Eviva l'arte! (K. Przerwa-Tetmajer) – sanah, Krzysztof Zalewski (Tekst)

Eviva l'arte! Man must perish,
What’s left for those without wealth is disgrace.
Poverty grips the throat and won’t relinquish,
To die is to die, like a dog—but in the meantime:

Eviva l'arte! Let it feed the bellies
Of the wretched nation of philistines! We are artists,
We, who often lack even a crust of dry bread,
We, so much like autumn leaves.

Though our lives aren’t worth a spit,
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
And even when all seems worthless,
We’ll shout: Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
Eviva l'arte!

Eviva l'arte! Pride is our god,
Fame is our sun—we, kings without land!
We may starve to death on a threshold somewhere,
But like eagles, with broken wings, we’ll fall.

Eviva l'arte! In our hearts burn
Fires placed there by God Himself.
So we face the crowd with heads held high,
We wouldn’t trade laurel crowns for golden ones.

Though our lives aren’t worth a spit,
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
And even when all seems worthless,
We’ll shout: Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!

So onward! What’s worth anything but fame?
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
And though our lives aren’t worth a thing,
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
Eviva l'arte!

Though our lives aren’t worth a spit,
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
And even when all seems worthless,
We’ll shout: Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!

So onward! What’s worth anything but fame?
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
And though our lives aren’t worth a thing,
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
Eviva l'arte! Eviva l'arte!
Eviva l'arte!