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    SAKJA_PANDITAJaká báseň je dnes vaší náladou aneb jaká nálada je dnes vaší básní?
    ODJINUD
    ODJINUD --- ---
    ALLEN GINSBERG
    NESTÁRNI / III (sb. Slovy a dechem)

    Vyzáblé paže, měkká kolena
    osm křížků, řídké šediny
    tvář kostnatější než kdykoli předtím -
    hlava nachýlená, oči otevřené
    tu a tam slyšel, co se povídá -
    Četl jsem otci Wordsworthovo Zvěstování nesmrtelnosti
    "... oblaky slávy přicházíme
    od boha, který je naším domovem..."
    "Krásné," řekl, "ale není to pravda."

    "Když jsem byl ještě chlapec, měli jsme dům
    na Boyd Street v Newarku - vzadu
    byla velká prázdná parcela porostlá trávou
    a křovím
    Toužil jsem poznat, co je za tím houštím.
    Když jsem byl starší, obešel jsem blok
    a zjistil jsem to -
    byla tam fabrika na lepidlo."
    EWUSHA
    EWUSHA --- ---
    Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
    William Wordsworth

    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.

    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.
    ELSINOR
    ELSINOR --- ---
    Die Lorelei
    Heinrich Heine

    Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
    Daß ich so traurig bin;
    Ein Mährchen aus alten Zeiten,
    Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn...
    POWEROFSTYLE
    POWEROFSTYLE --- ---
    TRISMEGISTOS
    TRISMEGISTOS --- ---
    Jestli mi Pán Bůh dá
    naposled navázat nit,
    nechci nic ztratit,
    potichu korálky rozsypané
    nazpátek na ni soukat.
    Jestli mi Pán Bůh
    ještě jednou
    tohleto všechno dá.
    Má matka byla švadlena
    moje sestra tká gobelíny
    chce to jen znovu navázat
    osnovu
    přehodit přes ni útek
    být pokorný
    FIONOR
    FIONOR --- ---
    ...A já v nich před vás jdu
    tak mlád, tak krutě mlád a ponejprve zralý,
    že ve své mladosti podobám se již králi
    zašlého království. Vy jste přec věděla,
    co křídel chybí nám k rozletu anděla,
    jak krví smějeme se a jak krví pláčem.
    Nalezl jsem svůj pád. A chci vám říci, na čem.
    DELIRIUM
    DELIRIUM --- ---
    Píši vám, Karino, a nevím, zda jste živa,
    zda nejste nyní tam, kde se už netoužívá,
    zda zatím neskončil váš nebezpečný věk.
    Jste mrtva? Poproste tedy svůj náhrobek,
    aby se nadlehčil. Poproste růže, paní,
    aby se zavřely. Poproste rozpadání,
    aby vám přečetlo list o mém rozpadu.
    Smrt mlčí před verši.
    FIONOR
    FIONOR --- ---
    Sonet 28

    Jak najít klid, to věru nevím,
    když klidný spánek byl mi odepřen,
    od denních útrap noc mi neuleví,
    den vraždí noc a noc zas vraždí den.
    Dojemně však si padnou do noty,
    když na skřipec mne začnou napínat:
    za tebou štvu se ve dne - a co ty? -
    jsi pořád dál - a pak mám v noci spát!
    Podívej, říkám dni, jak krásou září,
    ten rozjasní i nejchmurnější nebe,
    a noci ptám se, proč se černě tváří,
    když místo zlatých hvězd má přece tebe.
    Den každý den mě čím dál víc jen kruší,
    noc každou noc chce utýrat mou duši.
    FIONOR
    FIONOR --- ---
    Jak ten hlas, co se z hrobu dere ven.
    tak dnes u tvé hlavy
    zaskřípá můj hlas do šera tvých stěn,
    zlý a pronikavý.

    Jen ty se v duši opít smíš tou hrou,
    hrou mé mandoliny,
    tou písní krutou, písní lichotnou,
    ty a nikdo jiný.

    Zazpívám o tvých očích z onyxu,
    o sršícím jasu,
    o Lethe tvého klína, o Styxu
    havraního vlasu.

