Petar II Petrovic Njegos

Petar II Petrovic Njegos HOME
Petar II Petrovic Njegos The Mountain Wreath [...] I have now reached eighty years of my life. But ever since the loss of my eyesight, I have lived more in the spirit’s kingdom, though my body still has hold of the soul, keeps and hides it within its boundaries, as underground cavern protects a flame. I have traveled through much of the wide world. Of God worship, the most sacred places which the earth has raised up toward heaven, I have beheld, one after another, and I’ve inhaled the altars’ holy smoke. I have climbed up the holy Mount Olive, from which the most horrible prediction of its ill fate Jerusalem once heard. I have also visited all three caves: where the sun of Christianity rose, where the heavens cast light on the manger, and where the kings came with their offerings to bow before the one heavenly child. I have seen, too, Gethsemane’s Garden, defamed by sin, passion, and betrayal. The evil wind put out the holy lamp! We see ugly thorns that have multiplied and are scattered across the fertile fields, and Omar’s temple2 has reared into the sky on Solomon’s sacred foundations; St. Sophia is but a stable now. Unusual are the traits of earthly things. They are full of crazy transformations. All of nature keeps nourishing itself on the purest milk of the clear sunlight. But the milk, too, changes into hot flame; today it sears what yesterday it fed. Not all rivers on this earth do possess the kind of bed they should have for their flow. Do we not see these terrifying things devastating the earth mercilessly? Our time on earth and human destiny, two faces of highest absurdity, the most profound science without order, the children or the fathers of man’s dreams — do we only imagine this order, whose deep secret we cannot unravel? Is it true that things are as they appear, or do our eyes only deceive us so? The world demands some kind of firm action, duty gives birth to new obligations, and defense is closely tied up with life! Nature provides everything with weapons against a force that is oft unbridled, against trouble and dissatisfaction. Sharp spikes are there to protect the corn stalks, and thorns defend a rose from being plucked. Myriads of teeth has nature sharpened and has pointed innumerable horns. Various tree-barks, wings, and speed of feet, and the array of seeming disorder, always follow some definite order. Over all this huge conglomeration again a wise, mighty force reigns supreme. It won’t allow for evil to triumph. It snuffs the spark, strikes the snake in the head. Man does defend his wife and his children. People defend their church and their nation. Honour is a nation’s sacred relic. Generations must bear their own burden. New needs give birth to new powers in man. Every action strengthens human spirit. Heavy pressure brings thunder to action. The blow calls forth a spark out of the stone, without the blow the spark stays imprisoned Suffering is the virtue of the Cross. Tempered in trials and suffering, the soul feeds the body with electric fire, through hope the soul is bonded with Heaven, as the sun’s ray binds droplet with the sun. What is man? (And it’s his fate to be man!) A small creature deceived oft by the earth, yet he sees that the earth is not for him. Is not the real more puzzling than the dream? If man attains an honest name on earth, his being born then wasn’t at all in vain. But without his honest name—what is he? Generation which was made to be sung, muses will vie for many centuries to weave for you garlands worthy of you. Your example will teach gusle singers how one should speak of immortality! A fierce struggle lies ahead for you all: Part of your tribe has renounced its own roots and is therefore serving the dark Mammon! The curse of shame has now fallen on it. What is Bosnia and half of Albania? They’re your brothers of the same parentage. United all, there’s enough work for all! Your destiny it is to bear the Cross of the fierce fight against brothers and foes! The wreath’s heavy, but the fruit is so sweet! Without death there is no resurrection. Under a shroud of glory I see you and our nation’s honour resurrected. I also see the altar turned eastward and a fragrant incense burning on it. Die in glory, if die indeed you must! [...] Translated by Vasa D. Mihailovich,

The Mountain Wreath

[...] I have now reached eighty years of my life.
But ever since the loss of my eyesight,
I have lived more in the spirit’s kingdom,
though my body still has hold of the soul,
keeps and hides it within its boundaries,
as underground cavern protects a flame.
I have traveled through much of the wide world.
Of God worship, the most sacred places
which the earth has raised up toward heaven,
I have beheld, one after another,
and I’ve inhaled the altars’ holy smoke.
I have climbed up the holy Mount Olive,
from which the most horrible prediction
of its ill fate Jerusalem once heard.
I have also visited all three caves:
where the sun of Christianity rose,
where the heavens cast light on the manger,
and where the kings came with their offerings
to bow before the one heavenly child.
I have seen, too, Gethsemane’s Garden,
defamed by sin, passion, and betrayal.
The evil wind put out the holy lamp!
We see ugly thorns that have multiplied
and are scattered across the fertile fields,
and Omar’s temple2 has reared into the sky
on Solomon’s sacred foundations;
St. Sophia is but a stable now.
Unusual are the traits of earthly things.
They are full of crazy transformations.
All of nature keeps nourishing itself
on the purest milk of the clear sunlight.
But the milk, too, changes into hot flame;
today it sears what yesterday it fed.
Not all rivers on this earth do possess
the kind of bed they should have for their flow.
Do we not see these terrifying things
devastating the earth mercilessly?
Our time on earth and human destiny,
two faces of highest absurdity,
the most profound science without order,
the children or the fathers of man’s dreams —
do we only imagine this order,
whose deep secret we cannot unravel?
Is it true that things are as they appear,
or do our eyes only deceive us so?
The world demands some kind of firm action,
duty gives birth to new obligations,
and defense is closely tied up with life!
Nature provides everything with weapons
against a force that is oft unbridled,
against trouble and dissatisfaction.
Sharp spikes are there to protect the corn stalks,
and thorns defend a rose from being plucked.
Myriads of teeth has nature sharpened
and has pointed innumerable horns.
Various tree-barks, wings, and speed of feet,
and the array of seeming disorder,
always follow some definite order.
Over all this huge conglomeration
again a wise, mighty force reigns supreme.
It won’t allow for evil to triumph.
It snuffs the spark, strikes the snake in the head.
Man does defend his wife and his children.
People defend their church and their nation.
Honour is a nation’s sacred relic.
Generations must bear their own burden.
New needs give birth to new powers in man.
Every action strengthens human spirit.
Heavy pressure brings thunder to action.
The blow calls forth a spark out of the stone,
without the blow the spark stays imprisoned
Suffering is the virtue of the Cross.
Tempered in trials and suffering, the soul
feeds the body with electric fire,
through hope the soul is bonded with Heaven,
as the sun’s ray binds droplet with the sun.
What is man? (And it’s his fate to be man!)
A small creature deceived oft by the earth,
yet he sees that the earth is not for him.
Is not the real more puzzling than the dream?
If man attains an honest name on earth,
his being born then wasn’t at all in vain.
But without his honest name—what is he?
Generation which was made to be sung,
muses will vie for many centuries
to weave for you garlands worthy of you.
Your example will teach gusle singers
how one should speak of immortality!
A fierce struggle lies ahead for you all:
Part of your tribe has renounced its own roots
and is therefore serving the dark Mammon!
The curse of shame has now fallen on it.
What is Bosnia and half of Albania?
They’re your brothers of the same parentage.
United all, there’s enough work for all!
Your destiny it is to bear the Cross
of the fierce fight against brothers and foes!
The wreath’s heavy, but the fruit is so sweet!
Without death there is no resurrection.
Under a shroud of glory I see you
and our nation’s honour resurrected.
I also see the altar turned eastward
and a fragrant incense burning on it.
Die in glory, if die indeed you must!
[...]
Translated by Vasa D. Mihailovich,