This website is using cookies

We use cookies to ensure that we give you the best experience on our website. If you continue without changing your settings, we'll assume that you are happy to receive all cookies on this website. 

Janík, Pavol: Óda na radosť

Portre of Janík, Pavol

Óda na radosť (Slovak)

Kde sú tie staré básne?
O čom vlastne boli?
A komu na nich záležalo?

Niekde v nás
z nich zostala
časovaná nálož v Norinbergu,
frankfurtské porno-kino,
coca-cola naproti Moulin Rouge,
Lenin v marseillskom výklade,
vyblednutá pohľadnica Côte d’Azur,
doklady ukradnuté v Ríme,
nevyvolané fotografie
šikmej veže v Pise,
noc vo Florencii,
bolonskí buzeranti,
holuby o šiestej ráno
na námestí svätého Marka,
zmaľovaná colníčka
vo vlaku z Viedne
do Devínskej Novej Vsi.

Kde sú tie staré básne?
Už ich nik nenapíše.
Nikomu nikdy na nič neboli.

V Európe náhle vypli prúd.
Nastala tma, tá ktorá bola
pred objavením svetla.
Popamäti chodíme
po plafóne nášho bytu.
Deti sa nám smejú zo spánku.

Pri vchode nikam
nám raz vrátia vstupné
za život,
ktorý stál za to,
aj keď nestál za veľa.

Len smrť sa nevypláca.



Uploaded byRépás Norbert
PublisherAtrakt, Bratislava 1991
Source of the quotationHurá, horí!, ISBN 80-85543-00-1
Bookpage (from–to)44-45
Publication date

Ode to Joy (English)

Where are those old poems?
What were they actually about?
And who gave a tinker’s about them.

Somewhere in us
something from them has remained,
a charge timed in Nuremburg,
a Frankfurt porn cinema,
a coca-cola opposite the Moulin Rouge,
Lenin inside a Marseille shop window,
a faded postcard of the Cote d’Azur,
documents stolen in Rome,
undeveloped photos
of the leaning tower of Pisa,
a night in Florence,
Bolognese poofs,
pigeons at six in the morning
on Saint Mark’s Square,
an over made-up customs girl
on the train from Vienna
to Devinska Nova Ves.

Where are those old poems?
Now nobody will write them any more.
They never made sense to anybody.

They’ve suddenly switched off the power in Europe.
A darkness has started, that which
existed before the invention of light.
We walk on the ceiling of our flat
from memory.
Children laugh at us in their sleep.

At the entrance to nowhere
they’ll return us the entrance fee
to life,
which was worth it
even though not so much.

Only for death you don’t pay.



Uploaded byRépás Norbert
PublisherThe Penniless Press, United Kingdom 2014
Source of the quotationA Dictionary of Foreign Dreams
Bookpage (from–to)2014

Related videos


minimap