Примери за използване на The duende на Английски и техните преводи на Български
{-}
-
Colloquial
-
Official
-
Medicine
-
Ecclesiastic
-
Ecclesiastic
-
Computer
The duende…. Where is the duende?
I have raised three arches and with clumsy hands placed within them the Muse,the angel and the duende.
Is that the duende of Lorca, my dear friend.
And in all the songs of Southern Spain, the appearance of the duende is followed by sincere cries of:‘Viva Dios!
Seeking the Duende, there is neither map nor discipline.
Хората също превеждат
She had to drive away her muse andremain alone so that the duende might come and join in a hand-to-hand fight.
The duende works on the dancer's body like wind on sand.
The duende works on the dancer's body like wind on sand.
She had to impoverish her skills and aids; that is, she had to drive away her muse andremain alone so that the duende might come and join in a hand-to-hand fight.
The duende, though, must be awakened in the deepest dwellings of blood.
One must awaken the duende in the remotest mansions of the blood.
All through Andalusia, from the rock of Jaén to the snail's-shell of Cadiz,people constantly talk about the duende and recognize it wherever it appears with a fine instinct.
The duende is not in the throat, it surges up from the soles of the feet.
Every art and every country is capable of duende, angel and Muse: and just as Germany owns to the Muse, with a few exceptions, and Italy the perennial angel,Spain is, at all times, stirred by the duende, country of ancient music and dance, where the duende squeezes out those lemons of dawn, a country of death, a country open to death.
The duende works on the dancer's body like wind on sand.
This mysterious power that everyone feels and that no philosopher explains is, in short,[…] the same flamenco duende that embraced Niestzsche's heart, that looked for it in its external forms on the Rialto bridge or in Bizet's music,without finding it and without knowing that the duende he was chasing had jumped from the mysterious Greeks to the dancers of Cadiz or to the Dionysian throat-curling scream of Silverio's siguiriya”.
The duende never repeats itself, any more thanthe waves of the sea do in a storm.
This‘mysterious force that everyone feels and no philosopher has explained' is, in sum,the spirit of the earth, the same duende that scorched Nietzche's heart as he searched for its outer form on the Rialto Bridge and in Bizet's music, without finding it, and without seeing that the duende he pursued had leapt from the Greek mysteries to the dancers of Cadiz and the headless Dionysiac scream of Silverio's siguiriya.
With idea, sound, or gesture, the duende enjoys fighting the creator on the very rim of the well.
This‘mysterious power that all may feel and no philosophy can explain,' is,in sum, the earth-force, the same duende that fired the heart of Nietzsche, who sought it in its external forms on the Rialto Bridge, or in the music of Bizet, without ever finding it, or understanding that the duende he pursued had rebounded from the mystery-minded Greeks to the Dancers of Cádiz or the gored, Dionysian cry of Silverio's siguiriya.
We have said that the duende loves the edge,the wound, and draws close to places where forms fuse in a yearning beyond visible expression.
This mysterious power which everyone senses and no philosopher explains is, in sum, the spirit of the earth, the same duende that scorched the heart of Nietzsche, who searched in vain for its external forms on the RialtoBridge in the music of Bizet, without knowing that the duende he was pursuing had leaped straight from the Greek mysteries to the dancers of Cadiz or the beheaded, Donysian scream of Silverio's siguiriya.
Still that inexplicable sadness, the duende, the saudade, the divine discontent persists and perhaps it will continue until I see the face of god himself.
The duende that raises the towers of Sahagún or bakes hot bricks in Calatayud, or Teruel, is the same as he who tears apart El Greco's clouds, and kicks out at Quevedo's bailiffs, and Goya's chimeras, and drives them away.
Still that inexplicable sadness, the duende, the saudade, the divine discontent persists and perhaps it will continue until I see the face of god himself.
It seems as if all the duende of the Classical world is concentrated in this perfect festival, expounding the culture and the great sensibility of a nation that reveals the finest anger, bile and tears of mankind.
In Spain(as among Oriental races,where the dance is religious expression) the duende has a limitless hold over the bodies of the dancers of Cadiz, praised by Martial, the breasts of those who sing, praised by Juvenal, and over all the liturgies of the bullring, an authentic religious drama, where in the same manner as in the Mass, a God is sacrificed to, and adored.
We have said that the duende loves the edge, the wound, and draws close to places where forms fuse in a yearning beyond visible expression.