Kultura > Edgar Alan PO(1809-1849)

Gavran

Jednom u čas tužan noćni, dok razmišljah, duh nemoćni,
nad knjigama koje drevnu nauku u sebe skriše,
bejah skoro u san pao, a neko je na prag stao
i tiho je zakucao, kucnuo što može tiše.
"Posetilac neki - šanuh - kucnuo što može tiše,
samo to i ništa više."

Ah, sećam se toga jasno, beše zimnje veče kasno;
svaki tinjav odsev žara utvare po podu piše.
De čekajuć, srce snažim u knjigama zalud tražim
za Lenorom bol da blažim. Ime koje podariše
njoj anđeli, divna draga kojoj ime podariše
anđeli, nje nema više.

I šum svilen, šumor tmurni, šum zavesa tih purpurnih,
neslućenom, čudnom strepnjom obuzima sve me više;
da umirim srce rekoh: "To zacelo sad je neko
na pragu se mome steko, kucnuvši što može tiše,
posetilac neki pozni, zakuca što može tiše
na vrata i ništa više."

Najednom mi strepnja minu i zureći u tamninu:
"Gosparu il gospo - kazah - ne ljutite vi se više,
bejah skoro u san pao, neko od vas na prag stao
i tiho je zakucao, kucnuo što može tiše,
da i ne cuh"... Tad mi ruke vrata širom otvoriše -
samo mrak i ništa više.

I dok pogled tamom bludi, bojazan mi puni grudi,
slušajuci, sanjajuci, snovi mi se teški sniše,
i zagledan u tišinu, samohranu pustu tminu,
"O Lenora" reč jedinu, izgovorih tiho, tiše,
"O Lenora" odjek vrati što mi usta prozboriše,
samo to i ništa više.

Vratih se u sobu svoju a duša u nespokoju.
I uskoro nešto jači udarci se ponoviše.
"Na prozoru, u kapcima, mora biti nekog ima,
miruj srce, da u njima vidim kakvu tajnu skriše,
miruj srce da uvidim kakvu tajnu oni skriše,
vetar samo, ništa više!

I otvorih kapke tada, kad ulete iznenada
lepršajuć gordi Gavran iz dana što srećni biše,
gospodski ga izgled krasi, pozdravom se ne oglasi,
niti zasta, nit se skrasi, dok mu krila se ne sviše
povrh vrata, na Paladin kip mu krila se ne sviše,
slete, stade, ništa više.

Videć pticu ebonosnu, osmeh tužno srce kosnu,
zbog važnog i strogog sklada kojim lik joj sav odiše.
"Mada ćube čerupane - rekoh - plašljiv nisi, vrane,
što sablasan traješ dane sred žalova noći, kiše -
kaži kakvim imenom te sile pakle okrstiše?"
Reče Gavran: "Nikad više."

Začudih se vesma tome, odgovoru prejasnome,
mada smislom reči ove meni malo jasno biše:
al priznajem, nema zbora, ne čuh takvog odgovora,
i ne videh takva stvora crnih krila što se sviše,
zver il ticu čija krila na Paladin kip se sviše,
s' tim imenom "Nikad više."

No Gavranu s' kipa bela ta reč beše mudrost cela,
reč jedina s' kojom mu se misao i duša sliše.
Nit rečju tom zbor mu presta, nit pomače on se s' mesta
a u meni sumnje nesta: "Svi me znanci ostaviše,
odleteće i on ko i Nade što me ostaviše."
Reče Gavran: "Nikad više."

Čuvši, duhom sav uzbuđen, taj odgovor brz, rasuđen,
"Stvarno - kazah - to što zbori, reč jedinu nikad više,
valjda reče njegov gazda, zlom sudbinom gonjen vazda,
dok sve misli koje sazda u jedan se pripev sliše,
tužbalicu mrtvih nada i dana što srećni biše,
tužni pripev: "Nikad više."
Ali Gavran, stvor stameni, tužnu maštu bodri meni,
naslonjaču ja približih vratima što mogah bliže,
i galve na plišu sjajne, mnih znamenje tako tajno
u govoru svom nejahno nosi tica ta što stiže,
šta sablasna i odvratna, stara tica koja stiže,
misli, grakćuć: "Nikad više."

Sedeć, slutnjom srce morih, i ni reči ne prozborih
tici čije plamne oči do srca me prostreliše:
i u misli zanesena, meni klonu glava snena
sa uzglavlja tog svilena gde svetiljke odsjaj sliše,
prileć neće nikad više!

