Mickiewicz The Sonnets

Including The Erotic Sonnets, The Crimean Sonnets, and Uncollected Sonnets
1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-911414-92-6
Verlag: Glagoslav Publications Ltd
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 188 Seiten

Because the poetry of Adam Mickiewicz is so closely identified with the history of the Polish nation, one often reads him as an institution, rather than a real person. In the and  of the national bard, we are presented with the fresh, real, and striking poetry of a living, breathing man of flesh and blood. Mickiewicz proved to be a master of Petrarchan form. His  chronicle the development of a love affair from its first stirrings to its disillusioning denouement, at times in a bitingly sardonic tone. The , a verse account of his journeys through the beautiful Crimean Peninsula, constitute the most perfect cycle of descriptive sonnets since du Bellay.  of Adam Mickiewicz are given in the original Polish, in facing-page format, with English verse translations by Charles S. Kraszewski. Along with the entirety of the and , other 'loose' sonnets by Mickiewicz are included, which provide the reader with the most comprehensive collection to date of Mickiewicz's sonneteering. Fronted with a critical introduction,  of Adam Mickiewicz also contain generous textual notes by the poet and the translator.

Translated from the Polish and Introduced by Charles S. Kraszewski.

This book has been published with the support of the ©POLAND Translation Program.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Mickiewicz, Adam

Leseproben

Sonety milosne / The Erotic Sonnets

I

TO LAURA

At your first glance I felt love’s crimson glow,

In first-met eyes I sought some time-worn bond;

On your cheeks too, a blush — as when the dawn

Lays bare the soft breasts of a youthful rose.

Unused to weep, still tears welled in my eyes,

Your words so flushed the heart and soul enflamed;

It seemed some angel greeted her by name

And Time’s Great Hour tolled in the breaking skies.

O Love! Shame not your telling eyes with “Crime!”

Should I with glance or song approach your heart;

So men and destiny against us stand,

And I, hopeless for now, must stand apart …

O, earthly vows grant someone else your hand —

Yet grant me this: God spoused your soul with mine!

II

Mówie z soba, z drugimi placze sie w rozmowie;

Serce bije gwaltownie, oddechem nie wladne;

Iskry czuje w zrenicach, a na twarzy bladne;

Niejeden z obcych glosno pyta o me zdrowie,

Albo o mym rozumie cós na ucho powie.

Tak caly dzien przemecze. Gdy na loze padne,

W nadziei ze snem chwile cierpieniom ukradne,

Serce ogniste mary zapala w mej glowie.

Zrywam sie, biege, skladam na pamiec wyrazy,

Któremi mam zlorzeczyc okrucienstwu twemu,

Skladane, zapomniane, po milijon razy.

Ale gdy ciebie ujrze, nie pojmuje czemu

Znowu jestem spokojny, zimniejszy nad glazy,

Aby gorec na nowo — milczec po dawnemu...

II

I talk to myself.

And stutter as well.

My heart beats like bullies, I wheeze like a horse,

I’ve sparks in my pupils, a face like a corpse;

(Some old prune, loudly: “That young man — is he well?”)

Someone whispers “cuckoo” while winking at me…

And thus my waking life. Still worse in bed,

Where burning visions sear my thrashing head,

In vain I seek to steal some peace from sleep.

Up again, pacing. I rote-learn odium

With which to call to heel your brutishness,

Words dripping venom!…

soon of venom dry

With just the sight of you. For God knows why

I’m peaceful again — as cold as stone — and just

To flame up fresh — like always — and hold my tongue.

III

Nieuczona twa postac, niewymyslne slowa,

Ani lice, ni oko nad inne nie blyska:

A kazdy rad cie ujrzec, rad poslyszec z bliska.

Choc w ubraniu pasterki, widno zes królowa.

Wczora brzmialy i piesni i glosna rozmowa,

Pytano sie o twoich rówiennic nazwiska;

Ten im pochwaly sypie, inny zarty ciska;

Ty weszlas, — kazdy swiete milczenie zachowa.

Tak sród uczty, gdy spiewak do choru wyzywal,

Gdy kola tancujacych wily sie po sali:

Nagle stana i zmilkna; kazdy zapytywal,

Nikt nie wiedzial dlaczego w zadumieniu stali.

„Ja wiem, rzecze poeta, aniol przelatywal.”

Uczcili wszyscy goscia, — nie wszyscy poznali.

III

Unpolished your bearing, your speech unveneered,

What is there in you to explain your sway?

You show — departing guests decide to stay,

Retire — at once the buzzing floor is cleared.

Last night, amidst laughter, song, and champagne spilled,

Dull dinnerjackets “Charmed, I’m sure”d plain girls,

Reeked gentility, sneered at fellow-churls…

You entered, and this hive of trifles stilled.

