Kristijono Donelaičio Metai Europos nacionalinio epo tradicijoje The Seasons by Kristijonas Donelaitis in the Tradition of European. National Epics “The Seasons” by itis is an epic poem of the Lithuanians from Lithuania Minor. This epic poem, as usual for this genre, embraces the whole life of the.

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Nefolk rated it it was amazing Sep 13, All these meats the Krizas’ cook so chopped and pounded, Violently boiled and roasted for the wedding, Such a roar and tumult all along the street Startled village neighbor Pauluks with amazement. The author recognizes certain desirable traits in the newcomers.

Kristijonas Donelaitis

And how often, as we hop and skip so gaily, Reaper Death .kdonelaitis in with wicked pox, to strangle Or to rack and twist the feeble wretch with ague.

There, already, we have gone past Martinmas, and Advent now, with Christmas, is almost upon us. The Seasons most probably in its German translation [2] was highly valued by Adam Mickiewicz [3] and has inspired him to write a poem, Konrad Wallenrod. As they ate with pleasure in the peasant style, Krizas called the servants, and they soon came in Bearing strong beer in a barrel on a litter, While the helpers hurried in with wedding pitchers, Straining draught and heavy draught of milky beer, Since a thickish beer that slides along the palate In great gulps will too soon satiate the stomach.

The Seasons (poem)

Kristijonas Donelaitis m. Slaughtered three cows that were barren, and two oxen; No count did the butcher make of pigs and mutton; Of the geese and chickens, only one remained.

Again the sun abandons us, she trundles upward, Turns so soon and down the west she sinks so quickly! Why are you forever hidden, Singing as the darkness falls, and through the night? Donelaitis had written”The Seasons” in the seventh-eighth decade of the 18th century.

Our own lamp, how it flames, Chars already garlands of the earth, and slow Alchemist, transfuses their splendor into fodder!

Calls of cuckoo, warblings of the nightingale, What the skylarks, paired in flight, played and invented, All are ending, or have now completely ended.


What, then, when the time is here to spin and weave And your flax lies wet on the untended fields?

Kristijonas Donelaitis – Wikipedia

His third brother, Adam, became a blacksmith and innkeeper. We, decrepit ancients, we, the hunched old wretches, Like you, we’ve hopped down the avenues of Eden — Just like you, we celebrated our young summer.

What’s the good that Mikols gives the world his presence, Bobbles bloated paunch, himself puffed like a bladder? The bride’s parents had invited every relative, Racked their heads, and paid out much for the arrangements: In the fall and winter we take to our bedding And snore, all nestled up beside the kindly oven.

None of Donelaitis’s works were published during his lifetime. No trivia or quizzes yet. So at once the world’s almost as if renewed. The nation is represented by peasants in the poem.

Some plucked lordling often seems to laugh at peasants, And the fool, who smiles, despises their hard labors, As if he could keep his footing without peasants Or take pleasure in his cakes without their dung? May he meet, God willing, every spring robustly, May he go on merrymaking into summer.

This book is not yet featured on Listopia. The narrative of the poem is often interrupted by asides, didactic passages and lyrical reflections.

Woodcut from “The Seasons” by V. Often, as we slaved, rain water washed our backs, Our skulls roasted in the stifling heat of day. Your voice silences the organ and the cymbal. Through chink and opening they swarmed in clouds To play their tuneful pipes in the mild air.

Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. Some had returned in worn and shabby feathered garb, Some carried back a maimed or broken wing or k.fonelaitis, Though in the fields they found but little sustenance, They did not grieve and no heart-breaking tears were shed; They all sang their merry melodies.

Well, you see then, how the brief life we call human And the flowering, falling blossoms are the same.

The main merits of human beings are laboriousness, piousness, truthfulness, faithfulness to traditions and customs of the nation; the greatest vices are laziness, irreverence, cruelty, acceptance of alien fashions and habits. He lived and worked in Lithuania Minor, a territory in the Kingdom of Prussia, that had a sizable minority of ethnic Lithuanians. People in The Seasons are drawn realistically, with their labors, experiences, cares, and primitive mentalityabounding with metsi.


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 k.donelairis you and we feed you Because your clucks are k.donelqitis, your crowing sounds so grand.

Metai / The Seasons – Kristijonas Donelaitis

Mindaugas Meilutis rated it it was amazing May 02, O our ancient times, wherever k.donelaltis you gone, When our women did not put on German garb And could not pronounce the German words and phrases? Classic Lithuanian Literature Anthology. Autumn toilsstaged in By k.donwlaitis this site, you agree to the Terms mmetai Use and Privacy Policy. Some sang in lower key, some soared to heights of tone: God grant this to each who, loving his Lithuania, Tends his chores as serf and, faithful, speaks Lithuanian.

Some flew far, far above, up to the silvery clouds: Come now, let us part — an end to prattle! It has long stepped over the borders of Lithuanian literature: Often in muggy heat we gulped at thin flat beer Or scooped up from puddles draughts of clouded water.

Many of us, bloated to the full, stupidly, Find a taste for singing German songs and curses, And like Germans, run to taverns every day. Metai by Kristijonas Donelaitis. K.doneliatis the other hand, the language is full of unique metaphorspersonificationsanalogies, and hyperbolas which make it highly poetical.

Great oaf, Diksas, with his swollen urban airs And his glittering clothes, each day reviewed, renewed, Like an idol, preens his cockscomb for the peasants; But when we must witness all his foolish gabble, Even simple peasantry must spit, and wonder That such pompous, blinded louts can scorn the Lord, And like squires grinning, show off their stupidity.