A vazduh sve gušci biva, kao miris da razliva
kadionik kojim anđo kadi sobu tiho, tiše
"Nesrećnice - viknuh tada - božija milost to je rada
da ti dušu spase jada, uspomenu da ti zbriše:
pij napitak sladak da se na Lenoru spomen zbriše."
Reče Gavran: "Nikad više."

"Proroče il stvore vražiji, đavole il tico, kaži,
zaklinjem te nebom sklonim i Gospodom ponajviše,
dal' ću dušu namučenu priljubiti u Edenu
uz devojku ozarenu koju svi mi snovi sniše,
uz Lenoru kojoj ime serafimi podariše?"
Reče Gavran: "Nikad više."

"Sad umukni, kleta tico, - skočih, viknuh - zlosutnico,
u paklenu noć se vrati, u oluj i nedra kiše!
S' tamom crno perje spoji, beleg laži gnusnih tvojih,
samoćom me udostoji, vrh vrata ne sedi više;
izgled i kljun tvoj ukloni što mi srce ojadiše."
Reče Gavran: "Nikad više."

I Gavran, stvorenje žalno, sedi stalno, sedi stalno,
krila mu se oko bledog Paladinog kipa sviše,
oči su mu zlokob prava, ko zloduha koji spava,
svetiljka ga obasjava i sen mu po podu piše:
duša mi se od te senke što se njišuć podom piše
spasti neće - nikad više!
dantes
@ Pon, 31.12.2007. 04:05
dantes
ANABEL LI





U CARSTVU JEDNOM PRE MNOGO LETA

TAMO GDE MORE SNE SVOJE SNI -

ZIVLjASE DEVA ZANOSOM CVETA,

IME JOJ BESE ANABEL LI -

JEDNA JOJ MISAO U MISLI BDI:

LjUBAVI NASE SVESCU ZRI.



BILA JE DETE, JA DETE, DAVNO,

TAMO GDE MORE SNE SVOJE SNI,

AL' VOLjASMO SE MI NADLjUBAVNO,

JA I PREMILA ANABEL LI.

ANDjELI S NEBA ZUCAHU STRAVNO

DA TAKVA LjUBAV U NjIMA VRI.



I ETO RAZLOG, ZNATE GA SVI,

I KOB OCAJNA, OSVETA GLUPA:

PODUNU VETAR S OBLAKA ZLI,

TAMO GDE MORE SNE SVOJE SNI,

POKOSI MOJU ANABEL LI.

VITEZA NjENIH POVORKA STUPA;

U GROB JE DALEK OD MENE SKRI

GDE MORE ZALO ROMONOM KUPA.



AL' LjUBAV NASA BI NADLjUBAVNA,

TA LJUBAV NASA - TAJNA JE JAVNA,

NIKAD SE SLICNA NE DESI, ZBI -

O, NI ANDJELI SA NEBA SLAVNA

DEMONI MRACNI DUBINA ZLI

NE RASTAVISE, GDE MORE SNI,

MENE OD MOJE ANABEL LI.



MESEC KAD SINE - DUSU MI VINE

PREBAJNOJ, VAZDA, ANABEL LI.

ZVEZDE KAD ZRACE - OCI MI ZNACE,

VAZDA, PREBAJNE ANABEL LI.

NOC PLIMOM BIJE - KRAJ NjE BDIJE

KRAJ GROBA NjENA, GDE TIHO SPI -

UZ SVIRKU VALA, KRAJ ROMON-ZALA

GDE MORE SINjE SNE SVOJE SNI.
dantes
@ Pon, 31.12.2007. 04:18
dantes
lepo,a jos lepse u originalu,tj na engleskom
neko
@ Pon, 31.12.2007. 12:02
Mozda,ali prevashodno je bitna smisao i razumevanje onoga o cemu je Po pisao.Treba Gavrana prertvoriti u coveka i u coveku prepoznati iskusenika.Treba ziveti sa Poom da bi shvatili njegaova dela,da bi razumeli "Eldorado" njegove umetnicke riznice,koja nije nesto obimna(ali je svakako ostavila dubok trag u samom pocetku razvoja moderne knjizevnosti)ali za ono malo vremena koje ze proveo na zemlji,napisao je sasvim dosta
dantes
@ Pon, 31.12.2007. 14:55
dantes
Mnogo volim da citam njegove stvari, uvek mi je bio posebno drag, jedan od mojih najdrazih pesnika....
Џедај
@ Čet, 03.01.2008. 13:09
Џедај
1849
Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe

