the ground I altered unbosom myself in showers.
The earth laughs and I want his life in my hands.
is mine swells in land fertilized
The spur that feeds humans. Where I
past suddenly turned green, while swarms;
The path that I will make drunk begets hard.
I wave and I run, I am running sap,
Hidden in the source or the flower. A river
collect myself, it takes me, and I sink
As a vein deep in the heart of continents.
On the long flat countries my tablecloth unfolds
Or rushes through the mountains.
Nothing will stop most, in my enthusiasm quickly obeyed
informed by the desire pushed
And I fly to my goal as a major feature liquid
That invisible arm launched.
Ocean, O my father! Open your breast, I come! Your
tumultuous waves already answered me;
They come running, my wave declined, fearful, bewildered
front of their home.
In your bed moaning your love brings us together. Around
black rocks or on sandy
We will, together, together again
Our fury and our endless games.
But the sun, lowering his eyes to thee beautiful,
soon discovered me in your bitter gulfs. Its radius
almighty fuck clear my head:
I took the path of the air!
So never stop. The immortal matter
A moment still could not relax.
Nature does, working woman, That
dissolve and recompose.
All morphs into his hands active;
Across the incessant and various
In the eternal circle forms fugitive
Waving the immense universe.
Louise Ackermann
| Basically, it's the solitude wrapped in the cocoon of his soul, to chrysalis and wait for the metamorphosis, as it always happens. | ||
| August Strindberg extract Only | ||
in images Jacqueline Waechter 2011
0 comments:
Post a Comment