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Hírek

Wordsworth, William: Oda o nagoveštajima besmrtnosti kroz sećanja na rano detinjstvo (Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood Szerb nyelven)

Wordsworth, William portréja

Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood (Angol)

The child is father of the man;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety.

(Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up")

I

 

There  was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.

It is not now as it hath been of yore;--

Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

 

II

 

The Rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the Rose,

The Moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare,

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

 

III

 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,

And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief:

A timely utterance gave that thought relief,

And I again am strong:

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;

I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,

The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,

And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May

Doth every Beast keep holiday;--

Thou Child of Joy,

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy

Shepherd-boy!

 

IV

 

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call

Ye to each other make; I see

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;

My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal,

The fulness of your bliss, I feel--I feel it all.

Oh evil day! if I were sullen

While Earth herself is adorning,

This sweet May-morning,

And the Children are culling

On every side,

In a thousand valleys far and wide,

Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,

And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:--

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!

--But there's a Tree, of many, one,

A single Field which I have looked upon,

Both of them speak of something that is gone:

The Pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

 

V

 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,

Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar:

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come

From God, who is our home:

Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

Shades of the prison-house begin to close

Upon the growing Boy,

But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,

He sees it in his joy;

The Youth, who daily farther from the east

Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,

And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended;

At length the Man perceives it die away,

And fade into the light of common day.

 

VI

 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;

Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,

And, even with something of a Mother's mind,

And no unworthy aim,

The homely Nurse doth all she can

To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man,

Forget the glories he hath known,

And that imperial palace whence he came.

 

VII

 

Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,

A six years' Darling of a pigmy size!

See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,

Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,

With light upon him from his father's eyes!

See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,

Some fragment from his dream of human life,

Shaped by himself with newly-learned art;

A wedding or a festival,

A mourning or a funeral;

And this hath now his heart,

And unto this he frames his song:

Then will he fit his tongue

To dialogues of business, love, or strife;

But it will not be long

Ere this be thrown aside,

And with new joy and pride

The little Actor cons another part;

Filling from time to time his "humorous stage"

With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,

That Life brings with her in her equipage;

As if his whole vocation

Were endless imitation.

 

VIII

 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie

Thy Soul's immensity;

Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep

Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind,

That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,

Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,--

Mighty Prophet! Seer blest!

On whom those truths do rest,

Which we are toiling all our lives to find,

In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;

Thou, over whom thy Immortality

Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave,

A Presence which is not to be put by;

Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might

Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,

Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke

The years to bring the inevitable yoke,

Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?

 Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight,

 And custom lie upon thee with a weight

 Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

 

IX

 

O joy! that in our embers

Is something that doth live,

That nature yet remembers

What was so fugitive!

The thought of our past years in me doth breed

Perpetual benediction: not indeed

For that which is most worthy to be blest--

Delight and liberty, the simple creed

Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest,

With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:--

Not for these I raise

The song of thanks and praise;

But for those obstinate questionings

Of sense and outward things,

Fallings from us, vanishings;

Blank misgivings of a Creature

Moving about in worlds not realised,

High instincts before which our mortal Nature

Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised:

But for those first affections,

Those shadowy recollections,

Which, be they what they may,

Are yet the fountain light of all our day,

Are yet a master light of all our seeing;

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make

Our noisy years seem moments in the being

Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,

To perish never;

Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,

Nor Man nor Boy,

Nor all that is at enmity with joy,

Can utterly abolish or destroy!

Hence in a season of calm weather

Though inland far we be,

Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea

Which brought us hither,

Can in a moment travel thither,

And see the Children sport upon the shore,

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.

 

X

 

Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song!

And let the young Lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound!

We in thought will join your throng,

Ye that pipe and ye that play,

Ye that through your hearts to-day

Feel the gladness of the May!

What though the radiance which was once so bright

Be now for ever taken from my sight,

Though nothing can bring back the hour

Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;

We will grieve not, rather find

Strength in what remains behind;

In the primal sympathy

Which having been must ever be;

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering;

In the faith that looks through death,

In years that bring the philosophic mind.

 

XI

 

And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,

Forebode not any severing of our loves!

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;

I only have relinquished one delight

To live beneath your more habitual sway.

I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,

Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;

The innocent brightness of a new-born Day

Is lovely yet;

The Clouds that gather round the setting sun

Do take a sober colouring from an eye

That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;

Another race hath been, and other palms are won.

Thanks to the human heart by which we live,

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,

To me the meanest flower that blows can give

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.



FeltöltőP. T.
Az idézet forrásahttp://www.bartleby.com/145/ww331.html

Oda o nagoveštajima besmrtnosti kroz sećanja na rano detinjstvo (Szerb)

Dete je otac čoveka:

I mogao bih da zaželim da mi dane

Jedan uz drugi spaja prirodan pijetet.

