VOX Cultural Digest, Issue N.9
We are often asked to share some tips about how to gain confidence in speaking languages or how to express yourself better when speaking a foreign language. The key is to learn to pronounce words correctly so that your sentences flow effortlessly.
Pronunciation is often the hardest part when it comes to languages, so we’ve compiled a list of poems in different languages to help you out: listen to them and repeat trying to imitate the rhythm, the intonation, and the sounds!
 A Poem in German: |
| Beim Schlafengehen by Hermann Hesse Nun der Tag mich müd gemacht, Soll mein sehnliches Verlangen Freundlich die gestirnte Nacht Wie ein müdes Kind empfangen. Hände, lasst von allem Tun, Stirn, vergiss du alles Denken, Alle meine Sinne nun Wollen sich in Schlummer senken. Und die Seele, unbewacht, Will in freien Flügen schweben, Um im Zauberkreis der Nacht Tief und tausendfach zu Leben. |
 A Poem in English: |
| One Art by Elizabeth Bishop The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster. —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster. |
| A Poem in French: |
| Heureux Qui Comme Ulysse by Joachim Du Bellay Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage, Ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la toison, Et puis est retourné, plein d’usage et raison, Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son âge! Quand reverrai-je, hélas, de mon petit village Fumer la cheminée, et en quelle saison Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison, Qui m’est une province, et beaucoup davantage? Plus me plaît le séjour qu’ont bâti mes aïeux, Que des palais Romains le front audacieux, Plus que le marbre dur me plaît l’ardoise fine: Plus mon Loir gaulois, que le Tibre latin, Plus mon petit Liré, que le mont Palatin, Et plus que l’air marin la doulceur angevine. |
| A Poem in Italian: |
| L’Infinito by Giacomo Leopardi Sempre caro mi fu quest’ermo colle, E questa siepe, che da tanta parte Dell’ultimo orizzonte il guardo esclude. Ma sedendo e mirando, interminati Spazi di là da quella, e sovrumani Silenzi, e profondissima quiete Io nel pensier mi fingo; ove per poco Il cor non si spaura. E come il vento Odo stormir tra queste piante, io quello Infinito silenzio a questa voce Vo comparando: e mi sovvien l’eterno, E le morte stagioni, e la presente E viva, e il suon di lei. Così tra questa Immensità s’annega il pensier mio: E il naufragar m’è dolce in questo mare. |
| A Poem in Spanish: |
| Viento, agua, piedra by Octavio Paz El agua horada la piedra, el viento dispersa el agua, la piedra detiene al viento. Agua, viento, piedra. El viento esculpe la piedra, la piedra es copa del agua, el agua escapa y es viento. Piedra, viento, agua. El viento en sus giros canta, el agua al andar murmura, la piedra inmóvil se calla. Viento, agua, piedra. Uno es otro y es ninguno: entre sus nombres vacíos pasan y se desvanecen agua, piedra, viento. |
| A Poem in Russian: |
| Белая береза by Sergei Yesenin Белая берёза Под моим окном Принакрылась снегом, Точно серебром. На пушистых ветках Снежною каймой Распустились кисти Белой бахромой. И стоит берёза В сонной тишине, И горят снежинки В золотом огне. А заря, лениво Обходя кругом, Обсыпает ветки Новым серебром. |
Let us know in the comments if there’s anything else we can help you with!
