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Poe, Edgar Allan: Havran (The Raven in Slovak)

Portre of Poe, Edgar Allan

The Raven (English)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore --

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

" 'T is some visitor, " I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--

                        Only this and nothing more."


Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow -- vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore--

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--

                        Nameless here for evermore.


And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before:

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating.

" 'T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--

                        That it is and nothing more."


Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,

"Sir, " said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore:

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"-- here I opened wide the door--

                        Darkness there and nothing more.


Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering fearing.

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to  dream before:

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!"--

                        Merely this and nothing more.


Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore--

                        'T is the wind an nothing more!"


Open here i flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just a bove my chamber door--

                        Perched, and sat, and nothing more.


Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

                        Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."


Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

                        With such name as "Nevermore."


But the Raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpoor.

Nothing further then he uttered, not a feather then he fluttered--

Till I scarcely more then muttered, "Other friends have flown before --

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."

                        Then the bird said, "Nevermore."


Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utteres is it only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore --

Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore

                        Of 'Never - nevermore.'"


But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door,

Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

                        Meant in croaking, "Nevermore."


This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er

But whose velvet-violet lining with lamp-light gloating o'er

                        She shall press, ah, nevermore!


Then methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God has lent thee -- by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite -- respite the nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"

                        Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."


"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird of devil!

Whether Tempter sent, or whatever tempest tossed thee ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --

On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --

Is  there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"

                        Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."


"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird of devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore--

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore --

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."

                        Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."


"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting --

"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!

                        Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."


And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor,

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

                        Shall be lifted -- nevermore!

Source of the quotation

Havran (Slovak)

Už polnočné zlietli tône, myseľ v ťažkej dume tonie,

hlavu kloním ponad listy dávnych spisov starých vier,

sen už temer sadnul v riase, v príšer plnom nočnom čase,

zrazu šuchot, klepot v hlase čudnom znie od mojich dvier.

„Pozdný hosť snáď — myslím stajme — tápe hen u mojich dvier.“

    Toľko len a nič viac, ver.

December bol práve chmúrny, čarodejne divobúrny,

uhoľ z krbu odblesk chmúrny vrhal vôkol v tôní sbor.

Túžil som za rána svitom, za srdcom od mieru sýtom,

nie od smútku, bôľu spitom, myseľ dvíhal k raju hor,

kde Lenorou mŕtvu milú menuje anjelov chór;

    v kruhu hviezdnom žiaden spor!

Tu zhyb kortíny sa zvlní, steskom, žasom dušu plní,

zvlní, plní hodváb šumný srdce desom ako mor,

divo, divšie srdce búši, duša temnú sudbu tuší;

„Pozdný hosť snáď, — tíšim strachy — tápe hen u mojich dvier,

iste, iste hosť to pozdný vstúpiť chce do mojich dvier,

    toľko len a nič viac, ver.“

Vzmužím dušu, zvládam žasy, nebude v tom hrôzy asi:

„Pán, či pani — diem — odpusťte, myseľ pomýlila smer,

v snách som trímal dušu dumne a predo mnou zväzky umné,

vy, ach, siahli ste jemne po závore mojich dvier,

neslyšal som temer šumu“ … v tom otvorím závor dvier;

    vonku tma a nič viac, ver.

V husté temno prel som zraky, čakal divy a zázraky,

trpiac, v pochýb hnal sa spory, v snoch som strácal duše mier,

ale ticho vládlo kolom, chyžou, vôkol, domom — dvorom.

Slovo „Lenora!“ len znelo ako vlna vzdušných hier,

ja ho šepol, šuchlo echom ani vlna vzdušných hier,

    toľko len a nič viac, ver.

Tu keď v chyžu kročím zasi, v duši planie vatra kási,

znova čujem, dakto šmátra a dač živšie ako driev.

„Iste — rečiem — u obloka niečo tápe do vysoka,

nechže zlietne beľmo z oka, strhnem závoj z šerých vier,

na kmit stíš sa srdce, závoj odhrniem hneď šerých vier;

    van to vetra, nič viac, ver.“

Zrazu oblok otvorí sa a velebne vovalí sa

havran zrutný, ruchom, šumom sťa keď búrkou stená bor,

tužibuď a bleskurýchle, povedome, nebárs stíchle

usadí sa panským kynom ponad čelo mojich dvier

a na sochu Palladinu, okrasu to mojich dvier,

    sadne si a nič viac, ver.