 

                                    I

 

Beše jedno vreme kada livad, gaj i potok,

Zemlja i svaki običan prizor

Meni su izgledali

Zaodenuti u nebesku svetlost,

Sjaj i svežinu sna.

Sad više nije kao nekad što je bilo; –

Ma kud da se osvrnem,

Po noći il΄ po danu,

Stvari koje videh sad više videti ne mogu.

 

                                    II

 

Duga dolazi i odlazi,

I zanosna je ruža,

Mesec s radošću

Gleda oko sebe kad je nebo čisto.

Vode u zvezdanoj noći

Lepe su i svetle:

Sunčeva svetlost sjajno je rođenje;

Ali ipak znam, kud god pošao,

Da je minuo jedan sjaj sa zemlje.

 

                                    III

 

Sad, dok ptice pevaju radosnu pesmu,

I dok mladi jaganjci skakuću

Kao po dobovanju doboša,

Samo meni dođe misao tuzi:

Blagovremeno je izrekoh i u tome nađoh utehu,

I ponovo sam jak:

Vodopadi duvaju u svoje trube sa strmeni;

Neće više moja misao kvariti godišnje doba;

Čujem Odjeke kako se sustižu kroz planine,

Vetrovi stižu do mene sa polja sna,

I sva je zemlja radosna;

Kopno i more

Predaju se veselosti,

I sa srcem Maja

Svaka zver praznuje; –

Ti, Dete Radosti,

Kliči oko mene da čujem tvoje klicanje, ti srećni

Mali čobanine!

 

                                    IV

 

Vi srećna Stvorenja, čuo sam poziv

Što ga jedno drugome upućujete; vidim

Da se nebo smeje sa vama u vašem radovanju;

Srce mi je na vašoj svetkovini,

Glavu mi krasi venac,

Potpunost vašeg blaženstva, ja osećam – osećam to sve.

Oh, zlokoban dan! da sam ja turoban

Dok se sama Zemlja kiti,

Tog divnog majskog jutra,

A deca beru

Na sve strane,

U hiljadu dolina dalekih i prostranih

Sveže cveće; dok sunce toplo sija,

I Čedo poskakuje u majčinom naručju: –

Ja čujem, ja čujem, s radošću čujem!

– Ali eno ga Drvo, od mnogih jedno

Jedino Polje na koje sam pogledao,

Oba govore o nečemu što je prošlo;

Daninoć kraj kojeg gazim

Ponavlja istu priču:

Gde je utrnula iskra snoviđenja?

Gde su sada sjaj i san?

 

                                    V

 

Naše je rođenje samo san i zaborav:

Duša koja se u nama rađa, zvezda našeg života,

Negde je drugde imala boravište,

I dolazi izdaleka;

Ne iz potpunog zaborava,

I ne sasvim nagi,

Već zaogrnuti oblacima sjaja dolazimo

Od Boga, koji je naš dom:

Nebo leži oko nas u našem detinjstvu!

Tmina tamnice počinje da se spušta

Nad Dečaka koji raste,

Ali On vidi svetlost, i izvor njen

On vidi u svojoj radosti;

Mladić, koji svakim danom sve dalje od istoka

Mora da putuje, još uvek je Sveštenik Prirode,

I blistavo snoviđenje

Prati ga na putu;

Naposletku Čovek primeti da ono zamire,

I gubi se na svetlu svakidašnjice.

 

                                    VI

 

Zemlja sebi puni krilo sopstvenim zadovoljstvima;

Žudnjama koje su u prirodi njene vrste,

I, čak i s izvesnim Materinskim osećanjem,

A bez nedostojne namere,

Priprosta Pomajka čini sve što može

Da navede svoje Posvojče, svog Stanara Čoveka,

Da zaboravi sjaj koji je poznavao,

I onu carsku palatu iz koje je došao.

 

                                    VII

 

Osmotri Dete među njegovim novorođenim blaženstvima;

Šestogodišnjeg Miljenika malog kao Pigmej!

Pogledaj gde sred dela sopstvenih ruku leži,

Zagušen izlivima Majčinih poljubaca,

Dok je na njemu svetlost iz očevih očiju!

Pogledaj, uz njegova stopala, neki mali plan ili kartu,

Neki odlomak iz njegovog sna o ljudskom životu

Što ga je sam uobličio novonaučenom veštinom;

Svadba ili svetkovina,

Oplakivanje ili pogreb;

I to mu je sada u srcu

I tome on prilagođava svoju pesmu:

A zatim će podesiti jezik

Za razgovore o poslu, ljubavi ili borbi;

Ali neće dugo potrajati

Pre no što se to odbaci u stranu,

I s novom radošću i ponosom

Mali Glumac uči drugu ulogu;

Popunjavajući s vremena na vreme svoju ”šaljivu pozornicu”

Svim Licima, sve do Doba oduzetosti,

Koje Život donosi sa sobom u svojim kočijama;

Kao da je čitav njegov poziv

Beskrajno podražavanje.

