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Fairy Tales - A Rose from Homer’s Grave

by Hans Christian Andersen


All the songs of the east speak of the love of the nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. The winged songster serenades the fragrant flowers.
Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant drives his loaded camels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath the lofty pines over holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses. The turtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as the sunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they were mother-of-pearl. On the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful than them all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes; but the rose remained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of sympathy on her leaves. At last she bowed her head over a heap of stones, and said, “Here rests the greatest singer in the world; over his tomb will I spread my fragrance, and on it I will let my leaves fall when the storm scatters them. He who sung of Troy became earth, and from that earth I have sprung. I, a rose from the grave of Homer, am too lofty to bloom for a nightingale.” Then the nightingale sung himself to death. A camel-driver came by, with his loaded camels and his black slaves; his little son found the dead bird, and buried the lovely songster in the grave of the great Homer, while the rose trembled in the wind.
The evening came, and the rose wrapped her leaves more closely round her, and dreamed: and this was her dream.
It was a fair sunshiny day; a crowd of strangers drew near who had undertaken a pilgrimage to the grave of Homer. Among the strangers was a minstrel from the north, the home of the clouds and the brilliant lights of the aurora borealis. He plucked the rose and placed it in a book, and carried it away into a distant part of the world, his fatherland. The rose faded with grief, and lay between the leaves of the book, which he opened in his own home, saying, “Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.”
Then the flower awoke from her dream, and trembled in the wind. A drop of dew fell from the leaves upon the singer’s grave. The sun rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. The day was hot, and she was still in her own warm Asia. Then footsteps approached, strangers, such as the rose had seen in her dream, came by, and among them was a poet from the north; he plucked the rose, pressed a kiss upon her fresh mouth, and carried her away to the home of the clouds and the northern lights. Like a mummy, the flower now rests in his “Iliad,” and, as in her dream, she hears him say, as he opens the book, “Here is a rose from the grave of Homer.”

Artinya ;

Fairy Tales - A Rose from Homer's Grave Fairy
oleh Hans Christian Andersen


Semua lagu dari timur berbicara tentang kasih burung bulbul untuk mawar cahaya bintang di malam yang hening. The winged songster serenades the fragrant flowers. Serenades biduan bersayap bunga-bunga yang harum.
Tak jauh dari Smirna, di mana pedagang unta dimuat drive-nya, dengan bangga melengkungkan leher panjang mereka sebagai perjalanan mereka di bawah pohon-pohon pinus yang tinggi di atas tanah yang kudus, aku melihat pagar mawar. Kura-kura-burung merpati terbang di antara dahan-dahan pohon tinggi, dan ketika sinar matahari jatuh di atas sayapnya, mereka berkilau seolah-olah mereka ibu-of-mutiara. Pada tumbuh semak mawar bunga, lebih indah dari mereka semua, dan ke dinyanyikan burung bulbul kesengsaraan-Nya, tetapi mawar tetap diam, bahkan tidak berbaring seperti titik embun air mata simpati di daun. Akhirnya ia menundukkan kepala di atas tumpukan batu-batu, dan berkata, "Ini didasarkan penyanyi terbesar di dunia; atas makam akan Aku merentangkan aroma, dan di sana Aku akan membiarkan daun jatuh ketika badai menceraiberaikan mereka. Dia yang dinyanyikan of Troy menjadi bumi, dan dari bumi saya telah bermunculan. Aku, yang bangkit dari makam Homer, aku terlalu tinggi untuk mekar bagi burung bulbul. "Lalu burung bulbul dinyanyikan sendiri sampai mati. Sebuah unta-driver datang, dengan penuh unta dan budak hitam; anak kecilnya menemukan burung mati, dan dikuburkan biduan yang indah di makam Homer besar, sementara mawar gemetar dalam angin.
Malam datang, dan mawar dibungkus daun nya lebih dekat sekelilingnya, dan bermimpi: dan ini adalah mimpinya.
Itu adalah hari cerah yang adil; kerumunan orang-orang asing mendekat yang telah melaksanakan ziarah ke makam Homer. Di antara orang-orang asing adalah seorang penyanyi dari utara, rumah dari awan dan lampu-lampu cemerlang aurora borealis. Dia memetik mawar itu dan menempatkannya dalam sebuah buku, dan membawanya menjadi jauh bagian dari dunia, tanah air. Mawar pudar dengan kesedihan, dan berbaring di antara daun buku, yang dibuka di rumahnya sendiri, berkata, "Ini adalah bangkit dari kuburan Homer."
Setetes embun jatuh dari daun atas makam penyanyi. The sun rose, and the flower bloomed more beautiful than ever. Matahari terbit, dan bunga bermekaran lebih indah daripada sebelumnya. Hari itu panas, dan dia masih di Asia hangat sendiri. Kemudian langkah kaki mendekat, orang-orang asing, seperti mawar yang dilihatnya dalam mimpinya, datang, dan di antara mereka adalah seorang penyair dari utara; ia memetik mawar, mengecup mulut segar kepadanya, dan membawanya pergi ke rumah awan dan cahaya utara.” Seperti mumi, sekarang bunga terletak dalam "Iliad," dan, seperti dalam mimpinya, dia mendengar dia berkata, ketika ia membuka buku, "Ini adalah bangkit dari kuburan Homer."


