Lyrickoepická báseň z roku 1836, která je vrcholem snažení romantického básníka K. H Máchy. Skromný děj s několika tragédiemi je jen východisko k úvahám o smyslu a ceně života. S výkladem Máje a doslovem Karla Šiktance.
Karel Hynek Mácha was a Czech romantic poet. His lyrical epic poem Máj (May), published in 1836 shortly before his death, was judged by his contemporaries as confusing, too individualistic, and not in harmony with the national ideas. Máj was rejected by publishers, and was published by a vanity press at Mácha's own expense, not long before his early death.
Mácha's genius was discovered and glorified much later by the poets and novelists of the 1850s generation (for example Jan Neruda, Vítězslav Hálek, Karolina Světlá) and Máj is now regarded as the classic work of Czech Romanticism, and is considered one of the best Czech poems ever written.
He also authored a collection of autobiographical sketches titled Pictures From My Life, the 1835–36 novel Gypsies, as well as several individual poems, besides a journal in which, for instance, he detailed his sexual encounters with Somkova.
Byl pozdní večer - sedmadvacátý máj, a já s maturitou jsem se sral, maminčin řval z kuchyně hlas, "Ser na to a běž spát," zítra mě čekal velký den, ale uměl sem hovno něco něco něco -en ass poň že to za mnou je, he he he he he he he. HE.
No co bych k tomu řekl? No neřeknu, že je to špatný, to vůbec ne. To bych si jako vyspělý student literárního oboru na vysoké škole nemohl dovolit. Přeci se nebudu omezovat na něco tak povrchního jako "to byla píčovina" a podobně, to ne. Řeknu jen, že byste mohli vzít dejme tomu koště, namočit ho do brzdové kapaliny, strčit druhý konec do mýho zadku a strčit mě na trampolínu v jezdícím výtahu a na stěny bych napsal lepší příběh jak tohle, to je vše co tvrdím.
From talking to Czechs, it seems like this book is seen by many of them as a bit of a drag - something they had to read at school when they were 15 or so, their ''Romeo and Juliet'' or ''To Kill a Mockingbird'', etc. Coming from a totally different background, not having any of that baggage, I thought it was fantastic.
ZŠ: Mně se to nechce učit nazpamět! SŠ: Jáj, už zase. Moc mainstream. VŠ: Lociko, proč brečíš v šalině? Protože poslouchám Pink Floydy a čtu druhý zpěv Máje.
Jsem ráda, že jsem ho pořádně přečetla až teď a stálo to za to. #týmromantismus
Nemůžu říct, že by se mi to nelíbilo, a jelikož jsem na podzim konečně přišla na to, co je to ta "růžina" (díky strejdo Google), dostala jsem se dál než na první stránku. Ale pořád to není něco, z čeho bych byla paf. Jo, a (pozor, pokud vám to ještě nevyspoilerovala škola) po dočtení jsem to musela znova otevřít, abych tam vůbec našla, Ale tak jako fajn.
This poem represented a breakthrough in terms of technique and content when it was published in Czech in 1836. It is quite unlike anything I've encountered in Anglophone poetry, being a mixture of melodrama, romanticism and lyricism, structured around the last hours of an outlaw 'forest lord' who has been arrested and convicted for murder. This somewhat bleak-sounding subject-matter is embellished with novel and powerful imagery, particularly of nature, and the poem excels in matching nature, emotion and psychology, being unafraid to use simple repetition as a very powerful tool. Like everything from Twisted Spoon Press the book is beautifully packaged and a sensuous pleasure to handle. An exotic and magical piece of literature, the enduring mass popularity of which speaks eloquently of Czech sensibility.
Překrásně napsáno! Velice se mi líbí, jakým způsobem je celá báseň napsána a sestavena dohromady. Vedlejší vsuvky (intermezza) i závěrečná čtvrtá část, překrásně složené dohromady. Děj se mi sice moc nelíbil, to mám radši např. děj Kytice, ale ono se dílo na děj ani nesoustředilo. Napsané krásně, témata také skvělá. 3.75
At first, I was sceptical about this book. I read the synopsis and it didn't sound interesting at all. But it's not the story that's amazing. Even if you are confused by old (but absolutely marvelous) czech, you just can't help but get drawn in by the grandoise presentation. Author creates the setting with unbeliveable precision and effort that can be felt in every sentence. This is certainly a masterpiece that shows storytelling skills like no other.
Tak jo, asi jsem divná, ale zamilovala jsem si to. Vážně. Poezii jsem tedy nikdy nemusela, no Máj to asi změnil... Na dobu, kdy to bylo psáno, je to teda něco.
No já nevím no. Poezie je něco úplně mimo mojí komfortní zónu a tak není divu, že z tohoto díla nijak nadšená nejsem. Nechci hvezdičkově hodnotit a tak zbytečně dílu ubírat hodnocení, které si jistě zaslouží. Není to jeho chyba, že mně žánrově nesedlo. Nicméně i pár fajn věcí jsem si v něm našla. Například se mi moc líbilo první intermezzo a i to, jak v samotném závěru autor volá i na sebe. Jinak bohužel. Nečetlo se mi to dobře, myšlenky mi neustále odbíhaly jinam a nebyla jsem moc schopna se na čtení soustředit.
