Karel Hynek Macha. Translation by Edith Pargeter Czech original. 1. Late evening, on the first of May— The twilit May—the time of love. Meltingly called the . Karel Hynek Mácha was born in in an old part of Prague where his father was the foreman at The epic romantic poem Máj (May) was written in Czech. Karel Hynek Mácha Every Czech child, by the time he or she is nine or ten, can quote the opening lines of May, “Byl pozdní večer – první máj.
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A last time led forth here, still he beholds his own, The dark, deep-breasted hills which were his early home, Where the lost coin was spent, the golden childhood days. Though it is easy to view Macha as the equivalent to Pushkin or Mickiewicz, Macha’s life has more in common with that of Lermontov in that he died at the age of 26, making Macha one of those wunderkind kcha poets a la Rimbaud.
Czech medieval and folk poetry did not yet use word stress count as an element of prosody, while their Renaissance poetry was mainly dactylic. Still, still revenge the avenger barries! I aim to tell a story through my photographs. His travelogue, Diary of Travel to Italydescribing his journey to Venice, was written in Love is without an end! A white dress gleams on the waves that mourn Over her: Long he stands frozen there aghast, Till thrusting off his helpless fears, Out karek the cell he flies in haste.
Karel Hynek Mácha: the poet of lovers
A paean as well to nature, the beauty of its music and its innovative use of language, expertly captured in this new translation by Marcela Sulak, has ensured the poem’s lasting popularity. Beneath him deep the lovely mchx Dreams karsl its rugged mountain pale, By forests circled greenly. It really is one of the loveliest sections. Lone hoof-beats by the lake troubled the silent time. Once again the chime Of slow drops falling metes out time. And so he walked down to Italy, through the Alps and all over what is now the Czech Republic as well.
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The dreaded Forest King! Or that best rose, long longed-for here, That fruit the wide earth did not bear, Will dawn and death disclose? Tree in the shadows writhes to tree. Rocks are piled heavy on that far shore Where flowering land and lake are meeting, And there an oak-tree old and hoar Roots in the rocks-once, once the dove Called there jj to love— Oh, fair lost hour and fleeting!
Most admirable of all was Macha’s ability to karep into a deep primeval Nj consciousness that imbues May with a timelessness that is not easily shed off by the years. As clouds the moon’s face veil and cover, He draws their web his spirit over; Thought into thought flows undesigning.
Marcela Sulak has beautifully maintained the same style of poetic language as Macha, with the use of the dash to represent silence and time lapse. The cold earth dreaming lay. The gaoler’s light karfl him goes, And on the prisoner’s face it glows. All four of my grandparents are from here and we grew up hearing my grandparents speak Czech and talk about how wonderful the old country was, my entire childhood!
There were several notable individuals responsible for this transformation. Do yourself a favor, if you read this, read it out loud.
Maj: Karel Hynek Macha: : Books
Gazing upon his face, mute round the little hill The unquiet multitude awaits the long day’s ending, Till the declining sun draws to the west once more, Into the head’s blind eyes its gay last laughter sending. But one more night-ah, God, not long! The pale, dead face of the head is softly silvered o’er, Silvered the silent mound, hushed by the lake-shore, As in the evening hush the moon’s fair face is raised. The flowers, the plumes he’s wearing, The hat, the eye beneath it glaring— His very cloak—’Tis he,’tis he!
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Máj – Wikipedia
The fearful clash of chains awakes The guard, who with his lamp comes hasting; So light a step, it scarcely breaks The prisoner’s trance of kaeel unresting. Once again the chime Of slow drops falling metes out time. But still the prisoner’s eyes, adaze As if night shrouded still their gaze, Strain forward, nothing seeing, Althought the lantern’s reddening ray Lights his wan face, and drives away The timid shadows fleeing.
My fearful deed recoiled and slew the slayer.
My season and song are May! The first gleam of tommorow’s morn Over her forest breaking, Will send me to my death forlorn, And gild, as when her child was born, Her merry, mild awaking. An eventide of May on a rocky, desolate shore: Beauty once more the felon’s eyes receive, Beauty which now for ever he must leave, And passionate regret his heart possesses: Bear for his guilt, and your own shame, My bitter curse, and the world’s blame!
While he waits, he ponders on the beauty of nature and his young life. I’m glad I read it, not just for school. Lightly the waves at play come springing Under karl tower, their small spray flying, Ever a gentle murmur bringing, A cradle-song for captive singing, Who in a deep half-death is lying.