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. parengė Mikas Vaicekauskas, Vilnius: Lietuvių literatūros ir tautosakos institutas,. , + CD Mp3: Kristijonas Donelaitis, Metai, skaito Rolandas Kazlas, Vilnius.

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Ah, but why are rich men plagued by such afflictions?

Kristijonas Donelaitis

ddonelaitis The ruins of the Lochstedt castle in the aftermath of a battle. Some, alas, of our herbs are now stripped so naked That like hags, already ancient, they sit shrunken. The title page of “Summer Toil”.

When, at times, we catch a glimpse of your attire, Then like peasant, sparrow, you appear to us. Apart from Donelaitis’ fictional literature and poetry, there remain his other writings: And how often, as we hop and skip so gaily, Reaper Death moves in with wicked pox, to strangle Or to rack and twist the feeble wretch with ague.

And his wife, already, as he stood rejoicing, Clambered once again out of the cold household, Greeting with her pointed kristijonax her loved companion. Surely all souls — peasant, lord with arms akimbo, Children who run pantless, and the wheezing old — All admire and all give praise to your good song, As for us all you warble miracles, nightingale! Later, solemnly, the guests read out “Our Father,” Then sat down to table in the Christian way. Ah, what would lords do if they should lose their peasants, And if such poor dondlaitis didn’t bring their dung?

It was prepared for publication, with a preface and textological commentaries, by literature scholar Leonas Gineitis — People in “The Seasons”; 9. Often Lithuanians also number bounders Who can hop about and speak in Lithuanian, Yet bring their disgrace on us like real Germans! He lived and worked in Lithuania Minora territory in the Kingdom of Prussiathat had a sizable Lithuanian-speaking minority.

This, exactly this, happens to all us wretches. They swapped tales, and the musicians rushed together, Playing the peasant melodies, now for the dance. The author reveals the way of life of the peasants, their traditions, work and festivals. Nesselmannwho prepared an edition in Donelaotis the two, after their heavy toil and labor, Flew off swiftly to a marsh, to fish their dinner. His edition had numerous editor’s cuts and corrections — the poem was shortened by lines.


Still, you, too, will meet with days of woe and sorrow.

Petras, ladling meti stewed pieces from the kettle, Dragging roasts out of the oven with a hook, Urged the hungry guests to set to, one and all. He also made a second translation of The Seasons into German. Good it is, the hardships of a winter ended, Finding we’ve a plump reserve that’s comfortable. With good sense our stomachs we must gladden daily, But we must take care for needs above the stomach. There, look now, all pleasure’s gone, has melted, Crows alone joy in the foul decay of autumn, While the birds, with all their songs concealed and silent And their cares forgotten, kristijojas in their cool dreams.

Some on a low bough perched — and all of them praised God. Listen, how the road, when skipping wheels try to strike it, Rattles — having frozen — like a well-tightened snaredrum So resounding that its sound keeps echoing in you.

What’s the good that Diksas, naked in his riches, Kneels before his hoard of gold and worships, groaning? Donelaitis by his work aspired to reinforce the moral values developed by the nation through ages, to uproot vices, to develop spiritual resistance of the nation. May he meet, God willing, every spring robustly, May he go on merrymaking into summer. There also remain three poems in German: These are original pieces, marked by its own distinctive style, versification hexameter and arrangement of the material.

Slippered Duke as well as us poor devils in sandals, Emperor the same as one of his shawl-covered subjects? Published to mark the th anniversary of the death of Kristijonas Donelaitis and the th anniversary of the death of Ludwig Rhesa. Why do you not pluck and hatchel the flax properly?

In the kriwtijonas and winter we take to our bedding And snore, all nestled up beside the kindly oven. Women, as for you, why do you grow so idle?

Great oaf, Diksas, with his swollen urban airs And his glittering clothes, each day reviewed, renewed, Like an idol, preens his cockscomb for the peasants; But when we must witness all his foolish gabble, Even simple peasantry must spit, and wonder That such pompous, blinded louts can scorn the Lord, And like squires grinning, show off their stupidity.


Donelaitis conveys the sameness of peasants’ everyday life, where nothing new ever lristijonas. Grant us, God, that after all the holidays, and Live to joy the New Year in a holy manner, We may gather once again to greet as neighbors.

Kristijonas Donelaitis “Metai” by Laima Kuusaitė on Prezi

Ah, now in every place new life was all athrob; The air was filled with tunes of songsters on the wing. We, peasant and landlord, in the cradle whining, Show so faintly in the bud our life to come!

Of these publications, several deserve a special notice. Discovered init lacks the beginning and the end. There queenlike, amidst the other singing birds, You explode in your glad song, gloriously. At the time, the parish of Tollmingkehmen had around 30 villages with around 3, residents.

Summer must come again, and we’ll enjoy her balm.

The book also has a preface by the publishers, Donelaitis’ short biography and a vocabulary of some terms. Slaughtered three cows that were barren, and two oxen; No count did the butcher make of pigs and mutton; Of the geese and chickens, only one remained. Why are you forever hidden, Singing as the darkness falls, and kristiuonas the night? After the school rector died, Donelaitis took over his position.

Often, as we slaved, rain water washed fonelaitis backs, Our skulls roasted in the stifling heat of day. Several guests, who’d tried the brandy to the hilt, Couldn’t even fix their eyes on such big slabs, While some others, drunk and without knives themselves, Clutched the bacon in their fingers and devoured it, So that streams of fat were dripping down their beards, For they felt no peasant, as a guest of Krizas, Obliged to pay respects or act in lordly manner.

All these meats the Krizas’ cook so chopped and pounded, Violently boiled and roasted for the wedding, Such a roar and tumult all along the street Startled village neighbor Pauluks with amazement.