Vesper dominicae
Slová: Ivan Krasko
Tam niekde v diaľke
v čierňavých horách dedinka biela túli sa k zemi pokojná, tichá. V nej starodávne vážneho vzhľadu si domy čušia. Z tých v jednom iste ustarostená matička moja samotná sedí pri starom stole. Kostnatou rukou podpiera čelo vráskami zryté – starostí tiene vždy sedia na ňom: tak som ho vídal od mala svojho
Tranoscius má
pootvorený – mosadzné sponky, hladené hmatom pradedov ešte, matno sa lisnú v prípozdnom svetle. Posledný na list sa díva, díva sa, díva. Tam naznačené je ťažkou rukou: „Pán Bůh požehnal nám syna, kterýž...“ – až dobré oči slzami skropia zažltlé listy... Však stará kniha, čo rozplakala, matičku moju utíši zase: už spieva mäkkým, tenuškým hlasom: „Den nedělní se skonává, chválmež...“ A súmrak padá vždy väčší, hustší
a súmrak padá
v izbietku malú. A pokoj sadne pomaly, tíško na sivú hlavu matičky mojej. |
Vesper dominicae
Words: Ivan Krasko
Somewhere over there in the distance
in the dusky hills
a white hamlet
nestles to the earth,
peaceful and quiet.
The houses there,
with an ancient seriousness,
are silent.
In one of them surely
my careworn
mother
sits alone
by the old table.
Her bony hand
props a brow
engraved with wrinkles,
where the shadows of care
have always sat:
Thus have I seen it
from my childhood days.
She has Tranoscius open:
the brass clasps
smoothed
by the touch
of ancestors,
gleam dully
still in twilight;
she gazes at the last page,
gazes, gazes.
The words are marked there,
with a heavy hand:
"The Lord God blessed us
with a son, who...",
and those good eyes
sprinkle the yellowed leaves
with tears.
But the old book
that made her weep
calms
my mother again.
With soft thin voice
she sings:
"The Sabbath Day is ending,
let us praise..."
And twilight falls
ever deeper and dense
and twilight falls
in the little narrow room
and peace settles
slowly and silently
on my mother's
grey head.
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