Máj mě fakt mega nebavil. Pomalu jsem tomu ani nerozuměla, co se vlastně děje. Bylo pro mě těžké se soustředit na dlouhé verše a ještě k tomu, že to má nějaký epický děj. Jediné štěstí, že to bylo tak krátké.
On the picturesque castle hill of Prague’s Left Bank, One can walk to the top (or travel by vernicular). If choosing the former option, there are several pedestrian paths to take one through the forests and orchards that cover the hillside. One of these paths fork past a life-size sculpture of the poet Karel Hynek Mácha.
Mácha was born in Prague in 1810, and lived a mere 26 years. Inspired by the romantic movement of the time, and with Byron as his model, he wandered through the magnificent forests, hills and mountains of his native Bohemia, often taking his sleep with the stars winking down on him. He even journeyed the neighboring lands of Moravia and Slovakia, down to Northern Italy on foot. His was a time, a century before there was a First Republic, or, a “Czechoslovakia.” There was, however, the Czech language, spoken by the people of Bohemia and Moravia, ruled for centuries by Austrian and Prussian monarchs, who sought to suppress the indigenous culture and language of these regions.
Writing in Czech, Mácha composed poems and essays, and notoriously a journal depicting the sexual relations he enjoyed with his mistress, with whom he would have been married only days after he succumbed to pneumonia. To my knowledge, only his epic poem “May” is currently in publication. It is the most famous poem in the language, celebrating the history and culture and natural wonders of the Czech people, and the lands that belong to them.
In May of last year, I took up residence in Prague, and in an effort to learn more about the country and people in whose home I found myself, I decided to read the literature of Czech authors. It was a haphazard endeavor to begin with, as I was just finding my feet here, and I bought whatever books I happened to find at the various book stores around me. This year, as I have gained a better overview of what is available, and where to find these books, I have decided to make a more structured read through Czech literature. Mácha’s long poem “May” is the earliest published work in translation that I have come across, and it seems in many ways fitting to set out on this reading journey, beginning with his beloved poem.
In Mácha’s prefatory statement, the poet makes clear that the plot of the poem is not his main concern, “… and only as much of it is given as is unavoidably necessary for the poem to achieve its primary intention,” which is to celebrate the nature in May, juxtaposing it with the various seasons of human life. The story, as it were, concerns a man named Vilém, also known as “the forest lord.” The poem is divided into two parts (with an intermezzo). In the first part, the forest lord is introduced through a young woman waiting for the return of her lover. However, when she eventually believes she sees him in the distance, it turns out to be a boatman come to inform her that Vilém has been caught and sentenced to death for the murder of his father. The poem then enters the cell of the captive Vilém, reflecting on his life and impending doom. A brief intermezzo follows, in which the ghosts of a churchyard, and indeed all of the surrounding nature, is preparing for Vilém’s arrival on the following day. The second part chronicles the execution.
A pine grove murmurs at the lake’s far shore, its thrush’s psalm and songs of other birds mingle with the valley’s voice of wandering girls; and every living creature celebrates young May. The morning wind – like singing – sweetly blows across the green vale scattering white blossoms, directs the flight of wild geese over woods, and bends the young trees over mountain stones. –
As stated by Mácha, the “story” is not of great import; the evocation of nature, time and place is what matters. “May” is some 50 or 60 pages long, and although I am not a great reader of poetry, it is easy to appreciate the visual beauty of the poet’s imagery (as in the fragment presented above, which is more or less arbitrarily chosen to give an idea of the language and flavor of Mácha’s poetry). The dual language (Czech/English) version of the poem published by Twisted Spoon Press presents the poem and its translation side by side throughout, so even if the Czech language is completely incomprehensible to the reader, it is possible to get an idea of the rhythm and rhyme of the original, and how it compares to the English. It is a small bound book, beautifully illustrated by the Czech surrealist painter and poet, Jindrich Styrský.
poprvé v životě jsem přečetla máj. a musím říct, že jsem teda o nic nepřišla. myslím, že je to tím, že se jedná o poezii. nenašla jsem k ní ještě cestu, nebo to prostě není literatura pro mě. a máj rozhodně není výjimka. snad nic si z toho nepamatuju a nic z toho nemám…
Mám tuhle báseň prostě ráda. Je tak krásná! A tak krutá. Hodně mě tentokrát bavilo dávat pozor na detaily, které jsme probrali v prváku na Čtení děl. Hrdlička prostě ví...
"The silent moss murmured of love,/ the flowering tree belied love's woe./ The nightingale sang rose-filled love,/ the rose exhaled a sweet complaint."
"in them the captive veils his soul,/ as one thought dies into the next."
"...there is a superstition that the last to be buried in a cemetery must stand guard over the graves through the night; that is, every night, the entire time, until anotehr is buried, who then takes his place. Thus no cemetery is every without a guard; and so it happens that in the graveyards of small hamlets the dead might have to stand guard for many years."