The newspaper El Pais in Spain offers us a great article of journalist Manuel de la Fuente on publication by Galaxia Gutenberg / Book Club "The Cave of the words" selected works of Czech poet Vladimir Holan, translated and prefaced by her good friend Clara Janes.
felt a hard blow as Vallejo. But it was not Paris, nor had showers. It was a chilly night in Prague, 1948. And Holan, poet, former communist, born under the constellation Virgo, September 16 forty-three years before, ostracized by their former comrades (for his "decadent formalism" he said) took the decision of his life: never again leave home in the Kampa Island on Vltava River as it passes through the Bohemian capital. Said and done, and well over four decades until his death in 1980, living after sunset, resting during the day, Holan was plunged into darkness. But night after night, he slid the pen on paper and gave birth to a poetic capital of the twentieth century.
that house's silence was broken only when the future Nobel Jaroslaf Seifert, a close friend, visited him. Or when a young English poet (who had discovered in reading his book "A Night with Hamlet") broke all the ice on Holan and won her heart. The writer was Clara Janes.
first visit, marked by the silence of the poet, ended with an ellipsis ... "Come back when you know Czech." And for two years, Clara learned it and went back, but he was so bajini patter learned some English translations of Góngora.
Who knows if there was more than words, but there was certainly an intense literary passion Clara Holan, a passion that burns now with the release of "The Cave of the words" (Galaxia Gutenberg / Readers Circle) selected work of Czech poet (the black angel ", according to Seifert) with translation and foreword by itself Janes. "A cave is like a heart, and Holan simplified his style to see us leave the heart, the place where poetry is, as the Sufi thought. This book is like a music box that contains all the music Holan's words, "says Janes.
"I respect the man"
Nazi invasion was to change the verses of Holan, for, as its translator, 'Reach the minds of those who suffered ":" I've always felt that I respect the man. The poet and artist worthy of the name, "said the writer in 1946 - change the world and create it again, either with the strength of humility is the strength of the rebellion, but always aimed their efforts towards an end: release ... How the poet would not want to change the face of this selfish, brutal and catastrophic world change in view of an ultimate goal: finally get a man?, As millions of us are still men. " Words can resolve many questions about the work of Prague. Not surprisingly, stresses Clara Janes, "I have always believed that poetry is resolved as an equation, and Holan the result to clear the unknown is always a surprise. The concept it is more important than words and can say that his poetry explodes in a series of concepts. "
A translation with his hand on his heart. The Clare and Holan.
POEMS OF VLADIMIR HOLAN
Stopped by a woman ...
Stopped by a woman outside a
unfamiliar city begged: Let me turn, will come only
to go out again and again just to get out,
because I'm afraid of the dark as to all men.
But she said
"Well, I've left the light on there!".
went into the cabin and we were there alone together. We looked
doing nothing.
Two lives, a moment, wholeness, happiness ...
On the fifth floor and I dropped it, it continued,
realized that never again would see
was a meeting once and for all
and that although he would have been followed as dead,
and if she had turned towards me
could only do it from the other world.
version Clara Janes
Eva Maria Tomasov A
was when the new wine ... Fall
had woven wicker and around the bottles,
and the snake, not on top of the stone, but below the heather, lay on her stomach
covering himself with his back.
"Beauty destroys love, love beauty," said
and likewise that were once sacrificed to the goddesses of
; here and there
an odd number of victims, she thought
then nothing else in itself indifferent
imagining eternity without immortality ...
was so beautiful that if someone had asked me where to
had gone with her, there would undoubtedly spoken
;
landscapes (unless you feel the helplessness
the words and made possible only silence spell
rain falling in prisons).
was so beautiful I wanted
live again, but differently.
was so beautiful that at the bottom of my delirious love me still expected full
all the madness ...
version Clara Janes
Near the fountain, beside the pond
All
beautiful woman is cruel and humiliated without seeming precisely those men who,
; naked
burn by drinking from the rock itself.
But is death who comes near them, family,
Sparrow would say a railway station,
at the time that they and the platform, take the bread
, from the packaging ...
I'll have a son, said the death.
version Clara Janes
Night
insomnia was alone, completely alone, even
nocturnal sleep had left me ...
Suddenly I seemed to hear no words but sounds, always sounds
three sighs
As wind and flour ...
"What can that be? No time to lose!"
mumbled, and straightening the hair with a drink of wine
and I stood naked in the dark I touched
and a moment later the black fever
my hand opened the wardrobe ... Inside the moths fluttered costumes ...
I am more deadly than my body ...
version of Clara Janes
(Taken from http://amediavoz.com/holan.htm ).
Stopped by a woman ...
Stopped by a woman outside a
unfamiliar city begged: Let me turn, will come only
to go out again and again just to get out,
because I'm afraid of the dark as to all men.
But she said
"Well, I've left the light on there!".
meeting in the elevator
went into the cabin and we were there alone together. We looked
doing nothing.
Two lives, a moment, wholeness, happiness ...
On the fifth floor and I dropped it, it continued,
realized that never again would see
was a meeting once and for all
and that although he would have been followed as dead,
and if she had turned towards me
could only do it from the other world.
version
Eva Maria Tomasov A
was when the new wine ... Fall
had woven wicker and around the bottles,
and the snake, not on top of the stone, but below the heather, lay on her stomach
covering himself with his back.
"Beauty destroys love, love beauty," said
and likewise that were once sacrificed to the goddesses of
; here and there
an odd number of victims, she thought
then nothing else in itself indifferent
imagining eternity without immortality ...
was so beautiful that if someone had asked me where to
had gone with her, there would undoubtedly spoken
;
landscapes (unless you feel the helplessness
the words and made possible only silence spell
rain falling in prisons).
was so beautiful I wanted
live again, but differently.
was so beautiful that at the bottom of my delirious love me still expected full
all the madness ...
version
Near the fountain, beside the pond
All
beautiful woman is cruel and humiliated without seeming precisely those men who,
; naked
burn by drinking from the rock itself.
But is death who comes near them, family,
Sparrow would say a railway station,
at the time that they and the platform, take the bread
, from the packaging ...
I'll have a son, said the death.
version
Night
insomnia was alone, completely alone, even
nocturnal sleep had left me ...
Suddenly I seemed to hear no words but sounds, always sounds
three sighs
As wind and flour ...
"What can that be? No time to lose!"
mumbled, and straightening the hair with a drink of wine
and I stood naked in the dark I touched
and a moment later the black fever
my hand opened the wardrobe ... Inside the moths fluttered costumes ...
I am more deadly than my body ...
version of Clara Janes
Literature. Poetry. Vladimir Holan. The cave of words. Clara Janes. Gutenberg Galaxy. Ballantine Books.
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