This poem appeared in The International Miscellany.
"Annabel Lee" is generally credited to represent Poe's
young wife, Virginia Clemm.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Evo za ljubitelje Poa,koji preferiraju njegove pesme u originalu;Annabel lee .S'obzirom da je ovo jedna od njegovih poslednjih pesama(1849) Annabel Lee ipak nije samo plod Poove stvaralacke maste,vec istinski prikaz neke licnosti iz njegovog zivota;u ovom slucaju Virginie Clemm,njegove rano preminule supruge.o tome svedoci i sam Poov zivot,u kojem se nakon njene smrti predao alkoholizmu(kralju koji ga je pratio kroz ostatak njegovog zivota i pobedio)Sto se mene tice meni je "Eldorado" prvo Poovo knjizevno(lirsko delo)koje mi je ostalo u secanju kao draga uspomenana ovog svojevrsnog knjizavnika.Nisam ovu pesmu uspeo naci na netu(a i ne posedujem je,jer sam vecinom ta dela trazio po biblioteci)pa cu je prvom prilikom cim dodjem do nje ubaciti,u sledeci post.Ako neko ima nek ucini to pre mene.
Kroz zar i hlad,taj vitez mlad ,
prepreke silne svlado.
Kroz pesme poj,jedan sni boj
On trazi Eldorado...
to su prvi stihovi ove pesme koji su mi ostali u u secanju.
dantes
@ Ned, 20.01.2008. 09:17
dantes
“
S'obzirom da je ovo jedna od njegovih poslednjih pesama(1849) Annabel Lee ipak nije samo plod Poove stvaralacke maste,vec istinski prikaz neke licnosti iz njegovog zivota;
”


To znaci da vreme pisanja pesme odredjuje i prisustvo/odsustvo autobiografskih elemenata ? :?:
sinisa
@ Ned, 20.01.2008. 12:20
sinisa
To znaci da je Po predvideo svoju sudbinu,pa je na vreme zavestao pisani spomenik svojoj voljenoj Annabel Lee.To znaci da Po nije imao ni vremena da misli o sebi,jer nema skoro ni delic nekog svog autobiografskog elementa u njegovim delima.Zato ovaj pisac i jeste toliko mistichan kao i njegova dela, a sam nije ostavio nijedan dokaz koji bi upucivao na to,ko je Annabel Lee,A ovo moze biti samo pretpostavka
dantes
@ Ned, 20.01.2008. 14:47
dantes
dantes, ta ti si neki mistik? ;)
sinisa
@ Ned, 20.01.2008. 19:07
sinisa
Neki :?: OK recimo da mi je Roderick Usher lik omiljen ,kao i osveta koja je stigla kneza Prospera u prichi "maska crvene smrti'" :twisted:
dantes
@ Ned, 20.01.2008. 19:51
dantes
E fala q.. neka normalna tema!!!

Nego, dantes, ciji je to prepev Annabele?
Žulja
@ Uto, 22.01.2008. 15:16
Žulja
“Žulja
E fala q.. neka normalna tema!!!
”
Zulja,ovo je stranica posvecena kulturi!Ako si ti nekulturan,pusti druge koje smatras malo nizom klasom od sebe(a ubedjen sam da si dignutog nosa krocio ovde)budu na trenutak u nekom pristojnijem mestu,a sto bi i sam trebao da se potrudis da ga takvim ucinis
“ Žulja
Nego, dantes, ciji je to prepev Annabele?”
S'obzirom na tvoje ponasanje,nisi zasluzio nikakav odgovor,a narocito na jeftina(provokativna)pitanja!Tek da ti ne ostanem duzan.Zato cu kao i dosad zanemariti svaki tvoj suvisni komentar,i posvetiti se dalje onom o cemu sam dosad pisao
dantes
@ Sub, 08.03.2008. 03:16
dantes
In Youth I Have Known One

How often we forget all time, when lone
Admiring Nature's universal throne;
Her woods - her winds - her mountains - the intense
Reply of Hers to Our intelligence!

I.

In youth I have known one with whom the Earth
In secret communing held - as he with it,
In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth:
Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit
From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth
A passionate light - such for his spirit was fit -
And yet that spirit knew - not in the hour
Of its own fervour - what had o'er it power.

II.

Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought
To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs o'er,
But I will half believe that wild light fraught
With more of sovereignty than ancient lore
Hath ever told - or is it of a thought
The unembodied essence, and no more
That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass
As dew of the night time, o'er the summer grass?

III.

Doth o'er us pass, when as th' expanding eye
To the loved object - so the tear to the lid
Will start, which lately slept in apathy?
And yet it need not be - (that object) hid
From us in life - but common - which doth lie
Each hour before us - but then only bid
With a strange sound, as of a harpstring broken
T' awake us - 'Tis a symbol and a token -

IV.

