Dylan Thomas (27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Lament
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of bitches),
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale tit,
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of bitches),
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
Sírám
Mikor kisfiú voltam még, falat,
és fekete báránya a nyájnak,
(szólt a vén kos-fark, holtja a nőknek)
szamócásból lábujjon lestem,
rút bagoly rítt, mint locska ludak,
s szökdeltem, ha jöttek a lányok,
teke-bábok a szamár legelőben;
s kivántam vad vasárnap-esten,
mire csak rebbent rontó szemem:
szeretni a holdat, s talán
szénszinű bokrokban szívtelen
otthagyni nászkoszorús leányt.
Mikor lettem lobbanó legény,
és fekete farkas a réten,
(szólt a vén kos-fark, holtja szukáknak)
s nem falat fiú a hold alatt,
mint most szült borju, berúgtam én,
éjjel torz kürtőbe fütyörésztem;
nyíttak a városban sistergő ágyak,
s bábák nőtték be az árkokat! –
Hol egy mellbe merültem mélyen,
hol gázoltam a lágy herét,
bármit tettem a szénszinű éjben,
nyomom otthagytam szerteszét.
Mikor férfi lettem, aki férfi már,
és hívők házán fekete kereszt
(szólt a vén kos-fark, holtja az üdvnek)
e szeszes, szép, szabad időn
nem kóbor kandúr, ki lopva jár,
s forró tetőn egérre. nőkre les –
de büszke bika, kire az ünnep,
a rekkenő, rőt nyár köszönt
s az álmos, napverte gúlya; ám
szóltam: hamar meglassul a vér,
s ágyba aludni fekszem csupán
léha, szénszinű lelkemért.
S lettem már félig-férfi újra,
s úgy éltem, ahogy int az okos,
(szólt a vén kos-fark, holtja bukásnak)
bágyadt borjú, bősz kandúr nem vagyok,
sem büszke bika tajtékot túrva,
de görbe szarvú fekete kos.
Lelkemet dohos egérlukából
kiöklendték a gyáva napok;
lelkemnek vak, tüzes szemet adtam,
porcot s kérget, bősz bánatot,
s a szénszín mennyre hajítottam:
egy nő lekére leljen ott.
Most immár férfi sem vagyok,
de bősz bánatok fekete bére,
(szólt a vén kos-fark, s holtában enyhült)
s galamb-búgta szobámban én
lefekszem s hallom, harangszó zuhog –
ó, lelkem lelt napfény-feleségre,
ki angyalokat szült szénszinü mennyből!
Mélységes méhéből szállnak felém!
Tisztaság esd értem, szentség dalol,
fekete sóhajom néki ajánlom,
véknyomra szárnyával szépség hajol,
s halálos erények áldják halálom.
Fordította: Tótfalusi István
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