An Anthology of Czechoslovak Poetry/Czech Poetry/Otokar Březina
OTOKAR BŘEZINA
(1868–1929)
Otokar Březina is the pen name of Václav Jebavý, who was born in the town of Počatky. He became a teacher in western Moravia, and it was there that he commenced writing. There is a deep mysticism and symbolism in all his works, so that he stands quite alone in Czech poetry, though certain of his qualities remind us of Zeyer. He is undoubtedly an outstanding figure, and probably only the future will properly appreciate him.
OBLIVION
The azure day blushed red with crimson smile, and flaming Flung sunset sparks amid cloud-snow in joyous mood; Perfumeries in dulcet breath the twilight claiming Burned eddying in my blood.
A smile of peace spread over brows of pain and fire, And funeral chantings melted into gentleness With happy echoes, as if merry bell and lyre Some far-off feast would bless.
Ah, is this twilight but the shade of days receded, Fading from old-time azured skies with failing light? Has this blood-thrill of perfumed air perchance preceded My mother’s wedding-night?
A wind from shores of Silence has come gently o’er me; I feel the fluttering of unseen wings increase; And, as in garden-prayers, an angel stoops to pour me A mystic cup of peace.Translated by Watson Kirkconnell
PRAYER FOR OUR ENEMIES
Thy might hath spread out our flush on the faces of all who attack us, When we were pale in our terror, And maketh the eyes of our enemies shine as the stars from the darkness around us. Out of our silences riseth their shouting of triumph most joyous. The scent from our burial wreaths hath been unto them a sweet fragrance and savor. But visions of us have impinged on their dreams and have poisoned their festival songs. And remotest of desolate places are the regions where with them we struggled.
Deep is the shadow thy mystery layeth forever between their strange spirits and ours. Also the mystical light which thou givest hath pierced to their vitals most strangely. The summer in which their seed ripened to harvest hath blackened like fire our meadows. From their voice roar the furious winds which have swept the wild tempest among us. Sorrow for tears long forgotten, deep silence strewn o’er our ruins. There lurk in their smile many dangers and memories of unknown conquests of mortals, And the frown on their brow is the shadow of unexplained deaths in past ages. In our thoughts and in theirs ever struggleth a dumb confusion of voices to rise from the innermost souls, Echoes of thoughts of our fathers, dark threats and the causes of bloodshed: Deep is the shadow thy mystery layeth between their strange spirits and ours!
Almighty! Eternal! Thou smile, unchanging for ever and ever! Embrace of eternity ever! Pleasing song of the myriads of spirits! Leaping in flashes from visions of vanishing pleasures! Thou, whose compassion canst fall as hot sulphur within the realm of earthly affection! Hear us, we pray with a prayer for the foes who assail us in darkness, And for the foes who are near us, but never revealed in their lifetime, And for the foes who await us in future until the last dawn of our race on this earth!
Deep is the shadow thy mystery layeth between their strange spirits and ours! Our victories lead us to Thee, and in our defeats are victories no man can fathom. The whistling of swords soundeth like to the ripening ears of the harvest. The blows have an echo hereafter. In our steel and in that of our foemen one sun shineth bright every morning. And to the seed from our sore bleeding hands thou grantest to bloom like pure lilies. Countless the flames which thou sendest against the deep darkness. The sun, the mysterious thirst of the worlds, But darkness rolleth e’er from the heights of the cosmos. Yet light in the end will prove victor, And our sad exclamations shall sound as the buzzing of bees, When they approach to their hives with the sweetness of honey they’ve gathered from blossoms. In thy mysterious cause we are struggling. Thou hast appointed the leaders and granted a vision of all of the slow moving epochs.
The rays of their view are still clear as they pass from one field to another: Their whispering words thou hast changed by thy will to a storm. Thou hast bestowed on us strength, when the regions of light in our century were sounding, And hast assisted our foes, when we dreamed of establishing victory forever ’Mid blazing torches at night! Our days are as gloomy as the sunlight in winter, a burden, a burden, a burden! Our weariness scattereth roses for all of our foes! And our path to time’s end doth continue!
Eternal! The weakness of victory smoketh to heaven through all future ages as a petition, Clasping of hands which are wet by our tears is calling for mystical pardon! Make our wounds pleasant and the mortals never decreasing in number but ever increasing! In the calm hour of sorrow, grant us to hear in our soul the mystical message of light, For sorrow and light are but forms of thy one mysterious vibration! In the high noon of our struggle let sound the ethereal kiss of the spirits in death now united, And the fresh dew of the eve shall cool the parched faces hard burned in the struggle, In which we all can merge with our souls and our enemies seeking for mercy, Which we had spurned with our tears in the rosy rain of the kisses of the departed, Which thou hast bidden to rest on the lips of the man who is struggling.Translated by Clarence A. Manning
THUS SANG THE BURNING STARS
With every second, always in positionIn the mystic dance of the worlds,We revolve through the firmament.Into the shining spheres of spirits we radiate,Bewitching in beauty.About our headsIn aureolesGolden hair scintillatesTauted like sounding lariatsBy the hurricane of our flight.
In our faces, which flame in ecstasy,The chill of the ages blowsAnd, fatigued by the happiness of our flight,Exhausted by blazes of painful rapture,With a cry which leaps through infinity,Harmonious and exultant,We sink, mystic dancers,And in our blood, as if buried in roses,We die.
Our sisters rise into our places,Incandescent,And in the song billowing through the dusks of eternityIn ever growing waves,Into newer and ever newer spheres advancing,In the clouds of dust which are raised,The shining vanguard of mystery.Translated by Charles Heitzman