Pas de souci pour la traduction, je pense que beaucoup d'entre nous utiliseront la même méthode pour se faire comprendre. ;-)

Oui les poèmes racontent une facette de l'histoire du serveur Aniro. Mais ils présentent surtout la culture Matis, avec toute sa richesse et sa subtilité, auprès des Fyros, Zoraïs et Trykers. Sur notre serveur, la Cour de la Reine (poètes et artisans) a été ouverte aux joueurs, et ce sera aussi le cas sur le serveur réunifié après la fusion.

Les lames di Matia


Enfants de la Lumière,
Contre la vile engeance,
Qui des tréfonds s'élance,
Portez vos lames fières !

Béni soit l'ancien Roi,
Qui de l'art de la guerre,
Maîtrise le savoir-faire
Et nous guide de son bras !

Portés par la bravoure
D'Yrkanis di Matia,
Allons à notre tour,
Au devant des combats !

Thanks a lot !

To Aniro Karin

See the majestuous tree that protects young and beautiful sprout
This young Karin is precious such as polished amber
His pallor is as pure as the skin of Gubakoo
Young and accomplished sage, Jena's perfection

See the majestuous tree that protects young and beautiful sprout
This young homin already, before us, majestuous
His soft and powerful voice, like the lute, enchants us
Young and accomplished sage, Jena's perfection

See the majestuous tree that protects young and beautiful sprout
This young pupil: so much style and sage words
All the love of Jena can be ssen in his blue eyes
Young and accomplished sage, Jena's perfection
(Thanks to Copal for Translation)

TIME GOES, WEATHER CHANGES

Spring alas has fled, too fast and too far,
Taking with it all our laughs, our games and child promises.

Summer and its sun have quickly followed it,
Its briliant glare forcing us too often to close the eyes.

As soon as it finishes, autumn already settles in,
Synonym for everyone, for the time of the harvest… and also sometime for the one of clarifications.

But in the distance can be seen winter coming up with its dark days,
Time for rest, when everyone sits down… looking behind him what our lives have been.

Translation by Ser Copal

LOVE AND BOTANICAL

Tomorrow, from dawn, at the time when the land whitens,
I’ll leave. Because I know, that you’re waiting for me.
I’ll pass along our forests, pass along our mountains,
I can’t remain far from you any longer, lonely.

I’ll walk to you, pure object of all my thoughts,
Nothing on the path seeing, not a noise making.
Alone, facing the wind, in the fallen snows,
All the kitins, dangerous for sure, braving.

I’ll only look to you, far away in the darkness,
You’ll be only for me. Others: us they will envy.
And when I’ll arrive, in this shady place,
Neither cries nor wheezes, away from you, will keep me.

(Translation by Ser Copal)

PARTIE DE CAMPAGNE

Au lever, sous les branches et les fleurs,
Le soleil de midi nous en montre la splendeur,
Fraîche et rougissante à l'approche du couchant,
Au soir elle s'éclipse, toute couronnée de blanc.

FRIPOS FRIPONS

Je connais un jardin par delà les campagnes
Ou se trouve un Trésor de tous convoité,
Ces doux animaux blancs parfois m'accompagnent,
Et j'aime parmi eux, très souvent méditer.

The Song of the Lakes

Murmuring chorus of water,
High and low, whispering and roaring;
Waves crashing on the shore, setting the pace
For a song that the wind carries over to us,
And for each of us whose heart stirs,
It is always the same tune,
And yet never the same song.
And in the serene rhythm of the rain
No-one hears the tear that falls.

From a song cycle of an unknown Matis poets

The Song of the Desert

Like a scorching breath the wind skims over the plains,
Drives sand forward like a Vanynx rushing his prey,
Drives it down the dunes,
And the little tune that he plays
Sounds like the soft rustle of a child's rattle,
Like the shells of Kinchers that rub against each other,
Like the trickling of ash which falls to the ground.
The air buzzes from heat
And dense smoke crawls lazily across the horizon.

From the song cycle of an unknown Matis poet

The Song of the Jungle

In the silence
The flutter of an Izam,
The monotonous drumbeat of dew,
Which drips from heavy leaves on muddy ground.
In the dripping
Sultry, soundless heat
And no breeze
Moves the toxic ascending haze
Or blows away the sound of silence.

From the song cycle of an unknown Matis poet

The Song of the Forest

Quietly rustles the greenery of the trees,
Through which whispering the gentle summer breeze blows like through the strings of a harp;
Leaves rub against each other like lovers,
Until the autumn of their lives let them dwindle to the ground in a last jointly dance,
Still united when winter freezes their sap to ice
And the wind in dry branches
Sings about the fading of another year
And dreams
About a new, green spring.

From the song cycle of an unknown Matis poet