WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE'REN
SEI AMALAUKO EUSKARAZ

(Bere eundaka amalaukoetatik sei euskeraz)

 

euskaratzailea:

Santi Onaindia (Igotz)

 

 

 

II'garrena

 

Berrogei ta neguk, zure bekokian,

Ildoi beekoz itxirik euren laztasuna

Ta zur'gaztaroak, bere su bizian,

Galdurik len-kemen ta edertasuna,

 

Itaun ba'daizue egun eder ortaz,

Zure izate zaloiz; lotsaz gorriturik,

Geren-aize otza, bolada zurbillaz,

Igaroko yatzu begi sakonetik.

 

Au erantzutea obe litzakizu:

«Sorkai orrek ene aragi ta gogai

Bear dau, naitaez, ordain zor berea,

Ene atsak emon bai eutsan eder-gai».

 

Orla zur'gaztaro litzake itzuliko,

T'odol berri-gorriz ziñakez sutuko.

 

 

 

XVII'garrena

 

Nok niri siñistu geroko aldian

Bertsoz geiegitu arren nik egia?

Txoil gorde nai neuke, zelan illobian,

Zure doaiena beiñik-bein erdia.

 

Goretsiko ba'neuz zure begi leunak

Zu margotuz ba'neu eredu bat eingo,

«Guzurra» diñoke ondoko aroak,

«Etzan inoiz ainbat zeru izan lurreko».

 

T'ene ingi laruan zure antz-diztira

Zar txoliñoaren amesa litzake,

Zure eskubideak olerkari-intzira,

Edo abesti zar puztua, ez beste.

 

Baiña loratuko ba'ziña semetan,

Zu biztuko ordun aregan ta nigan.

 

 

 

XVIII'garrena

 

Uda eder leunaz aal zaitut bardindu?

Askoz ekarkor ta leunago zara zu;

Bere naitara oi dau ekaitzak soildu,

Ta udaren urratsa egazti lez dozu.

 

Beroegi nunbait zeru-ninikoa;

Urre-arpegia sarri da zurbiltzen;

Ederrik utsena bertatik larutzen,

Izadian oro da erortzekoa.

 

Baiña ezin zu, iñoiz be, zimel biurtu;

Zure edertasuna ezingo iñoiz aitu,

Ezta eriotzak ezingo zaitu zu,

Bidea amaitzean, itzal-lanbroz bildu.

 

Gizadi osoa itzali arteño,

Zure uda eta zu, zarie biziko.

 

 

 

XXIII'garrena

 

Eikari erdiki batek antzokian

Lorrindu oi daun lez arazo emona,

Edo, gar larregi daulako barnean,

Alegiñez meetzen jitezko kemena;

 

Orrelaxe nik be, izu ta dardarti,

Aaztu dot maitasun zeiñu txit biguiña,

Ta zapaltzen naun zama gordiñari

Aul oi dautsot bere al ta eragiña.

 

Nire lan joriak, mintza, ene ordez,

Nire sugarraren azalpen ixillak;

Arein esan autak azalduko dabez,

Miñak baiño obeto, ene barren-suak.

 

Mintza beitez ixil goi-kemen ozenak,

Begiz entzun oi dau maitale jatorrak.

 

 

 

XXV'garrena

 

Utz saiets aduak losingatzen dauna,

Illarrain dedilla ohore-laiñotan;

Nik benazki, irrits-min estu bagea,

Garaipen-ostoak ditut erdeiñutan.

 

Eguzki-txera-min, mao-lore zutak

Orri leun mardulak ditue zabaltzen;

Nausi-deduz itsu dabiltza gizonak,

T'euren griña biziz dira su-kiskaltzen.

 

Gudari bulartsu ta izukor eztanak,

Eun garaitz egiñik be egun ber-berean,

Ospea dau galtzen, burruka leialak

Bere kemenari dirdira ukatzean.

 

Doatsu ni! maitez bait-naz maitatua,

Ta ez naz bekaizti ta ez bekaiztua.

 

 

 

XXVII'garrena

 

Ene gorputz aula oera daroat

Lanez abaildurik atseden naiean;

Baiña, gero, lasai-aldia amaitzean,

Lan barriak dagist bekoki zear tzart.

 

Zugana doakit oroimena azkarki:

Ene irritsak osoz edegi dituan

Begi zurbillez so dagit adi-adi,

Illunez dakusan itsuaren gisan.

 

Ene gogozko so bigunak, orduan,

Zu ikuskatzen zaitu auzoko itzalera,

Gaba eder ta argi itzuli oi dauan

Ortziko txirlarri dirdaitsu antzera.

 

Nai egun naita gau, zein gorputz zein gogai,

Zutzat edo nitzat, zakidaz bakegai.

 

 

Olerti,

1959, IV,  Urrilla-Lotazilla

225-227 orr.

 

 

Sonnet II

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow / And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, / Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now, / Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held: / Then being ask'd, where all thy beauty lies, / Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, / To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, / Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. / How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, / If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine / Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,' / Proving his beauty by succession thine! / This were to be new made when thou art old, / And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

 

Sonnet XVII

Who will believe my verse in time to come / If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? / Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb / Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. / If I could write the beauty of your eyes / And in fresh numbers number all your graces, / The age to come would say, 'This poet lies; / Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' / So should my papers, yellow'd with their age, / Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue, / And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage / And stretched metre of an antique song: / But were some child of yours alive that time, / You should live twice,in it and in my rime.

 

Sonnet XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate: / Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, / And summer's lease hath all too short a date: / Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, / And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; / And every fair from fair sometime declines, / By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd; / But thy eternal summer shall not fade, / Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, / Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, / When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st; / So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, / So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

Sonnet XXIII

As an unperfect actor on the stage / Who with his fear is put beside his part, / Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, / Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; / So I, for fear of trust, forget to say / The perfect ceremony of love's rite, / And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, / O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might. / O! let my books be then the eloquence / And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, / Who plead for love, and look for recompense, / More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. / O! learn to read what silent love hath writ: / To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

 

Sonnet XXV

Let those who are in favour with their stars / Of public honour and proud titles boast, / Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, / Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. / Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread / But as the marigold at the sun's eye, / And in themselves their pride lies buried, / For at a frown they in their glory die. / The painful warrior famoused for fight, / After a thousand victories once foil'd, / Is from the book of honour razed quite, / And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: / Then happy I, that love and am belov'd, / Where I may not remove nor be remov'd.

 

Sonnet XXVII

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed / The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; / But then begins a journey in my head / To work my mind, when body's work's expir'd: / For then my thoughtsfrom far where I abide / Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, / And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, / Looking on darkness which the blind do see: / Save that my soul's imaginary sight / Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, / Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night, / Makes black night beauteous and her old face new. / Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind, / For thee, and for myself no quiet find.

 

 

© William Shakespeare

© itzulpenarena: Santi Onaindia

 

 

"Shakespeare euskaraz" orrialde nagusia


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