Janko Jesenský

The party…

I often, often sit down at the table.

The lantern light illuminates the parties

of my room. I still the stirrings of grief

And I still my sorrows in soft singing.

Silence is in the room, the feathers are heard to murmur,

that puts thoughts to paper

And sighs can be heard from these hushed notes.

And again it is silent and the sigh dies.

I soothe my sorrows with a party of singing,

♪ I soothe my troubled feelings ♪

Till the eye longs for sleep,

Till the swarms of my mind last.

Oh, and when I fall asleep, I often, often dream.

What I have sung of, I shall dream.

I dream that as in freedom I live.

And how through the gutter the beautiful life waves.

It’s just a pity that they’re just dreams.

I wake up in the morning and it’s just the way it was.

I see upheavals, bad upheavals, second upheavals.

Other things I meet around me.

 Beautiful kind…

Oh, welcome to me, beautiful species, welcome!

Come sit by me, let me see those eyes,

Let me kiss your cheeks, let me feel the paradise of love.

Let me feel love’s golden watch.

Why are you late coming to me, comrade?

Sit down, beautiful one, oh, how beautiful you are

And how well you are dressed, artfully.

Thy face, thy face alone, shall surpass all.

Oh, welcome, give me your hand, give me your dear hand,

Let me draw thee here to my breast,

Let me kiss the lovely rose –

Let me feel the feelings of love. Oh, come soon!

I’ll hug you! There! How sweet in that embrace!

Oh, I can hear your heart beating.

I feel my breath, my soul is lost in your soul,

And eat no end of the sweet volume.

 Sighs

O God, look upon our wretched race!

O God, save us from misery and wickedness!

O God, strengthen our weak legs,

strengthen our hands for hard work!

O God, strengthen all our limbs,

for so rotten is the flow of life with us.

Give us strength to do this and an unbreakable will.

Thou canst do all things, for thou art almighty.

And silence the wicked of wrath, O Lord.

Let a pleasant breeze blow through Slavonia,

…for we are few in number, even those who lay us down.

Pour on our consciences, for they have none,

when they reach for the lives of the Slovaks.

Their hearts are but hard, hard rock,

and would love still have a place in them?!

Oh, we have drunk enough of the bitter drink.

My Slovaks, my clan and my homeland!

Heal the wounds of a thousand years, O God!

Only your will can soothe them.

Let us not despair, let this be our motto,

and away with misery and away with wickedness!

Let every man roll up his sleeves.

And then… ta sa! Let’s get to work!

Hey, family, you round the Hron, the Vah,

round Orava and the bright Turiec

living, – love your father’s dear

and grieve over the fate of hell!

Well, then, burn! Hand in hand, Brothers!

And let not cheerful wills be lost!

For the good times will return,

but let not ours be in the water.

 What am I living on?

As a Slovak I live bitterly,

I can’t see the fear on my face.

My life is bitter,

The bárs is not yet old.

But if you want to know what I

I am and what I live on,

read and see!

For I hear of it.

I get up in the morning, I drink milk,

and bread with it, and most of all nothing.

I can see it even from breakfast:

I’m only a little bit of a Slav.

Let’s go on! At half past one

…I’ll join you for lunch,

soup, meat and bread

for that lunch.

Move on! For dinner

just bread and nothing else.

Just for a little, a little always –

and bless you however you shout.

Dictum, factum it is like this,

et deinde to sleep on^.

As a Slovak and for little

thou must have a hard bed.

That better times

will come to me – verum est.

Most of all very sparsely

I must eat but little.

Slávus sum et discipulus,

cum ille sci non bonus.

And on the disciple always falls

Latin for “know” – onus.

What about Slovakia?

What are the rumours flying through Slovakia?

What does it sound through the mouths of the singers?

That the rays of our sun do not shine?

That the sun is behind the mountains?

That our darkness is thick and dark?

That it has made its bed with us?

That the storm is over our heads?

Hey, my Slovak, that’s the way it is with us;

so it sounds in the mouths of the singers:

that the warm sun does not shine on you,

that a great storm is upon you.

It is all true, the unpleasant truth.

Even the night has covered our heads

with her great wings.

Under the dark canvas of a thousand shadows

They pierce the dark air.

Millions are over the misty ones

sing a pious song.

Here and here – rarely – the poets’ groans

are like sad funeral bells,

that ring through mankind.

Everywhere is silence, only bitter groans

pierce the dark air,

among which the thunder crashes

mingled and earth-shaking.

Suddenly thy glow flickers,

The vapour of the right hand with the thunder is wiped away,

from which he lets loose the thunder of hell.

And from the other side of my Slovakia

Black clouds are rolling

and thunder after thunder of fiery splinters

on the poor heads of the Slovaks.

And the Hron flows sullenly, and the Váh roars,

The good and beautiful times are gone;

Slovak glory is over.

Hoj, my Slovak! My Slovaks!

My clan and my sweet homeland!

When will your bitter sorrow be soothed

and the great wounds will heal?

The time will come, poor Slovakia.

Let us always stick together, and God.

Forces – hardships – will cease.

Deva

One girl I know beautiful

far away in Moravia,

She has, oh, black, bright eyes,

her cheeks are whitish again.

Perny likes crimson,

to kiss in every word.

Raven’s hair melted

Flows on full skin,

The pimple always in one clenched

And whole worlds in his eyes.

A beautiful girl, a lovely maiden,

Even more beautiful when she sings.

When she sings with her voice of sorrow,

…and with her breast she sings her love;

♪ I’ll be the first to tell you, I’ll be the first to tell you… ♪

and the feelings of my love are enlivened:

Singing above singing, singing beautiful;

When they are silent, rapture is extinguished.

In the circle of the black-eyed maiden

So pleasant to dwell in,

In the circle of a beloved maiden

…the soul experiences love;

…a new emotion is implanted in the soul,

The feeling of love never withers.

I had a virgin, I loved a virgin

beautiful and beautiful and beautiful,

I read love in her song,

I loved her, dear.

Yet love – my love

was the end. Ah! Her untimely death!