2024.05.17.
Vincas Mykolaitis-Putinas - Vivos plango, mortuos voco dalszöveg fordítás angol nyelvre
Translation
Vivos plango, mortuos voco
Through the pits and mountains
You march like giants!
You dive down the seas
And rise up to the skies,
And you spit fire,
And vomit brimstone,-
And for you there is no God on earth,
o the Living!
Some of you like lords,
the others - as slaves.
All of you, sons of cruel fate:
A vengeance-flooded spirit
And Cain's sign** on your heads,
And that same and gruesome fate
To suffer in deception and in lies
And to perish, cursing the blue skies above.
Vivos plango!
Ruthless sons of vengeful days,
Heroes of misfortune!
On all paths, in all directions,
With black death of violence
You march, furious and fearsome,
Condemned to punishment of fate.
Where your shadow falls,
Fair flowers dry and die.
Under your leaden foot
The patient stone is moaning.
The poisonous air of your mouths
Makes ghosts raise from their graves.
In this earth's horrifying hell
You sprout with seed immortal,
And you bloom deceitful blossoms,
And bring fruits of horrid poison
In the stench of lies and snares.
Vivos plango!
You step upon thrones
And trample altars.
Your laws have brought an end
To virtue and to sin alike.
Crowns on bastards' heads,
And kings left in the dust.
And in tribunals with pride
The murderers condemn the righteous.
And sons now cry no more
As they condemn their mother unto death.
Unneeded and in vain
Man's humiliated suffering.
Even the sun that's leaning westward
Is now merely evil lies and fraud.
Embers sparking at the bottom of the hill,
A rider flew by on horseback, -
A scythe heard clank in the darkness, -
Vivos plango!
Sparks blink within great squares,
Heated fires burning.
Grey crowds have gathered,
To give you glory,
o Lords!
The altars are prepared already,
And the elders sing you praise
And, kneeling in the dust on streets,
In rush they stutter prayers for you,
Promising in slavish ecstasy,
To kiss your boot soles.
And the tyrants now rejoice,
and so do their executioners.
Meanwhile earth now shines in crimson,
Amidst the flows of blood and fires.
And greatest harvest feasts erupt
Among the crowd of slaves and whores
In midnight's twilight tango,
Vivos plango!
And we, and we, who suffer,
The millions in grey!
In great cities, or a village,
With concern and with great fear,
Some suppressed in slavery,
Others in rebellious waiting
On their knees!
And from dew-ridden basements
(and we, and we shall be there)
Through that black and lifeless night,
Someone in madness screeches,
Someone curses fate,
Someone has to die.
In the abyss of soul-draining sorrow,
Like a droplet, a life has disappeared
Behind an iron-fastened window. -
Vivos plango!
Now I enter silence,
A silence blessed and great,
Where in the funeral veil's soft linen*
Night shall comfort all our sorrows.
I enter freedom, vast and broad,
Which will greet me like a dearest guest.
Through the twilight's hazy grey,
I go to see my friends and brothers.
But in the distance, tower bells are tolling still
And the sunset burns now in the west,-
And again my chest in heavy sorrows,
In my heart bitterness and hatred.
Not all is dead in darkness.
My heart spilled over in warm blood
And never learned to obey coercion:
Mortuos voco!
I call you all from graveyards,
From roadside pits and moats,
From clay, from dirt and fields of sand,
And from all death's places.
Rise, fearsome millions of skeletons,
Glorious platoons and legions, -
And you, who with the cold and famines
Found your end in snowstorm symphonies,
And you, who for freedom, unrestricted thought,
Were martyred and now break apart.
Rise, you who were humiliated,
Ruined, incapacitated,
With complaints and with cries,
With prayers and with curses,
With a gang of drunken murderers,
Who in the blinking lantern light
Were spitting, dancing on your graves.
Mortuos voco!
But the graveyards' obscure hills are quiet,
No one rises from the damp abyss.
In peace they sleep, the naked heads of their remains,-
No one shall describe their dreams,
As no one will describe the suffering's
Meaning, nor ending, nor beginning,
And mystery will protect it all,
Like that haunting, quiet night.
And the living shall walk through that gruesome being
With a sorrow, eternal and profound.
All, all must walk that path,
But no one shall return.
Nor will I return to the day of sun
From that pitch black night.
Just on the roadside, through the weeded soil
Perhaps someone will extend his arm
And say: let's walk together to the depth,
That great and holy silence,
Where neither tears, nor joy appear on faces.
Mortuos voco!
And now I enter silence,
A great and blessed silence.
I walk across the tall and narrow bridge
Towards the warm and pleasant night,
Where millions of stars are dancing,
Flocks of flocks and legions.
And on the sudden twist along my route
Now brilliant rays are falling.
The night is good, the night is like a mother,
She's sensitive, she warns you, she is generous,-
She comforts you, fulfills you,
When you return to its embrace.
And I returned in my exhaustion,
And to keep wandering I wish no more
Along the sharp and heated paths -
The flame-ridden rays of sun.
And she is saying: stay here, my son,
I know your sorrow well.
And I stay too. With patience borne
Life's heavy burden
has now grown up as a leaning head of grain.
Mortuos voco!
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