Aubade — Philip Arthur Larkin

AUBADE

(pjesma je objavljena 1977. godine u tisku "The Times Litterary Supplement")

AUBADE je bio stih (ili trubadurska pjesma) koji govori o rastanku ljubavnika pred zoru,
U ovoj pjesmi Larkin umjesto o rastanku ljubavnika progovara o rastanku od onoga s cime smo najtjesnje sljubljeni — vlastita zivota.

Pjesma je uvrstena u knjigu odobranih pjesma Philip Larkin: 'Poezija napustanja';
uredio, priredio i preveo Drazen Dragovic; nakladnik: Modernist nakladnistvo, Varazdin, 2010.; 174 str.; dvojezicno izdanje

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| Poets & Poems - pjesnici i pjesme [ abecedni popis pjesnika (djelomican popis) ] |

| o smrti (...i zivotu...) - about death (...and life...) [ 01.11. - 02.11. ] (poezija - poetry) |

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I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what's really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
— The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused — nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear — no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anasthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can't escape,
Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Citav dan radim i opijen bivam vec za mraka
   Ustajem u cet'ri, u bezglasnu tamu oko bjezi.
   S vremenom ce zavjese obasjat' svjetla zraka.
   Razaznajem sto uistinu, oduvijek tu lezi.
   Nespokojna smrt, za citav dan se primice mi blize,
   Nemogucom cini, misao za misli sto se nize
   Kako, gdje i kada podleci cu smrti.
   Golo pitanje: no prepuno straha
   Od umiranja, bez zivota, daha,
Svjeze rukom seze, bljeskom glavu vrti.

   Cami prazan um, zuri zgrozen. Ne zbog griznje —
   Ne ucinih dobro, vrijeme uludo protece,
   Il' ljubavlju ne obdarih bliznje,
   Jer sav zivot treba, za uspone vece,
Sto bit ce il' nece, da ispravi pocetne krivine;
Vec strah nam od vjecne, potpune praznine,
   Put ka istrebljenju sto nikad ne mine.
   Izgubljen za svagda. Ne biti ovdje,
   Ne biti igdje,
   Tako skoro; strasnije i stvarnije od svega.

Na poseban nacin ovaj strah nas hvata,
   Varke nema da ublazi. Religija kusa,
   Taj nagrizen pokrov glazbenog brokata
   Stvoren da odglumi — ne propada dusa.
   Ili prica da razumni stvor ne prati
   Strah pred onim sto on nece osjecati.
   Bas u tome nas je strah — ne vidjeti, niti cuti,
   Dirat', kusat', mirisati, niti misli kamo bjeze,
   Nit' nas s kime ljubav veze,
Anestetik nepovratni kojim zatiru se puti.

   I stoji tako na rubu obzora,
   Neizostrena mrlja uspravne hladnoce
   Ta odluku svaku usporiti mora.
   Stosta se ne desi, al' se ovo hoce.
Ispunjenje stize — prsti, bjesni, pjeni
U vrucici, strahu kobno uhvaceni
   Bez ljudi il' pica. S tim ni hrabrost se ne nosi:
   To znaci ne plasit' druge. Hrabrost prava
   Nikog' groba ne lisava.
   Smrt je ista — place li se il' prkosi.

Sporo jaca svjetlo, soba jasna lezi.
   Kao ormar otvorena, duboko u bicu
   Oduvijek smo znali, od tog' se ne bjezi,
   Nit' se s time miri. Jedna strana napustit ce pricu.
   Telefoni cuce, spremni da zazvone
   U zakljucanim uredima i sve one
   Brige ustaju sto svijet smuseni sad muce.
   Bijeli se nebo poput ilovace, bez sunca je zora.
   Raditi se mora.
Postar ko lijecnik zuri od kuce do kuce.

Philip Arthur Larkin

(1922 - 1985)