    Jak ten hlas, co se z hrobu dere ven,
    tak dnes u tvé hlavy
    zaskřípá můj hlas do šera tvých stěn,
    zlý a pronikavý.

    A chvály na tvé tělo vyloudím,
    co jen budu moci,
    na tělo, v jehož vůních najdu rým
    na bezesné noci.

    Zazpívám, jak je pod tvým polibkem
    k udušení lehko,
    jak mě tvá něha mučí nocí, dnem.
    Anděli můj! Děvko!

    Jen ty se v duši opít smíš tou hrou,
    hrou mé mandoliny,
    tou písní krutou, písní lichotnou,
    ty a nikdo jiný.

    (z Prvního zpěvu Jobovy noci od F. Hrubína)
    FIONOR
    FIONOR --- ---
    Olav H. Hauge
    You Are The Wind (anglický překlad z norštiny)

    I am a boat
    Without wind.
    You were the wind.
    Was that the direction I wanted to go?
    Who cares about directions
    With a wind like that?
    ELSINOR
    ELSINOR --- ---
    Jiná smuténka
    Jan Skácel

    V noci jsem uslyšel smuténku.
    Přišla a prostředním prstem
    ťukala na sudy,
    jestli je víno doma.

    Všechno chce o nás teď vědět
    smuténka za nás smutná.
    Klepala na sudy.
    Potmě je tolikrát líto.
    ELSINOR
    ELSINOR --- ---
    Lines Written in Early Spring
    BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

    I heard a thousand blended notes,
    While in a grove I sate reclined,
    In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
    Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

    To her fair works did Nature link
    The human soul that through me ran;
    And much it grieved my heart to think
    What man has made of man.

    Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
    The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
    And ’tis my faith that every flower
    Enjoys the air it breathes.

    The birds around me hopped and played,
    Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
    But the least motion which they made
    It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

    The budding twigs spread out their fan,
    To catch the breezy air;
    And I must think, do all I can,
    That there was pleasure there.

    If this belief from heaven be sent,
    If such be Nature’s holy plan,
    Have I not reason to lament
    What man has made of man?
    DELIRIUM
    DELIRIUM --- ---
    DELIRIUM
    DELIRIUM --- ---
    Every Night and every Morn
    Some to Misery are born.
    Every Morn and every Night
    Some are born to Sweet Delight,
    Some are born to Endless Night.

    William Blake
    DELIRIUM
    DELIRIUM --- ---
    DELIRIUM
    DELIRIUM --- ---
    BAILAMARCIA
    BAILAMARCIA --- ---
    ***

    Jsou chvíle
    Kdy nežijem
    Chlebem
    Ale vůněmi

    Potom zas
    Můžem jíst
    Co jsme uvařili
    V otlučeném hrnci

    Polévku
    Si kořeníme
    Sny

    (Eva Válková)
    DELIRIUM
    DELIRIUM --- ---
    ELSINOR
    ELSINOR --- ---
    novému ránu rožnem svíci
    je neznámé a nemá tváře
    jak anděl v dřevu lípy spící
    a čekající na řezbáře

    někdy se anděl na nás hněvá
    anděla máme každý svého
    a naděje má z buku křídla
    a srdce z dřeva lipového

    Jan Skácel
    XEHUTL
    XEHUTL --- ---
    The Raven
    E.A.Poe

    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
        While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
                Only this and nothing more.”

        Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
        Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
        From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
                Nameless here for evermore.

        And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
        So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
        “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
                This it is and nothing more.”

        Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
        But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
        And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
                Darkness there and nothing more.

        Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
        But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
        And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
                Merely this and nothing more.

        Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
        “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
          Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
                ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

        Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
        Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
        But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
                Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
    “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

        Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
        For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
        Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
                With such name as “Nevermore.”

        But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
        Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
        Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
                Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

        Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
        Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
        Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
                Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

        But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
        Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
        Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
                Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

        This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
        This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
        On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
    But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
                She shall press, ah, nevermore!

        Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
        “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
        Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

        “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
        Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
        On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
    Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

        “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
        Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
        It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

        “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
    “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
        Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
        Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
                Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

        And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
        And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
        And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
                Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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