"Sonety, jaká slast..."
Ivan Blatný

Villanelly

Edwin Arlington Robinson - The House on the Hill, Villanelle of Change (dvě villanelly v originále, 1900)

6. února 2008 v 20:49 | Edwin Arlington Robinson
The House on the Hill

They are all gone away,
The House is shut and still,
There is nothing more to say.

Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill.
They are all gone away.

Nor is there one to-day
To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.

Why is it then we stray
Around the sunken sill?
They are all gone away,

And our poor fancy-play
For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.

There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill:
They are all gone away,
There is nothing more to say.

Villanelle of Change

Since Persia fell at Marathon,
The yellow years have gathered fast:
Long centuries have come and gone.

And yet (they say) the place will don
A phantom fury of the past,
Since Persia fell at Marathon;

And as of old, when Helicon
Trembled and swayed with rapture vast
(Long centuries have come and gone),

This ancient plain, when night comes on,
Shakes to a ghostly battle-blast,
Since Persia fell at Marathon.

But into soundless Acheron
The glory of Greek shame was cast:
Long centuries have come and gone,

The suns of Hellas have all shone,
The first has fallen to the last:-
Since Persia fell at Marathon,
Long centuries have come and gone.

David Shapiro - The Carburetor at Venice (villanella v originále)

6. února 2008 v 20:29 | David Shapiro
I have had an accident. I cannot see.
I have broken my glasses and I've missed my train.
I like you very much. Do you like me?

I need a guide. I need a secretary.
For when? For tomorrow. I will come again.
I have had an accident. I cannot see.

I need an interpreter. Here is my key.
Ouch! Stop! How long will it take? Please use novocaine.
I like you very much. Do you like me?

Remove your clothes. Open your mouth and lie
Like an interesting city under an airplane.
I have had an accident. I cannot see.

The battery is dead. Charge up the battery.
Can you draw me a map of the road I'm on?
I like you very much. Do you like me?

Can I see you today for the whole day? How long will that be?
Here is a present for you. A silver brain.
I have had an accident. I cannot see.
I like you very much. Do you like me?

převzato z http://galatearesurrection8.blogspot.com/2007/11/burning-interiors-david-shapiros-poetry.html

Mark Strand - dvoj-villanella Two De Chiricos v originále

6. února 2008 v 19:59 | Mark Strand
1. The Philosopher's Content
This melancholy moment will remain,
So, too, the oracle beyond the gate,
And always the tower, the boat, the distant train.

Somewhere to the south a Duke is slain,
A war is won. Here, it is too late.
This melancholy moment will remain.

Here, an autumn evening without rain,
Two artichokes abandoned on a crate,
And always the tower, the boat, the distant train.

Is this another scene of childhood pain?
Why do the clockhands say 1:28?
This melancholy moment will remain.

The green and yellow light of love's domain
Falls upon the joylessness of fate,
And always the tower, the boat, the distant train.

The things our vision wills us to contain,
The life of objects, their unbearable weight.
This melancholy moment will remain,
And always the tower, the boat, the distant train.
2. The Disquieting Muses

Boredom sets in first, and then despair.
One tries to brush it off. It only grows.
Something about the silence of the square.

Something is wrong; something about the air,
Its color; about the light, the way it goes.
Something about the silence of the square.

The muses in their fluted evening wear,
Their faces blank, might lead one to suppose
Something about the silence of the square,

Something about the buildings standing there.
But no, they have no purpose but to pose.
Boredom sets in first, and then despair.

What happens after that, one doesn't care.
What brought one here--the desire to compose
Something about the silence of the square,

Or something else, of which one's not aware,
Life itself, perhaps--who really knows?
Boredom sets in first, and then despair...
Something about the silence of the square.
převzato z http://inwardboundpoetry.blogspot.com/2007/07/453-two-de-chiricos-mark-strand.html

Oscar Wilde - Theocritus: a Villanelle (villanella v originále)

6. února 2008 v 19:35 | Oscar Wilde

O singer of Persephone!
In the dim meadows desolate
Dost thou remember Sicily?

Still through the ivy flits the bee
Where Amaryllis lies in state;
O Singer of Persephone!