Thus at a feast, where song laughs through the air

And blushing dancers wheel about the hall,

The riot stops

as if on cue, but why?…

All ask, with shoulders shrugged, blank stares…

Until the bard: “A god just now passed by.”

Sensed, spilt to, yet unrecognised by all.

IV

WIDZENIE SIE W GAJU

„Tyzes to? i tak pózno?...” „Bledna mialem droge

Sród lasów, przy niepewnym ksiezyca promyku.

Tesknilas? myslisz o mnie?...” „Luby niewdzieczniku!

Pytaj sie czy ja myslec o czem innem moge!”

„Pozwól uscisnac dlonie, ucalowac noge.

Ty drzysz! czego?...” „Ja nie wiem. Bladzac po gaiku,

Lekam sie szmeru liscia, nocnych ptaków krzyku:

Ach! musimy byc winni, kiedy czujem trwoge!”

„Spójrzyj mi w oczy, w czolo: nigdy z takiem czolem

Nie idzie zbrodnia, trwoga nie patrzy tak smiele.

Przebóg! jestesmyz winni, ze siedzimy spolem!

„Wszak siedze tak daleko, mówie tak niewiele,

I zabawiam sie z toba, mój ziemski aniele!

Jak gdybys juz niebieskim stala sie aniolem.”

IV

MEETING IN THE GROVE

“Is it you? So late!” “Sorry…I got lost,

With the moon so dim, and trees all around;

Did you miss … think of me?” “Ungrateful clown!

As if my head held any other thoughts!”

“Here, give me your hand — or your foot to kiss…

You’re shaking! Why?” — “I don’t know — waiting here

Bird-cries and leaves rustling fill me with fear —

This must be a sin if we’re trembling like this!”

“Stop it! Look in these eyes — crime never pairs

With such calm! And since when is fright so bold?

God! We’re guilty of sitting together?

At each end of the bench — alone, rather!

O my earthly angel! My suit so fares

As if you really were so blest and cold!”

V

Potepi nas swietoszek, rozpustnik wysmieje,

Ze chociaz samotnemi otoczeni sciany,

Chociaz ona tak mloda, ja tak zakochany,

Przeciez ja oczy spuszczam, a ona lzy leje.

Ja bronie sie ponetom; ona i nadzieje

Chce odstraszyc, co chwila brzakajac kajdany,

Któremi rece zwiazal nam los oplakany.

Nie wiemy sami, co sie w sercach naszych dzieje.

Jestze to ból lub rozkosz? Gdy czuje scisnienia

Twych dloni, kiedy z ustek zachwyce plomienia:

Luba! czyz moge temu dac imie cierpienia?

Ale kiedy sie lzami nasze lica zrosza,

Gdy sie ostatki zycia w westchnieniach unosza:

Luba: czyliz to moge nazywac rozkosza?

V

The sneering prude damns us, the smirking rake jeers,

That though but four walls and ceiling above

Surround her so young and me so beloved,

I stare at the floor — she’s always in tears.

I beat back allurement — as she does all hope,

At each of our meetings — in public, at trysts —

By rattling the chains that bind fast our wrists.

What our own hearts intend is beyond our scope…

Is this pain, or delight? Your hands in mine,

Our trembling lips burning with passion bright,

Love! Dare I brand this heaven suffering?

But when our eyes are swollen with sobbing,

When we breathe out life’s dregs in hopeless sighs,

O Love! Can I then name this hell delight?

VI

RANEK I WIECZÓR

Slonce blyszczy na wschodzie w chmur ognistych wianku,

A na zachodzie ksiezyc blade lice mroczy,

Róza za sloncem paczki rozwinione toczy,

Fijolek kleczy zgiety pod kroplami ranku.

Laura blysnela w oknie. Uklaklem na ganku;

Ona, muskajac sploty swych zlotych warkoczy,

„Czemu,” rzekla, „tak rano smutne macie oczy,

I miesiac i fijolek, i ty, mój kochanku?”

W wieczór przyszedlem nowym bawic sie widokiem:

Wraca ksiezyc, twarz jego pelna i rumiana,

Fijolek podniósl listki orzezwione mrokiem:

Znowu stanela w oknie moja ukochana,

W piekniejszym jeszcze stroju i z weselszem okiem;

Znowu u nóg jej klecze — tak smutny jak z rana.

VI

MORNING AND EVENING

The rising sun is wreathed in flaming clouds,

The westing moon fades with its bloodless cheek;

The blossoming rosebuds wake, and seek

Light; dew-laden, the violet kneels bowed.

Then I glimpsed Laura — on my knees I fell

Before her shining window. “Why” (she frowned,

Braiding her hair) “these sad faces all around —

The moon’s, the violet’s, and my Love’s as well?”

That evening — I’m at her window once more —

The moon returns, face rosy and robust;

The violet stands upright, sobered by the dusk;

Again my Love stands in the window nigh

In gayer garb and with yet gayer...