ProZ.com translation contests »
Poetry with a tune: "Translation of Lyrics" » English to Swedish

Competition in this pair is now closed, and the winning entry has been announced.

Discussion and feedback about the competition in this language pair may now be provided by visiting the "Discussion & feedback" page for this pair. Entries may also be individually discussed by clicking the "Discuss" link next to any listed entry.

Source text in English

Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone's frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

There were 7 entries submitted in this pair during the submission phase.

Entries submitted in this pair were rated on a per-segment basis. Listed below are all submitted translations of each individual source text segment.

Submitted segment translations

Translations submitted for each source text segment are listed below. Segments have had surrounding punctuation stripped, and the resulting identical segments have been grouped together, so each listed translation should differ, but the difference may be subtle (eg. internal punctuation or diacritics).

Viewing segment # out of 9

Source text segment #7

And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
Rank by:
+9
Nothing less than (the experience of) dying comes even close to the sense of loneliness....you feel when you are standing alone on an empty city sidewalk as Sunday morning unfolds. Sunday morning is when families eat, pray and play together.
what is the meaning of there's nothing short a'dying that's half as lonesome as
After all the previous lines and the poet's experience they hold within, the author's now referring to Sunday as approaching its end after explaining that being lonesome on a Sunday morning throughout is a morbid feeling that's pretty close to death.
yep, definetly hard to translate..but poetry allow many figures of speech

I ništa ne usporava umiranje
ni prepolovljena samoća
kao zvuk s pločnika zaspalog grada
ni nedjeljnog jutra svitanje
-1
Y no hay nada por doquier en la muerte Que estar medio solo mientras el sonido De las cuadras del Domingo de la mañana llega.
-2
I suppose this segment is the hardest to translate for every entry.Because if we use meta-phrases for this segment,it will be weird strained Japanese phrases.I think that "there's nothing short a'dying "means no sound on sidewalk as in a ghost-town.

Translations of this segment (7 total; 7 unique)

Och det är inte så långt bort att dö - det är hälften så ensamt som ljudet av en sovande trottoar i sta'n när söndagsmorgonen gryr
Och det finns ingenting mindre än döden som är hälften så långsamt som ljudet av en sovande stad på trottoaren och söndag morgon på väg
Och inget väcker en sådan dödsångest, och är så ensamt som ljudet från sovande storstadstrottoarer och söndagsmorgonen som gryr
Och förutom att gå bort finns inget lika dystert alls som tonen från stadens tysta trottoarer och söndagsmorgonen som kommer över en
Och det är ingenting mindre än att dö Det är bara hälften så ensamt som ljudet Av den sovande trottoaren Och en avslagen söndagsmorgon
Det måste ändå vara döden som är så ensam som den gång Du går där ensam på gatan en söndagsmorgon nere på stan
Allt liknar tanken att falla ned och dö, och stämmer in i den klang, på sömniga stadens trottoar. Och söndag morgon utan talang
Viewing segment # out of 9