Of what in other worlds shall be - and given
In beauty by our God, to those alone
Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven
Drawn by their heart's passion, and that tone,
That high tone of the spirit which hath striven
Though not with Faith - with godliness - whose throne
With desperate energy 't hath beaten down;
Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.
dantes
@ Pon, 10.03.2008. 05:51
dantes
SAN U SNU

Čak mi i život davan
(pošto može) liči na san,
ja nikada ne bih hteo
da budem car Napoleon,
nit se moja zvezda gnezdi
na dalekoj nekoj zvezdi.

Odlazeć od tebe sada
priznajem ti srca rada -
takvih bića bi niz ceo
koja moj duh ne bi sreo
da su prošla pored mene
kroz oči mi zatvorene -
ako mir se moj raspada,
noću, danju, bilo kada,
poput ničeg, poput sanje,
dal ga zato ode manje?

Stojim dok svud oko mene
na sprudu se vali pene
i na mome dlanu bleska
roj zrnaca zlatnog peska -
malo! Al je i to malo
kroz prste u ponor palo!
Moje rane nade? - davno
iščezle su one slavno,
poput munje što zasija
za tren nebom - pa ću i ja.

Tako mlad ? Ah! Ne - zacelo!
Još me smori moje čelo,
al ti da sam ohol kažu -
oni lažu - glasno lažu -
od srama mi drhte grudi,
jer se bedni čas usudi
da čast osećanja mojih
sa imenom niskim spoji -
ni stoičan? Ne! - U zlobi
i teskobi moje kobi
s podsmehom ću prezirati
tu žalosnu slast "trajati"
Šta? Zenona senka! - Nikad!
Ja! Trajati! - Ne -ne čikat'!

Primi poljubac u čelo!
I, dok krećem neveselo,
potvrđujem tebi smelo -
jer istinu sada znamo
da moj život san bi samo;
Sad kad nesta moja nada,
poput ničeg, poput sanje,
dal je zato ode manje?
Sve što znamo i gledamo
zbilja san u snu je samo.

Dolazim do šumnog žala
izmučenog srdžbom vala,
i uzimam zrnca peska
koji kao zlato bleska -
malo! Al je i to malo
kroz prste u ponor palo,
dok mre srce malaksalo!
O sudbo! Zar nema spasa
ni jednom od zlog talasa?
Sve što znamo i gledamo
da li san u snu je samo?
dantes
@ Pon, 10.03.2008. 05:52
dantes
A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
dantes
@ Pon, 10.03.2008. 06:05
dantes
Eldorado

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
dantes
@ Pon, 10.03.2008. 06:38
dantes
Eldorado

Kroz žar i hlad
Taj vitez mlad,
Prepreke silne svlado –
Uz pesme poj,
Jedan sni boj:
On traži Eldorado.

Al’ starost, gle,
Ne njega gre –
Srce, o gde si mlado?
Sve odno vrag,
Nigde ni trag –
Toj zemlji Eldorado!

Ocaja plen –
Kad! Srete sen:
- Senko, bratska nado,
Kaži mi ti
Gde li se skri
Ta zemlja Eldorado!

- Prejezdi Um,
meseca Hum,
Pa hvataj drum, o jado –
Ne budi len
- Rece mu sen –
Tražiš li Eldorado.
dantes
@ Ned, 03.01.2010. 04:38
dantes
For Annie

Thank Heaven! the crisis --
The danger is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last --
And the fever called "Living"
Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know
I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length --
But no matter! -- I feel
I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead --
Might start at beholding me,
Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,
Are quieted now,
With that horrible throbbing
At heart: -- ah, that horrible,
Horrible throbbing!

The sickness -- the nausea --
The pitiless pain --
Have ceased, with the fever
That maddened my brain --
With the fever called "Living"
That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures
That torture the worst
Has abated -- the terrible
Torture of thirst
For the naphthaline river
Of Passion accurst: --
I have drank of a water
That quenches all thirst: --

Of a water that flows,
With a lullaby sound,
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground --
From a cavern not very far
Down under ground.

And ah! let it never
Be foolishly said
That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed;
For man never slept
In a different bed --
And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes,
Forgetting, or never
Regretting its roses --
Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies
A holier odor
About it, of pansies --
A rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansies --
With rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many
A dream of the truth
And the beauty of Annie --
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast --
Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished,
She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
To keep me from harm --
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,
Now in my bed,
(Knowing her love)
That you fancy me dead --
And I rest so contentedly,
Now in my bed,
(With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me dead --
That you shudder to look at me,
Thinking me dead: --

But my heart it is brighter
Than all of the many
Stars in the sky,
For it sparkles with Annie --
It glows with the light
Of the love of my Annie --
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.
baksuz
@ Ned, 03.01.2010. 13:52
baksuz
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