Zasmial som sa, zhora-dola keď som skúmal čierne stvora,

keď som zbadal vážnosť veľkú načechraných bŕk a pier,

„Bárs si búrkou okmásaný, smelýs’, bárs aj nie si zvaný,

tvore bludných duchov druhu, ošarpaný ani ker,

riekni, jak ťa zvú tam Dolu, podsvetia kde králi mier,“

    havran rečie: „Nikdy ver.“

Zázrak kýsi, vraví divne, vtákom je, preds’ vraví plynne,

v slove síce zmyslu málo podľa mysle jasných mier,

ale čudno, hosť ten čierny vraví i bez ľudskej perny

a do chyže vteperí sa, sadne ponad temä dvier,

vták, či tvor to beštiálny, sadne ponad sochu dvier,

    menuje sa: nikdy ver.

A na soche havran v tichu sedí, nevydá ni dychu,

jedno slovo riekol len, sťa v ňom by duch vrel túh a vier,

ani hlesu viac, ni šuchu nečuť, ani chvenie ruchu

nezaletí k tvojmu sluchu: zmizne, mniem, i táto zber,

nádej’ zhynulo už veľa, sťa blesk rána z pávích pier,

    letún riekne: „Nikdy ver“.

Odpoveď tá striasla duchom — príšer kási v slove suchom,

„Iste — dumám — bájou čírou je, čo žvatle táto zver,

majstra jeho sudba krutá, v putá beznádejne skutá,

stínala na stezkách bludných — ulúpila duše mier,

on ho zučil v zvukoch nudných koktať vlastnej biedy žer

    tajným slovom: „Nikdy ver.“

Zasmial som sa, zhora-dola keď som skúmal čierne stvora,

kreslo mäkké potisol som voči soche mojich dvier;

klesol tam na baršún, snami, predpodivnými dumami

chtiac rozuzliť zdania, mamy — ominóznych slov a sfér —

ký v nich obsah, čože chechtá hrozne chudý, starý zver,

    kváčúc: „Nikdy, nikdy ver.“

Onemel som v mysli zmesi, blúdiac v šírke-diaľke kdesi,

kým on ohňom očú žravých sťaby upír-netopier

vŕtal v hruď; ja sklonil hlavu na baršúna riasu smavú,

na nej lúče lampy mávu, v zhyboch hrá si tieňov šer.

Ona tiež raz divom zrela chyže fialkovú šer,

    nevzhliadne viac nikdy ver.

Tu kadidiel nevídaných tymian sála, neslýchaných

zvukov zvonia zvony zvučne z serafínskych božských hier.

„Čuj, to anjelov sú sbory, boh ich zoslal, aby chorý,

komu srdce žiaľom horí, našiel vytúžený mier!

Rozpomienku na Lenoru bôľnu zhladil jeho mier!“

    Havran rečie: „Nikdy ver.“

„Veštcu! riekni, duchu zlosti! — a či vtáku nemilosti! —

Posle sudby, hoc orkánom vyrvaný hneď z pekla dier;

musím tedy strádať? kdesi večne šliapať pusté lesy,

hrôzy kúzla, samôt desy skúšať v stane čiernych vier?

Nieto lieku v Gileade pre mňa? — riekni — zhyniem ver!“

    Havran rečie: „Nikdy ver!“

„Veštcu! riekni — duchu zlosti! — a či vtáku nemilosti?

Pre boha a nebies slávu, prosím, taje pootvor —

srdcu stiesnenému riekni, tam kde chvie sa Eden pekný,

môž tam k hrudi milú, riekni, privinúť, kde svätých sbor —

už Lenorou menuje i jasných duchov spevný chór?

    „Nikdy“ — v odvet havran-tvor.

„Ta sa v besy búrok zase, vtáku-diablu, v pozdnom čase —

skríknem hrôzou — k brehom Noci Večnej, strašnej, ta sa ber!

Čo si vravel, klam je púhy. — Samota, cieľ mojej túhy!

Vyrvi z hrude klov svoj suchý, nechcem vidieť tvojich pier!

Ni páperia nenechaj tu, zmizni z sochy mojich dvier!“

    Havran rečie: „Nikdy ver.“

Havran nepohne sa ani, žhavým okom na mňa gáni —

z Palladinej bielej sochy, sponad čela mojich dvier,

zraky ani démon snivý, koldúň sťa, čo vidí divy,

nad ním pablesk lampy živý jeho tôňu vrhá z dvier,

a môj duch viac nesprostí sa nikdy tône jeho pier,

    nikdy, nikdy — nikdy ver!

Italia, bojište pri Piave, apríl 1918

Uploaded byRépás Norbert
PublisherZlatý fond denníka SME /
Source of the quotationDielo digitalizoval(i) Viera Studeničová, Zdenko Podobný, Lucia Muráriková, Katarína Tínesová, Mária Hulvejová, Martin Hlinka./ CCA-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License
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