Page:Czecho-Slovak Student Life, Volume 18.djvu/425
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Otokar Březina’s “My Mother”.
Translated in Memory of Mother’s Day, May 13, 1928 for the Student Life by Charles J. Heitzman.
Like a sad penitent my mother went thru life,
Her day had lost the fragrance, color, splendor, of its prime;
The dry fruit only, with the taste of ashes rife,
Unrefreshed, she gathered from the tree of Time.
Her day had lost the fragrance, color, splendor, of its prime;
The dry fruit only, with the taste of ashes rife,
Unrefreshed, she gathered from the tree of Time.
The sharp sand of poverty whipped beauty from her cheek,
Cut into her eyes, and in her tears her spirit’s fire drowned:
Simoom-like it drifted in her ways, and weak
And wearled, in its drifts her home at last she found.
Cut into her eyes, and in her tears her spirit’s fire drowned:
Simoom-like it drifted in her ways, and weak
And wearled, in its drifts her home at last she found.
Beneath the weight of darkling years her form she bent,
The fire of toil gnawed her freshness from her nerves with its acerbitude;
She welcomed death, and in her final anguishment
She smiled, and whispered only words of gratitude.
The fire of toil gnawed her freshness from her nerves with its acerbitude;
She welcomed death, and in her final anguishment
She smiled, and whispered only words of gratitude.
On damp church marbles in dreams she took her station,
Amid the waxen tapers’ funereal scent,
And caught the rain of fragrant consolation
In her soul’s chalice, like a dew resplendent.
Amid the waxen tapers’ funereal scent,
And caught the rain of fragrant consolation
In her soul’s chalice, like a dew resplendent.
O mother mine, now into light translated,
Thou golden arrow discharged into the glow
Of flaming mysteries! Your name’s sound has vibrated
On our waves; you are near, I know!
Thou golden arrow discharged into the glow
Of flaming mysteries! Your name’s sound has vibrated
On our waves; you are near, I know!
The pale blossom am I of your dead, blood grown chill,
By the moisture of your tears nourished and maintained;
Life’s bitter taste your lips passed on to mine, until
Sorrow as your heritage within my soul remained.
By the moisture of your tears nourished and maintained;
Life’s bitter taste your lips passed on to mine, until
Sorrow as your heritage within my soul remained.
And when green midnights thru nocturnal quiet shine,
From your grave you rise and with me share my bed.
The familiar rhythm of your breath I hear in mine,
In my voice’s rise and fall, you wall, reanimated.
From your grave you rise and with me share my bed.
The familiar rhythm of your breath I hear in mine,
In my voice’s rise and fall, you wall, reanimated.
Your eyes’ dark sheen was into mine delivered,
Your body’s warmth within my veins keeps its wonted state;
The mystic flame of faith, with which your whole soul quivered,
In mine into consuming fire is incorporate.
Your body’s warmth within my veins keeps its wonted state;
The mystic flame of faith, with which your whole soul quivered,
In mine into consuming fire is incorporate.
And sorrowful, like yours once, is my way of life;
My day has lost the fragrance, color, splendor, of its prime;
The dry fruit only, with the taste of ashes rife,
I gather, by your shadow wreathed, from the tree of Time.
My day has lost the fragrance, color, splendor, of its prime;
The dry fruit only, with the taste of ashes rife,
I gather, by your shadow wreathed, from the tree of Time.