Įdomiausias „Metų” veikėjas. Jis yra visiems žinomas, visų mėgstamas, sugebantis visiems įtikti kaimo seniūnas. Tarpininkas tarp būrų ir ponų. Kristijonas Donelaitis was a Prussian Lithuanian poet and Lutheran pastor. He lived and worked in Lithuania Minor, a territory in the Kingdom of Prussia, that had a sizable Lithuanian-speaking minority. He wrote the first classic Lithuanian language poem, The Seasons (Lithuanian: Metai). Kristijonas Donelaitis’ Metai in der Tradi- tion nationaler Epen in Europa / Kristijono Donelaičio Metai. Europos nacionalinių epų tradicijoje.
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Donelaitis lived in Tollmingkehmen from until his death in Skeletal Death racks all the shrubs and candid forests, And the tempest tears and wastes away their beauties: Often Lithuanians also number bounders Who can hop about and speak in Lithuanian, Yet bring their disgrace on us like real Germans!
So they both at once, like all good homemakers, Donelitis to the task: From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Historical Dictionary of Lithuania. Haven’t we, as peasants must, run to our serfdom, Manured furrows, strewn, plowed, and scattered grain, Mowed the hay and raked it, spread about the litter, And all earthly blessings gathered into barns? Some sang in lower key, some soared to heights of tone: Classic Lithuanian Literature Anthology.
Inhe passed the required examination to become a pastor in Tollmingkehmen. His hobbies included building thermometers and barometers, and constructing pianos and clavichords.
Kristijonas Donelaitis – Metai The Seasons. Ah, at least let’s hasten to warm up our cottages, In good husbandry ready the sheds for cattle, And donelaitls sure that not a newborn piglet freezes.
God grant this to each who, eonelaitis his Lithuania, Tends his chores as serf and, faithful, speaks Lithuanian.
Like a vision which, through sleep, we saw so surely Yet, on waking, shyly shared and barely mentioned, That was how the joy of summer passed away Later, with the time already here to blossom, One, foppishly skipping like a gentleman, And another, scurrying donelajtis a peasant boor, Waste their days of youth away in foolish frolic. Each man at his birth is like a simple bud — First his blossom will unfold and open out, Then, his flowering over and himself divested.
Branches where the birdlings, hatched in heavy leafage, In the sonelaitis, as in a cradle, cried and twittered, Or later plump with feathers, flew about and chattered, And aflight.
All that had perished in foul autumn, tearful, In the lake clung to life the winter through, Or in some burrow slept beneath a bush, Crept forth in crowd and throng to welcome summer.
His father died inleaving seven children four sons and three daughters.
And rats with skunks walked out of their cold crannies As crows, ravens and magpies, with the owls, Mice and their offspring and the moles, praised warmth. After the school rector died, Donelaitis took over his position. Why do you not pluck and hatchel the flax properly?
Donelaitis was born at Lasdinehlen estate near GumbinnenEast Prussia. And how often, as we hop and skip so gaily, Reaper Death moves in with wicked pox, to strangle Or to rack and twist the feeble wretch with ague. Spiders, in corners motionless, wove yarn Or soundless, climbed the scaffolds of their snares.
The main merits of human beings are laboriousness, piousness, truthfulness, faithfulness to traditions and mefai of the nation; the greatest vices dobelaitis laziness, irreverence, cruelty, acceptance of alien fashions and habits. How they grunt and groan in town and country manor While the summer comes to cheer us with a visit; There’s one with his gout, he’s bawling loud and loutish, There’s another, how he bellows for a doctor!
Ah, among all peoples, many times it happens That we look with greed on the world’s petty changes. It was a wondrous thing that of the endless flock None of the warblers wept when reaching our dear shore.
Kristijonas Donelaitis : Metai | About text |
God appoints a civil place for every person: Walls and braces, beams, and many solid rafters Winter gales had loosened from the roof of straw.
You, in millennia before we could reflect, Knew already how we should be brought to Light, Knew our needs when we should come to meet that day Look, how everywhere on pondwater panes are appearing Just as, in that house, a glazier is putting in windows. Truly, after suckling, as his soul requires, Carefree, grows each day, climbs slowly from his bud, Yet the blossom does not flower in one day, Many days must pass before his bud can burst And display, quite open, all his hidden beauty.
Texts list Authors list lt.
Come now, donelairis us part — an end to prattle! Faithful as a true companion, I’ve instructed you, Not in German, not in French have I praised you, But in peasant manner, like a trusted friend I have spoken openly, as words came to me.
Calls of cuckoo, warblings of the nightingale, What the skylarks, paired in flight, played and invented, All are ending, or have now completely ended.