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Choral songs for male voices
Translations © by Patrick John Corness
by Antonín Dvořák (1841 - 1904)
View original-language texts alone: Sborove pisne pro muzske hlasy
Šly děvčátka na jahody, a to pořád podle vody. Nadešly tam převozníčka, přešvárného šohajíčka. Oj, Janíčku, převozníčku, převez ty nás přes vodičku. Všecky panny popřevážal, jenom svoju milú nechal. Oj, Janíčku, převez i mňa, Zaplatím ti jako jiná. Nemám čluna, ani vesla, všecko mi to voda znésla. Máš ty člunek a i veslo, ale tebe blúdí pestvo. Sedni, milá, na lodičku, převezu ťa přes vodičku. Jak dojeli prostřed vody, stupoval jí do slobody. Nestupaj mně do slobody, než mia dovez na kraj vody. Jak dojeli na krajíček, vyhodil ju na trávníček, ruce, nohy jí urúbal, černé oči jí vylúpal. Odešel ju na půl míle, počuval ju, živa-li je. Vrš plakala, vrš zpívala, vrš na Janoška volala. Ach, Janíčku, srdce moje, kam si poděl nohy moje? Tam jsú tvoje bílé nohy u Dunaja na tom poli. Vrš plakala, vrš zpívala, Ach Janíčku, srdce moje, kam si poděl ruce moje? Ach, Janíčku, srdce moje, kam si poděl oči moje? Ach, Janíčku, srdce moje, kam si poděl vlasy moje? A ty tvoje černé vlasy po Dunaju větr plaší.
Girls went strawberrying one day, followed the river all the way. The ferryman there they found, a fine dashing fellow indeed. O dear Johnny, my ferryman, do take us across, my dear John. He ferried the girls, one by one, but left his loved one on her own. O, dear Johnny, please take me too, like the rest, I’ll pay you your due. I have no boat, oars have I none, They’ve all been washed away, they’re gone! You have an oar, you have a boat; I know you’re just acting the goat. Come on, get in the boat, my dear, I’ll take you across, never fear. When he had got but half-way over, he started importuning her. Don’t take such liberties; desist; just row me across, I insist. As soon as they had rowed across he threw her out into the grass, chopped off her legs, chopped off her arms, then he gouged out both her dark eyes. He left her there, went a half-mile, then listened: was she living still? The fish-trap sang, and it did wail, and Johnny heard its plaintive call. Oh my dear heart, my darling John, my legs, my legs, where have they gone? Your lovely legs, right there they lie, in Danubian fields near by. The fish-trap wailed, and it sang on, Oh my dear heart, my darling John, my arms, my arms, where have they gone? Oh my dear heart, my darling John, my eyes, my eyes, where have they gone? Oh my dear heart, my darling John, my hair, my hair, where has it gone? On the Danube’s waves all around, your dark hair’s blown wild by the wind.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from Czech (Čeština) to English copyright © 2018 by Patrick John Corness, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Czech (Čeština) from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
Go to the general single-text view
Translator's note: This translation first published in ‘Překladatelská strategie přebásnění Dvořákových Mužských sborů bez doprovodu do angličtiny’ [A Strategy for Czech-English Verse Translation] (Patrick John Corness), in Časopis pro moderní filologii [Journal for Modern Philology] 2018 (100): 225-249. https://casopispromodernifilologii.ff.cuni.cz/en/magazin/2018-100-2/
This text was added to the website: 2023-06-27
Line count: 41
Word count: 278
Ty milotské zvony pěkně vyzváňajú, lidé povidajú: Co to znamenajú? Jedni povídajú: Pútníčkové idú, druzí povidajú: Pochovávat budú. Pochovávat budú jednej vdovy syna, co ho otrávila galanečka milá. Neščasná galanko, jak na pohřeb půjdeš? Neščasná galanko, jak naříkat budeš?
The church bells are ringing, it’s such a tuneful sound, people are wondering what those church bells portend. Some of the people say pilgrims are on their way, but other people say: they’re burying a man. They’re burying a man; he’s a widow’s young son, whose lover poisoned him, his dear beloved one. Oh, you wretched lover, how will you bury him? Oh, you wretched lover, how will you grieve for him?
Text Authorship:
- Translation from Moravian (Moravština) to English copyright © 2023 by Patrick John Corness, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Moravian (Moravština) from Volkslieder (Folksongs)
Go to the general single-text view
Translator's note: This translation first published in ‘Překladatelská strategie přebásnění Dvořákových Mužských sborů bez doprovodu do angličtiny’ [A Strategy for Czech-English Verse Translation] (Patrick John Corness), in Časopis pro moderní filologii [Journal for Modern Philology] 2018 (100): 225-249. https://casopispromodernifilologii.ff.cuni.cz/en/magazin/2018-100-2/
This text was added to the website: 2023-06-27
Line count: 16
Word count: 72
Já jsem huslař přeubohý, nemám jen tu hřivnu, a přec všudy se mi daří, kam širákem kývnu, Kam paličku poodložím, trávník pučí avete, a když slačik strunky hladí, radost letí světem. Mé píseňky polní kvítí, ono ňadra zdobí, děvčátka z těch sladkých zvuků pérečka si zrobí. Nedbám věru o nikoho, třeba bez osochu, je v kytici dozajista plných květů trochu. A v každičkém takém květu pohar šumné vůně, by se těsil, kdo na lásku v srdélenku stůně. By se těsil, komu slzy Napadaly k líčku, pro tu milou, milučičkou naši svobodičku.
I am a fiddler, poor as poor. I can but play, no more; wherever whim may take me, though, I prosper with my bow, for wherever my fiddle plays, the meadow blooms, always, and when my bow touches a string far and wide joy takes wing. My songs are flowers of the glade, on breasts proudly displayed, those charming sounds that all young girls weave as lovely posies. For no-one need I have a care; no use to man or beast, those posies contain, certain sure, a few full blooms at least. And each one contains a present; its cup of sparkling scent, and to them it comfort imparts who crave love in their hearts, it comforts also those whose tears spill down their graceful face, for our free, for our footloose state, that brings such sweet solace.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from Czech (Čeština) to English copyright © 2023 by Patrick John Corness, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in Czech (Čeština) by Adolf Heyduk (1835 - 1923)
Go to the general single-text view
Translator's note: This translation first published in ‘Překladatelská strategie přebásnění Dvořákových Mužských sborů bez doprovodu do angličtiny’ [A Strategy for Czech-English Verse Translation] (Patrick John Corness), in Časopis pro moderní filologii [Journal for Modern Philology] 2018 (100): 225-249. https://casopispromodernifilologii.ff.cuni.cz/en/magazin/2018-100-2/
This text was added to the website: 2023-06-27
Line count: 24
Word count: 138