On Reserve
Spotlight -
Poe, Norwid
by Artur Wielgus
Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)
Cyprian Kamil Norwid (1821 – 1883)
Both of these poets and writers represent the same literary epoch,
although they both ventured beyond Romanticism. They experimented
with literary forms, especially in poetry.
In The Poetic Principle, Poe says, “The fact is that perseverance is
one thing and genius quite another” and later, “The ultimate object
of all Poetry is Truth and that poetry is a human aspiration for
supernal beauty”.
Poe’s short stories are brought to an artistic perfection; there is
horror along with haunted tales. He says in The Literary Life of
Thingum Bob, “I-wrote. Through hunger and through thirst. I-wrote.
Through sunshine and through moonshine and the style –that was the
thing.” In The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, he
describes a fictitious new system of Monsieur Maillard to cure mad
patients. Maillard, the superintendent, and all the keepers became
patients themselves when mad men had revolted and took the control
of a house.
Cyprian Kamil Norwid came to New York on February 12, 1853 on the
ship Margaret Evans and was employed in a graphic studio, as he was
a skillful painter. He returned to Europe in June 1854.
I have selected two poems of those two different authors for
comparison, because these two poems have similar form, their lines
are fifteen syllables long, they adhere to meter, are rhythmic and
follow a pattern of rhyme. Both of these poems treat a hero’s death.
© Arthur Wielgus 2007
Lenore by Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)
Ah, broken is the golden bowl!
the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll! -a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear? -weep now or never more!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read -the funeral song be sung! -
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young -
A dirge for her, the doubly dead in that she died so young.
"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her -that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read? -the requiem how be sung
By you -by yours, the evil eye, -by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?"
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong!
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy bride
-
For her, the fair and debonnaire, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes -
The life still there, upon her hair -the death upon her eyes.
Avaunt! tonight my heart is light. No dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a paean of old days!
Let no bell toll! -lest her sweet soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note, as it doth float up from the damned Earth.
To friends above, from fiends below, the indignant ghost is riven -
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven -
From grief and groan to a golden throne beside the King of Heaven."
Joseph Bem's Memory Requiem Rhapsody by C.K. Norwid (1821 – 1883)
Why are you departing a
shadow, your hands laid on cuirass
At the torches which play with the fading sparks around your knees?
A sword green of garlands, poured of a blessed candles crying
sprees,
Falcon flutters, your horse hoof raising as dancer on a grass.
Weaving, weaving are banners, forming above arches and domes,
Mobile tents of armies marching as in heaven it goes.
Long trumpets are sobbing a tearful tune and the signs are pierced,
Bowing are from the heights with their wings hanging very low,
As with the lances are pierced: the dragons, the lizards, and the
birds…
As many conceptions, you overtook with spears long ago.
Mournful divas go, some are raising hands above their heads
with a scented sheaves, which wind above to pieces breaks apart;
Others in conches collect tears which from the faces depart,
Looking for a way though before ages it was built ahead…
Others are breaking painted large pottery on a soil,
Of which clatter of breaking deepens the affliction's toil.
The heralds are knocking on axes of sky light like bluish,
On the shields ruddy from light of torches the boys are knocking,
Huge banner which among a smoke is weaving, rising reddish,
Attached at the side of a sharp spear hangs at the sky - spanning…
They come drowning into ravine... exiting to a moonlight
Are blackening at the sky, cold shimmer upon them brushes,
And on the sharp edges as star which cannot fall, glitters bright,
Suddenly chorale quiet down and again as wave splashes…
Further - further - till life rolls down to the tomb beyond the
dreams,
Precipice will be seen, it's on the lookout beyond the way,
Which to leap over the mankind will not ever find the means.
We will set a spear as the spur to your horse - nothing will stay…
And we lead pageant, scenting dark towns embraced of a long sleep,
Knocking to the gates with the urns, whistling in axes’ notches,
Till the Jericho's walls will collapse as the logs on a heap,
Fainted hearts will be revived - mildew from eyes nations will
wipe...
Further - further --
Translated by Artur Wielgus 2001
