Zmaj.
When my dad opens his wallet - there we are - photos of his family. I unlock my mobile phone with some funky password and I go to the gallery on my phone - there they are, my family, photos of them. In my wallet, I carry a poem. A part of a poem, to be precise. That poem is about ideals, about youth, about fight and about trust in one's road.
Its author was a famous Serbian poet Jovan Jovanovic Zmaj. Zmaj was a physician, he was a journalist, influential character himself and a friend of influential people of the 19th century. Among others, friend of Nikola Tesla, famous scientist who translated Zmaj to English and publish a book of his work in USA.
I did a mural on the wall of a poem. The name of the poem, the one from my wallet, is "Svetli grobovi" or "Grave and Its Glory" (one of English translations). This song always reminds me of the fact that no matter how hard times get, we need to go further, go out of our comfort zone, finish a battle after a battle and praise our success when it happens. This poem also reminds me of a friendship. It was written and recited for the first time on the wake of another Serbian poet, Djura Jaksic.
When a wife of my friend died few years ago, I tried to find a translation of this poem into French. I couldn't. So I tried to explain him the meaning. He understood. He felt what the poet tried to say. That why this song needed to be read (from the wall) over and over again. It needs to remind us constantly of how precious life is.
translation by Vedran Dronjic:
Have you been, my young brethren,Have you ever been to a graveyard,To a large graveyard?– Well, we are always in a graveyard.The earth we walk on is a graveyard;The water we sail on is a graveyard;Yards and gardens are graveyards;Hills and valleys are graveyards,Each footGrave next to grave.The monument of all times is a graveyard;The books we read are a graveyard;The history book of all lands,Of the olden emperors, kings,And the obituary of higher imagesOf the chosen ones, of martyrs,From as far back as memory goes;It’s all a graveyard –But a cradle too.
There is no name and no numberFor all the stars high above,And even less can there be number and remembranceFor the graves in the dear earth!Millions were swallowed by darkness,The pitch darkness of many a millennium,Nobody remembers them still,But a candle always burns for some of them.It is either a candle, or the name is bright,Or the deeds are ever-burning,So that they adorn with their raysThe rows of the endless cemetery.These graves,Old, new,They shineFor every generation –When minds get engrossed in the pastFor them not to get lost in the darkness;When you plunge into the holy ancient times,Both holy and cursed ancient times,For your thought not to get you off your way.They are harbinger fires,Which reach from distant eonsIn that long procession –Shining a light for one anotherWith a stream which flows forth,Striving toward a single goal, –And so the bright beamsAnd so the bright tracesOf a single spirit of various ages,A spirit which has no grave.– It merely chucks the bones into the grave,Shakes off the ashes which impede it.For a faster progress, higher flightToward an elevated future.He who turns around to lookWith a clear eye and sightAt these bright graves,History books in a long succession,He must hear how,Through centuries, through mist,Grandfather to grandson, father to son,Warrior to warriorLoudly cried:‘Where I stopped – you will go!’‘What I couldn’t – you will do!’‘Where I couldn’t – you’ll arrive!’‘Whatever we owe – you pay it off!’These are the words, these are the voices,Which adorn the past,Which penetrate through the world of darknessFrom those shining graves,Binding with a thunderous roarAnd with a divine force,Binding centuries togetherAnd binding man with man.[…]
0 comments: