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. parengė Mikas Vaicekauskas, Vilnius: Lietuvių literatūros ir tautosakos institutas,. , + CD Mp3: Kristijonas Donelaitis, Metai, skaito Rolandas Kazlas, Vilnius.
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You roosters and you hens, leave your dirt-pile a while; Run once again and play before the snowdrifts come; And do not think that we keep you and we feed you Because your clucks are sweet, your crowing sounds so grand.
Language of “The Seasons” and its adornments; 7. The bride’s parents had invited every relative, Racked their heads, and paid out much for the arrangements: Vytautas Vitkauskas, its editor, seeked to present Donelaitis’ text in a more authentic form and to preserve original dialect forms; this redaction was republished in,and He also made a second translation of The Seasons into German.
Only two original idylls survive. Does God give his earthly blessings Everywhere for us, each day, so generously That like any swine, we should devour them always? The features plots, characters, unfolding of narrative etc. What, then, when the time is here to spin and weave And your flax lies wet on the untended fields?
InRheza also published the fables.
All the kinfolk and the neighbors rushed together, Nicely greeted both meyai bridegroom and the done,aitis, Then ran off to Krizas’ house, to entertain them. Six of them survive today. Oratorija “Metai” Video in Lithuanian. Rhesa also was the first to translate the poem into German. They are depicted according to the cyclic understanding of time, history, and life. Ah, where are krkstijonas now, you wondrous days of spring, When we, re-opening the windows of the cottage, Welcomed back your first warm flood of sunshine?
Don’t we know what happens to us all, poor wretches Who, like every green stripling, played and sported? Petersburg by the printing house of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Sweat, too much, has poured across our dirt-streaked faces, Rolled and splashed in streamlets down our noses. Donelaitis had written”The Seasons” in the seventh-eighth decade of the 18th century. His hobbies included building thermometers and barometers, and constructing pianos and clavichords.
Still, you, too, will meet with days of woe and sorrow. It was in this castle that Povilas Pakarklis, during an archaeographic expedition organized by the Academy of Sciences of LSSR, found a manuscript of “The Seasons”, several manuscripts of Professor Ludwig Rhesa and numerous old publications in Lithuanian.
Good it is, the hardships of a winter ended, Finding we’ve a plump reserve that’s comfortable. His father died inleaving seven children four sons and three daughters. The ruins of the Lochstedt castle in the aftermath of a battle. Ah, but why are rich men plagued by such afflictions? The nation is represented by peasants in the poem. Towards the end of World War II, scientists and cultural workers still in the country attempted to collect and to save from destruction documents of scientific and cultural significance.
The Writings published in are thought of as the most complete and the most meticulously prepared edition of Donelaitis’ work.
A new edition of “The Seasons” compiled by literature scholar Juozas Brazaitis — is a representational publication illustrated with wooden engravings by Vytautas Kazimieras Jonynas — and published in in Kaunas on the initiative of the Book Publishing Commission at the Ministry for Education.
Till the fields bring donlaitis, let us not tire of waiting. Listen, how the road, when skipping wheels try to strike it, Rattles — having frozen — like a well-tightened snaredrum So resounding that its sound keeps echoing in you.
It contains the entirety dohelaitis Donelaitis’ oeuvre: Thus the world begins again to welcome the winter.
Kristijonas Donelaitis “Metai” by Laima Kuusaitė on Prezi
Earth, besmirched, is churned and shattered into chunks, Fields in patches swim and splatter, drowning everywhere, Rain, splish-splashing, washes down the backs of folks, Bast shoes, stuffed in shabby boots, soak up the water, While they stomp and knead foul mud like dough.
When, at times, we catch a kristimonas of your attire, Then like peasant, sparrow, you appear to us. Daily dimming, she begrudges us her radiance, Daily longer, shadows yawn and stretch before us. The relations of a human being a peasant with the nature and the God are disclosed, as well as the relations among the people, the peasants and the landlords.
Garments of the nobles, exquisitely sewn, And their showy headdress you would scorn to wear; Always, like a peasant-woman, plain, you chatter. Don’t we all know how we’re born, with everyone naked.
For now the winter’s chills and frosts were at an end, And the enchanting spring wrought wonders everywhere. It is wonderful to see how the forests of pinetrees Show up everywhere, with curly crests, and bearded, And, like powdered dandies, stand with elbows akimbo.
Walls and braces, beams, and many solid rafters Winter gales had loosened from the roof of straw. Women, as for you, why do you grow so idle?