Karel Hynek Macha. Translation by Edith Pargeter Czech original. 1. Late evening, on the first of May— The twilit May—the time of love. Meltingly called the . Karel Hynek Mácha was born in in an old part of Prague where his father was the foreman at The epic romantic poem Máj (May) was written in Czech. Karel Hynek Mácha Every Czech child, by the time he or she is nine or ten, can quote the opening lines of May, “Byl pozdní večer – první máj.

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Far through the night an owl is calling, And louder beats the midnight bell. Be one among us, know us well, No more be doomed alone to dwell. And deep compassion mn its hands on every heart. With sudden sound Of clamorous chains he springs upright, And from the little window strains Over the waves his tortured sight.

Beyond the hill there slips away A young wood, murmuring mournfully; Radiant the sun on vale and lea— The morning dew—the morning May. The fearful clash of chains awakes The guard, who with his lamp comes hasting; So light a step, it scarcely breaks The prisoner’s trance of dread unresting. A new dream holds his mind in thrall. So dies the dreaded Forest King!

Or that best rose, long longed-for here, That fruit the wide earth did not bear, Will dawn and death disclose? About the head the sunset bright Lay like a wreath of roses growing, Gilding the bony face with light, On fretted skin and white jaw glowing. Yet his writings did not receive much praise during his lifetime, and May was his only book to be published hunek he was alive.

Out of the forests bluely lifting Faint vapours climb the rose-flushed hjnek, And on the lake more bluely drifting In delicate colours melt and die; And on the shore, and in the shadow Of hills and valleys flowering, Shine out white courts through wood and meadow, Waking; till like a mighty king— Colossal as the shade of night Against thwe heaven’s rosy light— The highest peak stands towering. It contains forebodings of many of the tendencies of twentieth-century literature: Many works of art and literature are beloved because they are linked inextricably to the culture and age from which they sprang.


And your name, Marcela Sulak, is very much a typical Czech name. Forward I spurred in fear, there where the safe town hailed me, And asked what wheel, what bones were these which grimly grew there, The old innkeeper told the story all men knew there- The story I have told-and on that wheel impaled me.

Mu pounding blood to terror knells her. There in the midnight land, far as the eye’s reach ranging, Through valleys, over hills, by forest, lake and meadow, A wide, white pall of snow lay level and unchanging, Over the skull and wheel-all white without a shadow. Wave baunting wave the streamlets move. Intermezzo I Midnight a lonely place in the countryside In the wide plains sleeps sound the pale moon’s argent light, Darkness is on the hills, the lake with stars is bright.

He was inspired by Shelley as well. Even as snow-white virgin doves Against dark wastes of cloud in jynek, On water-lily flowering white On deepest blue—so something moves— Where in the hills karrl lake hunek hiding— Over the dark waves nearer gliding, Nearer in haste. At midnight is the funeral hour. A hillock by the lake-shore rises, A stake thereon, a wheel raised lightly, Whereon a bleached skull glistens whitely, While ghostly rout a dance devises, About the high wheel revelling rightly.

May itself is classic romanticism: It is set in a bucolic landscape, inspired by such features as a lake then called Big Pond Czech: To ask other readers questions about Mayplease sign up.

Unending silence—never a sound— Unending space, night, time, surround The dead mind dreaming on decay— Mere nothingness—for ever! His cradle and grave, the womb that gave him birth, His sweet, sole land, his heritage approved, In the generous earth, the single, holy earth, Into the mother’s heart the blood of her son is flowing.

Here in the womb Of veriest midnight shines some beam Of moon or star—there—hideous gloom, There never—never—never a gleam, Only the dark for hyenk.

Late evening, on the first of May— The twilit May-the time of love— Meltingly calls the turtle-dove: About the wheel the white farmhouses Dimpling the sunlit lake-shore lie.

Quenched is the moon’s benignant light, Quenched are the stars, and bynek around Is purest darkness, black, profound, As if the grave’s mouth gaped there.

Forth from the farms pale shadows strayed, Lengthening longing to their kind, Till they embraced, and close entwined, Coiled low into the lap of shade, Grown all one twilight unity. Wherefore a prisoner he lies, Doomed to the wheel’s embrace that kills; Lord of the Woods, at dawn he dies, At the first kindling of the hills. In shadowy woods the burnished lake Darkly complained a secret pain, By circling shores embraced again; And heaven’s clear sun leaned down to take A road astray in azure deeps, Like burning tears the lover weeps.


Hunek again the pains Of death his heart are tearing, And fading far the voice complains An anguish beyond bearing. My newest dream – I still dream on! Distant are grown the towns, far as a kareo in air, Beyond to the edge of seeing the dead eyes steadily stare, To the edge of sight, to his youth-Oh, brief, bright childhood day!

He was also, like Shelley and Byron, a wanderer. Deep your seducer’s hynk has ncha him, That stroke a parricide arraigned him. Even if you are confused by old but absolutely marvelous czech, you just can’t help but get drawn in by the hgnek presentation. Do yourself a favor, if you read this, read it out loud.

Goodreads helps you keep track of books you want to read. I just can’t wait for may to come! Mountain on mountain westward presses Beyond the lake high-piled And there in the pinewoods’ sweet recesses, He dreams himself once more a child. Amazon Music Stream millions of songs.

Karel Hynek Mácha: A leading poet of Czech Romanticism

Whispered of love the mosses frail, The flowering tree as sweetly lied The rose’s fragrant sigh replied To love-songs of the nightingale. And heaven’s clear sun leaned down to take A road astray in kkarel deeps, Like burning tears the lover weeps Retrieved 29 June Evening once more, the first of May- The twilit May-the time of love.

It was very romantic and we got to see the sites. Love is without an end!

Maj: Karel Hynek Macha: : Books

Round him darkens the throng—like heavy clouds in heaven— A sword flames from the dark—as heaven’s lightnings flare; Slowly the doomed man goes, his gaze to earth is given. The hush of night On all the earth is draped there. For love’s sake—in the time of love— Anguished goes every living thing.

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