My very own translation of a little poem by Jan Brzechwa (January 2019)
In a vase stood a tulip and a rose.
The tulip said:
„It may be so,
That I resent,
That nobody airs the room, incredibly stuffy,
In such temperature I am not able to thrive.
At least let the housewife open a small window,
Yesterday I felt bad already, and today – even worse!”
The rose replied:
„Mr Tulip,
Please, don’t bother, and stop to grouse.
You are an egoist and selfish! How can you
Demand airing, when it’s such a chill outside?
If you won’t be silent, i will cut your tongue!
My health is so fragile, my petals velvet,
My stalks delicate, I’m afraid of draft,
I shiver at once, when they air the rooms,
The fragrance, the tint I can loose in the slightest malady,
It does not perturb you mister, you think of yourself!”
The Tulip said:
„It may be so,
That you judge in error,
As is known, a flower withers without air,
But if madame orders – I’ll gladly sacrifice myself,
For the beautiful rose – everything! And let’s not talk anymore!
Let the windows remain closed. The rooms
Without air. What a pity!”
And they withered both.
The next morning the housewife, regretting the loss,
Deposed the two withered flowers at a pile of compost.