Simætha calls on Hecate
And hears the wild dogs at the gate;
Dost thou remember Sicily?

Still by the light and laughing sea
Poor Polypheme bemoans his fate:
O Singer of Persephone!

And still in boyish rivalry
Young Daphnis challenges his mate:
Dost thou remember Sicily?

Slim Lacon keeps a goat for thee,
For thee the jocund shepherds wait,
O Singer of Persephone!
Dost thou remember Sicily?
převzato z http://poetry.about.com/od/villanellelinks/Villanelle_links.htm

Sylvia Plathová - Mad Girl's Love Song, Denouement Villanelle, Doomsday (tři villanelly v originále)

6. února 2008 v 19:33 | Sylvia Plathová
Mad Girl's Love Song
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
Denouement Villanelle
The telegram says you have gone away
And left our bankrupt circus on its own;
There is nothing more for me to say.

The maestro gives the singing birds their pay
And they buy tickets for the tropic zone;
The telegram says you have gone away.

The clever woolly dogs have had their day
They shoot the dice for one remaining bone;
There is nothing more for me to say.

The lion and the tigers turn to clay
And Jumbo sadly trumpets into stone;
The telegram says you have gone away.

The morbid cobra's wits have run astray;
He rents his poisons out by telephone;
There is nothing more for me to say.

The colored tents all topple in the bay;
The magic saw dust writes: address unknown.
The telegram says you have gone away;
There is nothing more for me to say.
Doomsday
The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans
Atop the broken universal clock:
The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.

Our painted stages fall apart by scenes
While all the actors halt in mortal shock:
The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans.

Streets crack through in havoc-split ravines
As the doomstruck city crumbles block by block:
The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.

Fractured glass flies down in smithereens;
Our lucky relics have been out in hock:
The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans.

God's monkey wrench has blasted all machines;
We never thought to hear the holy cock:
The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.

Too late to ask if end was worth the means,
Too late to calculate the toppling stock:
The idiot bird leaps out and drunken leans,
The hour is crowed in lunatic thirteens.
převzato z http://poetry.about.com/od/villanellelinks/Villanelle_links.htm
a
http://inwardboundpoetry.blogspot.com/2007/07/458-villanelle-doomsday-sylvia-plath.html

Seamus Heaney - Villanelle for an Anniversary (villanella v originále)

6. února 2008 v 19:28 | Seamus Heaney
A spirit moved. John Harvard walked the yard,
The atom lay unsplit, the west unwon,
The books stood open and the gates unbarred.

The maps dreamt on like moondust. Nothing stirred.
The future was a verb in hibernation.
A spirit moved, John Harvard walked the yard.

Before the classic style, before the clapboard,
All through the small hours of an origin,
The books stood open and the gate unbarred.

Night passage of a migratory bird.
Wingflap. Gownflap. Like a homing pigeon
A spirit moved, John Harvard walked the yard.

Was that his soul (look) sped to its reward
By grace or works? A shooting star? An omen?
The books stood open and the gate unbarred.

Begin again where frosts and tests were hard.
Find yourself or founder. Here, imagine
A spirit moves, John Harvard walks the yard,
The books stand open and the gates unbarred.

převzato ze stránky http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/1515.html

Theodore Roethke - The Waking, The Right Thing (dvě villanelly v originále)

6. února 2008 v 19:23 | Theodore Roethke
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
The Right Thing
Let others probe the mystery if they can.
Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will--
The right thing happens to the happy man.

The bird flies out, the bird flies back again;
The hill becomes the valley, and is still;
Let others delve that mystery if they can.

God bless the roots!--Body and soul are one!
The small become the great, the great the small;
The right thing happens to the happy man.

Child of the dark, he can out leap the sun,
His being single, and that being all:
The right thing happens to the happy man.