Why the Sky is So High



A folktale from Bengal India, retold by Rohini Chowdhury
Long ago, the Sky was quite low. If you stood on a stool and stretched your hands up as high as they would go, you could touch the Sky.
At that time, far on the Horizon, where the Sky was always especially low, there was a village. In that village, in a little mud hut thatched with straw, there lived a bent Old Woman.
This bent Old Woman was the oldest woman in that village, possibly the oldest woman in the world. She was so old she no longer remembered any other way of being. She lived all alone in her little mud hut, for she had neither friend nor family left in this world. She had nowhere to go and no one to talk to. So all day long, she would potter round her hut, first cleaning this corner, now dusting that, now scrubbing this bit of floor, now sweeping that. The bent Old Woman thought of nothing else any more, except more and more ways of sweeping and scrubbing her little mud hut.
One hot summer, the land was dry with thirst. There was dust everywhere - on the trees, on the roofs of huts and houses, in people's throats and eyes, even in the air. All over the village people were coughing and sneezing and choking with the dust. Even the poor old Sky was not spared - it was so close to the ground that the slightest bit of wind would set it coughing with the dust that rose from the parched land.
The bent Old Woman's hut too was covered with dust. The old woman swept and swept and swept the little hut with her broom. She swept the inside of her hut, she swept the outside of her hut, she swept the front step and she swept the front yard. But the dust rose all around her in great brown clouds - the more she swept and plied her broom, the more the dust that rose from the earth.
The poor Sky began to choke with all the dust that the bent Old Woman was raising with her broom. The dust got into its throat and tickled its nose and made it sneeze - a great big sneeze that shook the world with its thunder. People covered their heads and ran indoors in fright. But the bent Old Woman barely noticed - she kept on sweeping with her broom.
The Sky sneezed again - the dust was becoming unbearable. It got into its eyes and made them water - so that great heavy drops of rain began falling into the dry dust below. The bent Old Woman barely noticed - till finally a big splodgy raindrop fell right on to the patch she had just swept.
The bent Old Woman glared at the Sky and scrubbed the splodgy raindrop away. But then another raindrop fell, and another, till her swept and scrubbed front step was blotchy with raindrops.
This was more than the bent Old Woman could bear. She stood up as straight as she could with her bent old back and shook her fist at the Sky yelling at it to stop raining on her nice clean front step. She cursed the Sky and threatened it, but the poor old Sky couldn't stop raining - its eyes were still so full of dust with all her sweeping.
At last, the bent Old Woman was so angry, that she picked up her broom, and thwacked the Sky with it.
The Sky gave another great sneeze and jumped out of her way. But the bent Old Woman kept thwacking it with her broom, again and again and again.
Finally the Sky could take it no more - the dust, the Old Woman's cursing, and especially her broom, thwacking it again and again and again. Sneezing and coughing, thundering and raining, the Sky flew up, up and away - out of reach of the Old Woman's broom and swore never to come down again.
So that is why the Sky is so high. Even on the Horizon, where it seems to be touching the earth, it really isn't any more.

