Queenの歌詞とSpontaneous Me”(「自発的な私｣)

Queen Lyrics

https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/queen/awinterstale.html

"A Winter's Tale"

It's winter-fall
Red skies are gleaming - oh -
Sea gulls are flying over
Swans are floatin' by
Smoking chimney-tops
Am I dreaming
Am I dreaming ...?

The nights draw in
There's silky moon up in the sky - yeah -
Children are fantisising
Grown-ups are standin' by
What a super feeling
Am I dreaming
Am I dreaming ...?
woh-woh-woh-woh

(draming)
So quiet and peaceful
Tranquil and blissful
There's a kind of magic in the air
What a truly magnificent view
A breathtaking scene
With the dreams of the world
In the palm of your hand

(draming)
A cosy fireside chat
A little this, a little that
Sound of merry laughter skippin' by
Gentle rain beatin' on my face
What an extraordinary place!
And the dream of the child
Is the hope of the man

It's all so beautiful
Like a landscape painting in the sky - yeah -
Mountains are zoomin' higher - mm -
Little girls scream an' cry
My world is spinnin' and spinnin' and spinnin'
It's unbelievable
Sends me reeling
Am I dreaming...
Am I dreaming...?
Oooh - it' a bliss.


ウィンターズ・テイル

http://www5f.biglobe.ne.jp/~lerxst21/queen/heaven.html#wintertale より

冬が訪れる
赤みを帯びた空が輝いている
かもめたちは頭上を飛び去っていき
白鳥たちは水面を滑っていく
煙突のてっぺんから昇っていく煙
僕は夢を見ているのだろうか――
これは夢なのだろうか――？

夜の帳が下りて
空には絹のような月が出て
子供たちは空想にふけり
大人たちは見守っている
なんて超越した感覚なのだろう
僕は夢を見ているのだろうか――
これは夢なのだろうか――？

（夢を見ている）
とても静かで、平和な気分だ
静寂と至福に満たされて
あたりには、魔法のような雰囲気が溢れている
本当に素晴らしい、なんて壮大な眺めだろう
この手のひらに
世界中の夢をのせて
なんと息を飲むようなシーンだろう

（夢を見ている）
炎の側での、気持ちのいいお喋り
ちょっとした、あんなことやこんなこと
陽気な笑い声がさざめいて消える
柔らかい雨が僕の顔を濡らす
ここはなんて桁外れな場所なのだろう
そして子供の夢は
大人の希望なのだ

すべてがとても美しい
空に描かれた風景画のように
山々が、はるか高く聳え立ち
小さな女の子たちが声をあげ、泣いたりしている
僕の世界は回る、ぐるぐると回っている
信じられないよ
くるくる回されているような気分だ
僕は夢を見ているのだろうか
これは、夢なんだろうか――
ああ――至福の感覚だ

Beautiful dripping fragments.
The negligent list
of one after another,
as I happen to call them to me.
Or drink to them.
The real poems, what we call poems,
being merely pictures. The poems of the privacy of the night.
And of men like me.
This poem, drooping shy and unseen,
that I always carry. And that all men carry

したたり落ちる美しい断片たち、
たまたまぼくが彼らのことを想い出したり心に浮かべたりするたびに
一つまた一つと野放図に増えてゆく目録、
本当の詩、(ぼくらが詩と称しているものは実はただの絵空事)、
夜の秘めごとが歌う詩、それからぼくのような男たちが作り出す詩、
ぼくがいつも携え、男なら誰でも携えている人目につかぬ場所で内気に垂れさがっているこの詩・・・

Spontaneous Me
Walt Whitman, 1819 - 1892

Spontaneous me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with,
The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder,
The hill-side whiten’d with blossoms of the mountain ash,
The same, late in autumn—the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple, and light and dark green,
The rich coverlid of the grass—animals and birds—the private untrimm’d bank—
the primitive apples—the pebble-stones,
Beautiful dripping fragments—the negligent list of one after another, as I happen to call
them to me, or think of them,
The real poems, (what we call poems being merely pictures,)
The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me,
This poem, drooping shy and unseen, that I always carry, and that all men carry,
(Know, once for all, avow’d on purpose, wherever are men like me, are our lusty, lurking,
masculine poems;)
Love-thoughts, love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding, love-climbers, and the climbing sap,
Arms and hands of love—lips of love—phallic thumb of love—breasts of
love—bellies press’d and glued together with love,
Earth of chaste love—life that is only life after love,
The body of my love—the body of the woman I love—the body of the man—the body of
the earth,
Soft forenoon airs that blow from the south-west,
The hairy wild-bee that murmurs and hankers up and down—that gripes the full-grown
lady-flower, curves upon her with amorous firm legs, takes his will of her, and holds himself
tremulous and tight till he is satisfied,
The wet of woods through the early hours,
Two sleepers at night lying close together as they sleep, one with an arm slanting down across
and below the waist of the other,
The smell of apples, aromas from crush’d sage-plant, mint, birch-bark,
The boy’s longings, the glow and pressure as he confides to me what he was dreaming,
The dead leaf whirling its spiral whirl, and falling still and content to the ground,
The no-form’d stings that sights, people, objects, sting me with,
The hubb’d sting of myself, stinging me as much as it ever can any one,
The sensitive, orbic, underlapp’d brothers, that only privileged feelers may be intimate where
they are,
The curious roamer, the hand, roaming all over the body—the bashful withdrawing of flesh
where the fingers soothingly pause and edge themselves,
The limpid liquid within the young man,
The vexed corrosion, so pensive and so painful,
The torment—the irritable tide that will not be at rest,
The like of the same I feel—the like of the same in others,
The young man that flushes and flushes, and the young woman that flushes and flushes,
The young man that wakes, deep at night, the hot hand seeking to repress what would master
him; The mystic amorous night—the strange half-welcome pangs, visions, sweats,
The pulse pounding through palms and trembling encircling fingers—the young man all color’d,
red, ashamed, angry;
The souse upon me of my lover the sea, as I lie willing and naked,
The merriment of the twin-babes that crawl over the grass in the sun, the mother never turning
her vigilant eyes from them,
The walnut-trunk, the walnut-husks, and the ripening or ripen’d long-round walnuts;
The continence of vegetables, birds, animals,
The consequent meanness of me should I skulk or find myself indecent, while birds and animals
never once skulk or find themselves indecent;
The great chastity of paternity, to match the great chastity of maternity,
The oath of procreation I have sworn—my Adamic and fresh daughters,
The greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to
fill my place when I am through,
The wholesome relief, repose, content;
And this bunch, pluck’d at random from myself;
It has done its work—I tossed it carelessly to fall where it may.