I lived with you, I grieved, and many a tear I shed.
In truth, I never did a noble soul defy.
Now it is time for me to go and join the dead.
Seems like it’s joy I leave on earth – so sad am I.
To my inheritance on earth I leave no heir,
Nor to this lute of mine nor even to my name;
My name has but dashed through, much like a lightening glare,
For aye it shall remain an empty sound and tame.
But you that knew me well, in your reports convey
That all my younger years were for my country spent:
While battle raged, at mast I stood, be as it may,
And with the ship I drowned when vanquished down she went.
But he – that may reflect upon the detriment
Of my poor fatherland – will say, if well-intended,
That my mind’s mantle was no drab for beggars meant,
But with the splendor of my ancient fathers splendid.
Oh that my friends at night together gathered be,
And this sad heart of mine in leaves of aloe burn!
And give it then to her who’s given it to me.
Thus mothers are repaid: with ashes in the urn.
Oh that my friends around a goblet sit once more,
And drink unto my funeral and their poor lot.
Be I a ghost, I will appear and join them or –
If God may spare me pain and torture – I shall not.
But I beseech you – there is hope while there is breath.
Do lead the nation with a wisdom’s torch held high,
And one by one, if needed be, go straight to death,
As God-hurled stones that densely over ramparts fly.
And as for me, I leave behind a group of friends,
Who for my haughty heart much love did have and room.
I did God’s hardest service, now the duty ends,
And I agree to have an unlamented tomb.
Who else would like to try, without the world’s applause,
Unto the world displaying but indiffërence,
To be a helmsman in a boat of ghosts – as I was –
And then as lightly as a ghost to vanish hence?
But after me remains, howe’er, the fateful force
That, of no use in life, adorned my forehead tall;
But it will press you when I die, without remorse,
So that, bread-eaters, you become sheer angels all.
Juliusz Słowacki (1809–1849) Poland*
Translated by Jarek Zawadzki
Source: Jarek Zawadzki's website
* He was born in the town of Kremenets (in Polish, Krzemieniec) which at the time was part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth but now is in Ukraine. I have therefore listed him as Polish and he is widely considered to be one of the "Three Bards" of Polish literature (the others being Adam Mickiewicz and Zygmunt Krasiński)
How is it possible that a writer, poet or mystic is sometimes able to predict the future or explain the secrets of nature better, faster than scientists ?
ReplyDeleteThe Polish poet Juliusz Słowacki [1809-1849] wrote a mystical prose poem or prayer entitled ”Genesis from the Spirit”. If we omit the mystical parts in the poem we ended up with the following description of the creation of the world - and the « Big bang »(!) :
“…The Spirit… turned one point… of invisible space into a flash of Magnetic-Attractive Forces. And these turned into electric and lightning bolds – And they warmed up [in the Spirit… You, Lord, forced him… to] flash with destructive fire… [You turned the Spirit… into] a ball of fire and hung him on the abysses…[ And here… a circle spirits… he grabbed] one handful of globes and swirled them around like a fiery rainbow… “
This is how poetic intuition could anticipate the greatests scientific discoveries of 20th century…
(see: https://www.salon24.pl/u/edalward/1334289,big-bang-according-to-the-19th-century-polish-poet-j-slowacki
for more details and references)
Best regards, E.Ma, Paris/France
P.S. the Italian astronomer Alberto Cappi about ”Genesis from the Spirit” : « It’s a fascinating case of cosmology in literature »