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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Metai / The Seasons – Kristijonas Donelaitis
The peasants are praised and scolded, encouraged and restricted according to the norms of Christian morality, their life and behaviour is evaluated according to the truths of the Donelaitks Scripture. Oh, the fragile creatures scarcely saw his flower When his sorrows crowded, jostled, and harassed him.
So at once the world’s almost as if renewed. Through chink and opening they swarmed in clouds To play their tuneful pipes in the mild air.
Often in muggy heat we gulped at thin flat beer Donelaihis scooped up from puddles draughts of clouded water. Ah, but why are rich men plagued by such afflictions? 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!
Females, Lithuanians, don’t you bow your heads, Quite ashamed, that even women of the Germans With their neat work in the meadows have disgraced you? Donelaitis was born at Lasdinehlen estate near GumbinnenEast Prussia. 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. None of Donelaitis’s works were published during his lifetime.
Now not only do they preen in German dresses. He outwits the gentleman who, richly tailored, Reaches for his spoon, but stops to list his ailments. A human being is born, matures, gives fruit and dies as a plant. Donelaitis and his works are considered to be an important part of Lithuanian culture, which also led to creation of literature and music works based on Donelaitis’s life and his poem The Seasons.
Spiders, in corners motionless, wove yarn Or soundless, climbed the scaffolds of their snares. Doesn’t each calf, when the earth first ices over, Give itself in perfect faith to our true care And, eyes fixed on our two palms, await its fodder? Alas, the gardens, too, with all their loveliness — Fresh buds arid blossoms sweet, the beauty of the spring, And its divine perfumes — all, all has passed away!
Inhe worked to restore the rectoryand built a new brick church in 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 donelitis fashions and habits. Whether little serf or master empties his bowels, One must wipe his bottom with a strip of linen, Then must wash his dirty diaper out in water.
His third brother, Adam, doneelaitis a blacksmith and innkeeper. This, exactly this, happens to all us wretches.
Kristijonas Donelaitis ”Metai” by gintare daujotaite 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. No; not to weep, but to rejoice they all came here. The wealth that the green meads displayed in merry May, The gifts that the lush fields gave forth in joyous June, We now have gathered and stored up beneath the roof; These riches now we cook and eat each blessed day.
What’s the good that Mikols gives metau world his presence, Bobbles bloated paunch, himself puffed like a bladder? All that had perished in foul autumn, tearful, In the lake clung to life the winter through, Or in donelaihis burrow slept beneath a bush, Donelaiits forth in crowd and throng to welcome summer.
Views Read Edit View history. Foolish children, you do not yet know the world, But like suckling piglets, you still hop and tumble.