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Wiersze polskich poetów w przekładzie Marka Kazmierskiego do wyboru Uczestników II Edycji Konkursu Recytatorskiego Lokomotywa - Stacja Northampton w Kategorii Specjalnej

Poetry on Song

Materiały audiowizualne

"Locomotive" - Julian Tuwim


"Bambo The Black Boy"

- Julian Tuwim

("Murzynek Bambo")

"Bird Brained Radio"

- Julian Tuwim

("Ptasie radio")

"Sir OohLaLa" 

- JUlian Tuwim

("O panu Tralalinskim)

"Sophie-know-it-all" - Julian Tuwim

("Zosia Samosia")

"The Late Nightingale"

- Julian Tuwim

("Spózniony slowik")

"Council of Eagle Owls"

- Jan Brzechwa

("Rada Puchaczy")


- JUlian Tuwim

"Eyeglasses" - Julian Tuwim


"Paul and Gall"

- Aleksander Fredro

("Pawel i Gawel")

"On the Veg Stall"

- Jan Brzechwa

("Na straganie")


Wacky Ducky ("Kaczka Dziwaczka")

- Jan Brzechwa

Near a river, if you're lucky,
You might meet Ms Wacky Ducky.
Being wacky was her passion,
in her life, her moods, her fashions.
At a barber's, she'd say:
'Please, can I have some bottled cheese?'
At a church another time
she tried to buy a book of limes.
At a local army camp
she asked them for a magic lamp.
Other ducks were going spare:
'Wacky Ducky, don't you dare!'
She would lay hardboiled eggs,
standing on her head, not legs.
And to spite the other ducks
she refused to ever quack.
Her use of toothpicks for combs
made the other duckies groan.
She ate some ribbon for tea
Claiming it's pasta, you see!
Swallowing coins wrapped in paper
She said she would cough them back later!
Still, our Wacky little Ducky
Always seemed to come out lucky.
One sad day, a nasty crook
said: 'Your goose is truly cooked!'
Having plucked our little duck,
he stuck her on an oven rack!
But dear Wacky wouldn't have it –
she just turned into a rabbit!
Served with beetroot, because
That's how wacky she was!

"Locomotive" - ("Lokomotywa")

- Julian Tuwim

A locomotive stands at the station,
Huge, heavy, huffing with perspiration,
An oily sensation!
It stands there, puffing, roaring and glowing,

Heat from its fiery belly blowing:
Whoosh – how hot?!
Shush – a lot!
Gosh – how hot?!
Like a steaming pot!  

Boiling and toiling, it's ready to roll,
yet the train driver keeps shovelling coal
adding more wagons on wheels of steel,
heavy and huge, the train still until
our first wagon is packed full of crowds,
the second horses and herds of cows.
In the third wagon some chubby boys
stuffing themselves full of saveloys.
The fourth wagon is filled with bananas,
while the fifth holds six grand pianos.
On the sixth wagon I see a huge cannon –
I hope it doesn't flatten our wagon!
The seventh lugging oak tables and chairs,
the eighth quite a zoo, with giraffes and a bear.
In the ninth wagon a pen full of pigs,
and in the tenth trunks, cases and things.
How many wagons? Forty in all,
I've no idea what they all hold!

And if a thousand strong men ate
a thousand steaks, clearing their plates,
and each one huffed and puffed as one,
they couldn't lift it – it's too many tons!

The whistle blows!
Ready to go?
The chimney smokes!
But why so slow?

at first,
like a snail
or a tortoise
the train
is crawling
any purpose.

It tugs at the wagons and pulls them, real slow,
The wheels barely turning, refusing to go,
but it keeps pulling and picking up speed
and knocking and rocking and rolling indeed.

But where to? Oh, where to? Where shall we go?
Up over bridges, rivers running below,
through towns and tunnels, forests and fields
straight down the rails, a racket until
we drum out a rhythm, a beat and a rhyme
and rushing and straining to get there on time.
Lightly and sprightly floating on wheels,
as if it's a ball, not tonnes of pure steel!
Instead of machine, tired from toil,
the tiniest of trifles, a toy of tin foil.

But where is it from, and where does it go?
What is it, how is it, what's pushing it so?
Making it hurry and chatter and flow?
Steam, under pressure, is making it blow
hot air from the boiler, to pistons then shove.
Those pistons then pushing the wheels from above
and chasing and racing and shoving the train,
the steam under pressure still cannot remain,
and so it keeps rocking all the night through:
choo choo... choo choo... choo choo... choo choo choo!!!

"Paul and Gall" ("Paweł i Gaweł")

- Aleksander Fredro

Paul and Gall shared a single home:
Paul lived upstairs and Gall down below;
Paul, a quiet fellow, never bothered a soul.
Gall, his sole neighbour, he was crazy though.

Just stayed in his room with a gun, for real,
running, trying to hunt for his next mad meal,
seeing foxes, rabbits, he would hunt to kill,
jumping up and down, never keeping still. 

Paul had to say something, in spite of the riot,
They were neighbours, right? Gall could not deny it.
'Sir, your hunting ways, can they be more quiet,
else might I suggest a less ambitious diet?'

But Gall screamed: 'I will not be hassled!
I do as I please. My home is my castle!'

What was there to say? Paul went back upstairs,
going crazy now, pulling out his hair.
Gall is sound asleep, he just doesn't care,
yet, when he next wakes, trouble's in the air.

Not just trouble – rain! Dripping from the ceiling,
Gall races upstairs, by Paul's keyhole kneeling
sees a flooded flat, Paul perched on a shelf
with a fishing rod, smiling to himself.

So when Gall then cries: 'Are you mad, by god?!'
Paul replies: 'No sir, I'm fishing for cod.'
'Cod? Have you gone crazy? Stop this now, you rascal!'
To which Paul retorts: 'My home is my castle!'

And so we learn something oh-so true:
As you do by others, they will do by you!

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