Artinya:

Mengapa Sky is So High
Sebuah cerita rakyat dari Bengal India, diceritakan kembali oleh Rohini Chowdhury
Dahulu kala, langit cukup rendah. Jika Anda berdiri di bangku dan mengulurkan tangan Anda, lebih tinggi mereka akan pergi, Anda bisa menyentuh Sky.
Pada saat itu, jauh di Horizon, di mana Sky selalu terutama rendah, ada sebuah desa. Di desa itu, di sebuah gubuk lumpur kecil beratap jerami dengan jerami, hiduplah seorang membungkuk Old Woman.
Perempuan Tua tertekuk ini adalah wanita tertua di desa itu, mungkin wanita tertua di dunia. Dia begitu lama ia tak lagi ingat cara lain untuk menjadi. Dia tinggal sendirian di pondok lumpur kecil, karena ia tidak memiliki teman atau keluarga yang tersisa di dunia ini. Dia punya tempat untuk pergi dan tidak ada orang untuk diajak bicara. Jadi sepanjang hari, ia akan potter sekelilingnya gubuk, pertama membersihkan sudut ini, sekarang debu itu, sekarang sedikit menggosok lantai ini, sekarang menyapu itu. Perempuan yang tertekuk Lama memikirkan apa-apa yang lain lagi, kecuali lebih banyak dan lebih banyak cara menyapu dan menggosok lumpur kecilnya pondok.
Satu musim panas, tanah kering dengan rasa haus. Ada debu di mana-mana - di pohon-pohon, di atap gubuk dan rumah-rumah, di leher orang-orang dan mata, bahkan di udara. Seluruh orang-orang desa batuk dan bersin dan tersedak dengan debu. Bahkan Sky malang tidak luput - itu begitu dekat dengan tanah yang sedikit saja angin akan meletakkannya batuk dengan debu yang bangkit dari tanah kering.
Perempuan yang tertekuk gubuk Lama juga tertutup debu. Wanita tua menyapu dan menyapu dan menyapu gubuk kecil dengan sapu. Dia menyapu bagian dalam gubuknya, ia menyapu bagian luar gubuknya, ia menyapu tangga depan dan ia menyapu halaman depan. Tetapi debu bangkit di sekelilingnya dalam cokelat besar awan - semakin ia menyapu dan menghujani dia sapu, semakin banyak debu yang bangkit dari bumi.
Masyarakat miskin Sky mulai tercekik dengan semua debu yang membungkuk Lama Perempuan itu membesarkan dengan sapu. Debu masuk ke dalam tenggorokan dan menggelitik hidung dan membuatnya bersin - bersin yang sangat besar yang mengguncang dunia dengan guntur. Orang-orang menutupi kepala mereka dan berlari ketakutan di dalam ruangan. Tapi membungkuk Perempuan tua nyaris tidak menyadari - dia terus menyapu dengan sapu.
The Sky bersin lagi - debu menjadi tak tertahankan. Itu masuk ke mata dan membuat mereka air - berat besar sehingga tetes hujan mulai jatuh ke dalam debu kering di bawah ini. Perempuan Tua yang tertekuk nyaris tidak menyadari - sampai akhirnya bernoda besar tetes air hujan jatuh tepat ke patch yang baru saja menyapu.
Perempuan Tua yang tertekuk memelototi Sky dan menggosok bernoda rintik hujan menjauh. Tapi kemudian rintik hujan yang lain jatuh, dan lagi, sampai dia menyapu dan menggosok langkah depan jerawat dengan air hujan.
Ini adalah lebih daripada membungkuk Old Perempuan dapat beruang.. Dia berdiri lurus seperti dia bisa dengan tua bungkuk ke belakang dan menggelengkan tinju di Sky berteriak pada itu untuk menghentikan hujan di tangga depan bersih bagus. Dia mengutuk Sky dan mengancam itu, tapi orang miskin Sky tua tidak bisa menghentikan hujan - matanya masih penuh debu dengan seluruh menyapu.
Akhirnya, Perempuan Tua yang tertekuk sangat marah, bahwa ia mengambil sapu, dan thwacked the Sky dengan itu.
Sky memberikan besar lainnya bersin dan melompat keluar dari jalan. Tapi membungkuk Old Perempuan terus thwacking itu dengan sapu, lagi dan lagi dan lagi.
Akhirnya the Sky bisa menerimanya tidak lebih - debu, Old Woman's mengutuki, dan terutama dia sapu, thwacking lagi dan lagi dan lagi. Bersin dan batuk, gemuruh dan hujan, Sky terbang naik, naik dan pergi - keluar dari jangkauan Lama Woman's sapu dan bersumpah tidak pernah turun lagi.
Jadi itulah sebabnya Langit begitu tinggi. Bahkan pada Horizon, di mana tampaknya menyentuh bumi, sebenarnya tidak lagi.