Andrej Šifrer - Neiztrohnjeno srce

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_iXUv6GlZs

looks like old Slovene? dunno, but i couldn't understand much :x sounds nice though, dude has an awesome voice, better than vlado kreslin imo.

Neiztrohnjeno srce

Grob kopljejo, de zadnji mrlič bo vanjga dján;
obraz bledga mladenča prikaže se na dan.
Kopači ostrmijo, de 'z ust njih sape ni,
manj vstrášeni pogrebci vanj vpirajo oči.

De je lepó, bi sodil, visoko čelo, vsak,
ak bil bi nekakóvi zapustil ga oblak;
bile lepé bi usta, lep bil obraz bi bled,
ak bil bi nekakóvi preč nejevolje sled.

Dalj čas ni trupla gledat, dih prvi ga zdrobi;
srce samo zavzetim ostane pred očmi.
še bije, še čutiti je ravno tak gorkó,
ko, de bilo bi v prsih še zdravo in živó.

Vsi prašajo, kdo zadnji v to jamo djan je bil,
gotovo bil svetnik je, ker ni ves v grobu zgnil.
Stal tam je kamen, kterga nihče préd čislal ní,
hité mu mah otrebit, napis tak govori,

de Dobroslav je pevec bil tjékej pokopan,
ki pel v tak milih glasih je od ljubezni ran,
pel v tak slovečih pesmah čast lepe deklice,
prevzetne gospodične, nemile ljubice.

Al, ko si je zvolila mladenča druzega,
iz prs nobena njemu ni pesem več prišla.
Pri Bogu ni tolažbe iskál ne pri ljudeh,
oči kalil mu jok ni, razjasnil lic ne smeh.

Vnemár naprej je živel, manj svet, ko razujzdan,
umrl je nespovedan, in ne v svet' olje djan.
Vsi pravijo, de njemu svetost ne brani gnit,
vsi pravijo, njegovo srcé ne more bít.

"To pevčovo srce je," star mož tam govori,
"ak bi bilo svetnika, bi mir mu dala kri;
svetost ne, pesmi večne mu branijo trohnet,
ki jih zaprte v prsih je nosil dókaj let.

Mi mu srce odprimo, pod nebam naj leži,
de dan današnji prejde, de prva noč miní,
de vstane drugo sonce, pripelje beli dan;
spet zájtro ga poglejmo, ko mine zor hladan.

Hladijo naj ga sapce, naj rosa pade nanj,
naj sonce, luna, zvezde, kar so mu pevskih sanj
préd vdihnile v življenji, prejmejo spet 'z njega;
ak bo ta čas splahnelo, spet zagrebímo ga."

Razplátili srce so, ležalo noč in dan
je tam pod jasnim nebam, ko mine zor hladán,
ko vstane drugo sonce, srce tako skopni,
ko beli sneg spomladi, de kaj zagrebsti ni.


thanks!

Oh, this is a lyric of a poem, written by our national poet France Prešeren (1800 - 1849). This poem was written in 1845 so the language is old and a bit unusual nowadays, so the translation is very complicated. However, if I find any translation of this poem on the internet, I will publish it here

here you go, better late than never

France Preseren
The still beating heart

A grave is being spaded for one who has just died;
A face appears - a young man is lying there inside.
The diggers stop in horror, they hardly can draw breath;
Those less afraid stare close at the pale face of death.

The forhead anyone would full handsome, fair have found,
Had not some cloud deep thereupon left its shade profound;
The mouth would have been handsome, as also would the face,
Had not some discontent on them left a bitter trace.

They look down at the body; their breath turns it to dust.
Alone the heart remains there, to every eye`s mistrust.
It`s beating still, they hear it, as fierce and without rest
As if it were yet beating within a living breast.

They ask, who was the last to be buried in this grave -
A saint for sure, they think, since he did the rot outbrave.
A yet unnoticed gravestone is standing at its head;
They clean the moss off quickly; these words can then be read :

Of Dobroslav the singer here lie the last remains,
Who sang in sweetest measures about love`s bitter pains.
He sang in famous verses of one for whom he yearned,
A proud and lovely maiden who his attention spurned.

When for another youth she undying love confessed,
No single song thereafter was born within his breast.
Complaints he did not utter, to neither God nor peers,
No laughter lit his features, his eyes were void of tears.

He lived not as a saint, but his duties he denied;
Without the holy oil and the final rites he died.
They say he must have mouldered, no holy man was he;
They say another`s heart there for certain it must be.

"It is a poet`s heart," an old man they hear attest,
"For if it were a saint`s, his blood would let him rest.
Not saintliness the mouldering delayed - eternal song
It was that he had stored in his breast those years so long.

His heart now let us open and leave beneath the sky
Until today is over and one full night`s gone by,
Until tomorrow`s sunrise, until daylight, and then
When the cold dawn is over, we`ll lool at it again.

Let gentle breezes cool it, let it be damped by dew,
Let sun and moon and starlight what they his long life throuogh
Inspired in him, those dreams, now take back all that they gave.
If in that time it`s mouldered, then back into the grave."

They opened up the heart and it lay there night and day,
Beneath the crystal heaven, till dawn had passed away.
At sunrise see the heart now, of heartbeat quite bereft,
Fast melt like snow in spring time; to bury nothing`s left.




translated by Tom M.S. Priestly and Henry R. Cooper, Jr.