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Jeff Diteman |
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Newetat Uwas Keimanis
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Newetat Uwas Tar ye oin senghwiros aperoi kenktet kapom saptet nausai strengobhi dipro yeugt Op gherete, op gherete enebhrend nedobhi gherete Kneko, kneko pewor en medhei apas Atme senghwiroi gheightet memsom ostad plekum kwemen ye mo aitim dewas esti Kneko, kneko pewor en medhei apas Enebhrend-se bhreusend bhreusens kruwei bhreistum senktens bhreusens westum ye mo aitim dewas esti Esrgwom-suo wenobhi altrens esrgwos awetum Kneko, kneko pewor en medhei apas Ita swempte. Apa som kwemte. Enebhrend nedho gheidatas. Bildete apas nkartat! Newe kwosukwe apai senghweti Bdelend leptem tambom bhleighti Iyatad-wuo soldeyi dewas dewotam senghwetum Kneko, kneko pewor en medhei apas. Once there was a singer walking along a riverbank, very hungry, when he spotted something in the water: lashed to a burning raft, a sacrificial goat. And he longed for it, he longed for it! With a watery web of longing! Honey-colored fire in the middle of the river. The singer’s soul yearned to tear flesh from bone, to swallow it up But this is the goddess’s portion! Honey-colored fire in the middle of the river. To soak his soul in bruising, a pile of bruises render, to feast on burnt bruises. (But this is the goddess’s portion!) To dilute his blood in the wine of another’s blood! Honey-colored fire in the middle of the river! So he swam for it. The river swallowed him. Desire’s watery web! Imagine the river’s indifference! Now, he sings in every river and beats his drum of gurgling stone, his punishment, to sing forever the praises of the goddess. Honey-colored fire in the middle of the river. |
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Keimanis Wetis mei bhardai leitebhis lendhebhis-de mem hegati. Bhlomabhis-kom agrens, bhrentabhis-kom bhereghens, bharda solwom gereti. Ameikans gereti, ghostens gereti, aludem kwod bharesem meo awos gorteta gereti. Leitei ne bhredo. Ita kwid? Kwori skeleyo? Wetis mei stlokoi bhredeti. Homebody The wind in my beard speaks to me of distant lands. Fields full of flowers, mountains full of deer, my beard gathers all. It gathers friends, gathers strangers, gathers beer whose barley my grandfather gathered. I don’t travel far. So? Why should I? The wind travels for me. |
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