 

                                    VIII

 

Ti, čiji spoljni izgled ne odaje sliku

Ogromnosti tvoje Duše;

Ti, najbolji Filosofe, koji još čuvaš

Svoje nasleđe, Ti Oko među slapima,

Koje, gluvo i nemo, proniče večnu dubinu,

Gde doveka obilazi večni duh –

Moćni proroče! Blagosloveni Mudrače!

Na kome počivaju te istine

Što se celog života mučimo da ih otkrijemo,

U mraku izgubljeni, mraku groba;

Ti, nad kojim tvoja besmrtnost

Nadnosi se kao Dan, Gospodar nad Robom,

Prisustvo koje se ne može izbeći;

Ti, Dete malo, pa ipak blistavo u noći

Nebom dane slobode na vrhuncu tvog bića,

Zašto se tako ozbiljnom revnošću izazivaš

Godine da donesu neizbežni jaram,

Sa tako slepim uživanjem u borbi?

Sasvim brzo tvoja Duša imaće svoj zemaljski tovar,

A breme navike ležaće na tebi,

teško kao mraz i duboko skoro kao život!

 

                                    IX

 

O, radosti! da u našoj žeravici

Ima nešto što živi,

Da priroda ipak pamti

Nešto što je bilo tako prolazno!

Pomisao na prošle godine rađa u meni

Stalan blagoslov: zaista ne

Za ono što je najvrednije da se blagoslovi;

Ushićenost i slobodu, prostu veru

Detinjstva, svejedno da li pri radu ili na počinku,

Sa novookrilaćenom nadom koja još leprša u njegovim grudima –

Ne dižem ja za to

Pesmu hvale i slave;

Već za ona uporna zapitkivanja

O smislu i svetu oko nas,

Osipanja od nas, iščeznuća;

Puste slutnje Stvorenja

Koje se kreće po neshvaćenim svetovima,

Uzvišene porive pred kojima je naša smrtna priroda

Drhtala kao kakav zatečen Krivac:

Već za one prve naklonosti,

Ona maglovita sećanja,

Koja, bila šta bila,

Ipak su vrelo svetlosti sveg našeg dana,

Ipak su osnovna svetlost sveg našeg viđenja;

Održavaju nas, čuvaju, i imaju moć da učine

Da naše bučne godine izgledaju kao trenuci u biću

Večne Tišine: istine koje se bude

Da nikad ne propadnu;

Koje ni ravnodušnost, ni bezumno nastojanje

Ni Čovek ni Dečak

Ni sve što je u neprijateljstvu s radošću,

Ne može sasvim da odagna ili uništi!

Stoga, kad je vreme mirno,

Ma i daleko od njega bili,

Naše Duše vide to besmrtno more

Što nas je donelo amo,

Mogu u trenu da otputuju tamo,

I ugledaju Decu kako se igraju na obali,

I začuju moćne talase kako se večno valjaju.

 

                                    X

 

Zato pevajte, vi Ptice, pevajte, pevajte radosnu pesmu!

I neka mladi Jaganjci skakuću

Kao po dobovanju doboša!

Mi ćemo se u mislima pridružiti vašem društvu,

Vama što svirate i vama što igate,

Vama što kroz svoja srca danas

Osećate milinu Maja!

Šta i ako ozarenost koja je jednom bila tako sjajna

Bude sada zauvek oteta mome pogledu,

I ako ništa ne može da povrati čas

Raskoši trave, slave cveta;

Mi nećemo tugovati već ćemo naći

Snagu u onome što je ostalo nama;

U prvobitnom skladu

Koji, pošto je bio, mora uvek biti;

U umirujućim mislima koje izviru

Iz ljudske patnje;

U veri koja gleda kroz smrt,

U godinama koje donosi filosofski um.

 

                                    XI

 

I O, vi Kladenci, Livade, Bregovi i Lugovi,

Ne pomišljajte ni na kakav raskid naših ljubavi!

U dubini srca još ja osećam vašu moć;

Samo sam se odrekao zadovoljstva

Da život redovnije prepuštam vašoj vlasti.

Volim Potoke što niz svoja korita vrludaju,

Čak više nego kada sam ja poskakivao lako kao oni;

Nevina vedrina novorođenog Dana

Još je zanosna;

Oblaci što se skupljaju oko sunca na zalasku

Poprimaju potamnele boje od oka

Koje je držalo stražu nad čovekovom smrtnošću;

Još jedno odmeravanje beše, i druge su palmove grančice dobijene.

Zahvaljujući ljudskom srcu koje nam omogućuje život,

Zahvaljujući njegovoj nežnosti, njegovim radostima i strepnjama.

Naskromniji cvetak što se rascvetava može me navesti na

Misli koje često leže preduboko za suze.



FeltöltőP. T.
Az idézet forrásahttp://feherilles.blogspot.hu

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