Or he sits still, a solid figure when
The self-destructive shake the common wall;
Takes to himself what mystery he can,

And, praising change as the slow night comes on,
Wills what he would, surrendering his will
Till mystery is no more: No more he can.
The right thing happens to the happy man.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
převzato ze stránky http://www.bloomington.in.us/~dory/creative/class6.html

Frank Scott - Villanelle For Our Time (Villanella naší doby) - v originále a v překladu Václava Pinkavy

24. června 2007 v 10:39 | Frank Scott - Václav Pinkava
Villanelle For Our Time

From bitter searching of the heart,
Quickened with passion and with pain
We rise to play a greater part.

This is the faith from which we start:
Men shall know commonwealth again
From bitter searching of the heart.

We loved the easy and the smart,
But now, with keener hand and brain,
We rise to play a greater part.

The lesser loyalties depart,
And neither race nor creed remain
From bitter searching of the heart.

Not steering by the venal chart
That tricked the mass for private gain,
We rise to play a greater part.

Reshaping narrow law and art
Whose symbols are the millions slain,
From bitter searching of the heart
We rise to play a greater part.


Villanella naší doby

Z hořkosti srdce zpytání
jímž kmitá vášeň, však i bol
tím jsouce k metám zvedáni

to tím je, vírou v poznání:
Zas spjato bude lidstvo kol
z hořkosti srdcezpytání.

Nadchlo kdys, hladké uznání,
teď hlavou v dlaň, skrz protipól
tím jsouce k metám zvedáni.

Povrchních citů svlékání;
Ne původ, národ, jinak zvol
z hořkosti srdcezpytání.

Pod cenou nezaprodáni,
ne sázkaři na vlastní gól,
tím jsouce k metám zvedáni.

Rozevlát úzkost, svírání,
svědectví mrtvých epištol;
Z hořkosti srdcezpytání
tím jsouce k metám zvedáni.

Dylan Thomas - Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night (Do dobré noci té nekráčej ve fraku) - slavná villanella v originále a v překladu Václava Pinkavy

24. června 2007 v 10:36 | Dylan Thomas - Václav Pinkava
Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Do dobré noci té nekráčej ve fraku

Do dobré noci té nekráčej ve fraku
Stáří ať burácí, soptí, když hasne den;
běsni jen, běsni jen dál, protiv soumraku.

Moudří daj' za pravdu temnu, bez nároku,
poté co z jejich slov blesk nešleh' rozeklen,
do dobré noci však nekráčí ve fraku.

Dobří, když za vlnou, skrz slzu na oku
činů svých v zátoce pablesků vidí sen,
běsní jen, běsní jen dál, proti soumraku.

Divoši, sluncem co žhnou, pějí zázraku,
shledavše lament že vyprovázel jej ven,
do dobré noci též nekráčí ve fraku.

Vážní, ti smrtelně, spatří bez oblaků,
co v očích slepců by létavic moh' být plén,
běsní jen, běsní jen dál, proti soumraku.

A ty tam, Otče můj, hoře mých opaků
zatrať mne, požehnej, hřmi ať jsem očištěn.
Do dobré noci té nekráčej ve fraku.
Běsni jen, běsni jen dál, protiv soumraku.

Elizabeth Bishopová - One Art (Jistý um) - villanella v originále a v překladu Václava Pinkavy

24. června 2007 v 10:25 | Elizabeth Bishopová - Václav Pinkava
One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Jistý um

Ztrácet. Lze lehce zvládnout provedení.
Toliko věcí zdá se plno snahy
ztratit se, až to katastrofa není.

Ztrať něco dnes! Přijmi to nervů chvění
po klíčích shon, hoďky čas v háji drahý,
Ztrácet lze. Lehce zvládnout provedení.
Pak pokroč dál a ztrácej v urychlení:
Místa a jména, cíle, vlastní tahy
krajinou. Vždyť to katastrofa není.

Hodinky matky pak! Vzdor oblíbení,
předposlední z tří bydlišť v háji záhy.
Ztrácet lze lehce, zvládnout provedení.

Dvě města pryč, co dřív se nedocení,
Panství, dvě řeky, kontinent neblahý,
chybí mi. Leč to katastrofa není.

-- I Tebe... (s úsměvemem a bez zaklení,
líbezné.) Nelhat. Jasné je bez úvahy,
ztrácet lze lehce zvládnout. Provedení,
ač zdá se (piš si!) katastrofa není.
 
 

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