U obliku nejednakom
Blizu tebe uvijek stojim
Uvijek tuzim i ti uvijek
Bol zadajes grud'ma mojim.

Kad kroz baste mirisave
Ljeti hodis hodom milim,
Pa leptira zgazis malog,
Zar ne cujes kako cvilim?

Kad uberes ruzu koju
Pa, s veseljem djetinjijem
Rascupas je, zar ne cujes
Kako jecam bolom svijem?

I kad ruze rascupane
Usudi se trnje koje,
Pa ti meki prst ubode,
Zar ne cutis boli moje?

Zar ne cujes u mom glasu
Moje muke sto me guse?
Nocu jecam i uzdisem
Iz dubine svoje duse.

U obliku nejednakom... — Jegliche Gestalt bekleidend — Assuming every form and shape

Clothing me in every feature

(no title, appears in Nachgelesene Gedichte 1812-1827, no. 51)

Heinrich Heine je ovu pjesmu napisao u razdoblju izmedju 1812. i 1827. godine i objavljena je u "Nachgelesene Gedichte ".
Pjesma je bez naslova te se stoga navodi prvi stih pjesme.

[ original name: Harry Heine; in full Christian Johann Heinrich Heine ]

©   Copyright: graphic arts; animation & design by Carmen Ezgeta

prijevod     Vladimir Nazor           

(1876 - 1949)

                   Translated by     Louis Untermeyer                                  

(1885 – 1977)
USA

             Translated by     Margaret Armour                              

(1860 - 1943)
Skotska - Scotland

NOTE

Louis Untermeyer je bio jedan od najutjecajnijih americkih pjesnika, antologicara, kriticara i urednika 20. stoljeca.
Obnasao je prestižnu duznost savjetnika za poeziju pri Kongresnoj knjiznici (danasnji Poet Laureate SAD-a).
Njegovi prijevodi njemačkih romanticara, posebice Heinricha Heinea, smatraju se remek-djelima americke prevodilacke knjizevnosti
jer je kao vrstan pjesnik uspijevao ocuvati izvornu melodioznost i pjesnicke slike.

Margaret Armour was a Scottish poet, novelist and translator. She translated the poetry of Heinrich Heine for the final three volumes
of the twelve volume set of The Works of Heine, published between 1892 and 1905.

[ Heinrich Heine ]

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Jegliche Gestalt bekleidend,
   Bin ich stets in deiner Nähe,
     Aber immer bin ich leidend,
         Und du tust mir immer wehe.

Wenn du, zwischen Blumenbeeten
   Wandelnd in des Sommers Tagen,
     Einen Schmetterling zertreten —
         Hörst du mich nicht leise klagen?

Wenn du eine Rose pflückest,
   Und mit kindischem Behagen
     Sie entblätterst und zerstückest —
         Hörst du mich nicht leise klagen?

Wenn bei solchem Rosenbrechen
   Böse Dornen einmal wagen
     In die Finger dich zu stechen —
         Hörst du mich nicht leise klagen?

Hörst du nicht die Klagetöne
   Selbst im Ton der eignen Kehle?
     In der Nacht seufz ich und stöhne
         Aus der Tiefe deiner Seele.

Assuming every form and shape,
   I watch and follow everywhere;
     But there is never an escape
         From all the pain you make me bear.

         When in the garden-beds you stray,
           And through the summer blossoms hie,
               And crush, in your unthinking way,
                 A poor, defenseless butterfly —

                 Or when you pluck a blooming rose,
                     And with a childish, cruel glee,
                       You strip its leaves until it goes —
                           Do you not hear the plaint of me?

                           And when from such a broken stem
                             A sudden, wicked thorn shall dare
                                 To prick your finger with its gem —
                                   Do you not hear my grieving there?

                                   Do you not hear the heavy moan
                                       That rises from your own sweet breath?
                                         Deep in your soul, at night, alone,
                                             I sigh in sorrow unto death.

                                                                                                 Translated by    Louis Untermeyer

Clothing me in every feature,
   I am ever near to thee,
     But a ever-suffering creature,
         And thou ever woundest me.

         When, where summer flowers are blowing,
           Thou dost wander in thy glee,
               And a butterfly o'erthrowing —
                 Hear'st thou not the plaint of me?

                 When a rosebud thou art breaking,
                     And with childish luxury
                       Leaves and petals from it taking —
                           Hear'st thou not the plaint of me?

                           When, such roses rudely tearing,
                             Evil thorns, to punish thee,
                                 Prick thy finger, boldly daring —
                                   Hear'st thou not the plaint of me?

                                   Hear'st thou not the moan that's waking
                                       In thy very voice's tone?
                                         In the night, when heart is breaking,
                                             Deep within thy soul I groan.

                                                                                                     Translated by   Margaret Armourr

Heinrich Heine

                                   (1797 - 1856)