- Poruka
- 379
Cik pogodi
TO sto tkuje ovaj stih i bilo koji stih,
Necujno za najostrije uho, neoformljeno u najcistijem oku, ili u najlukavijoj svesti,
ni teskoca ni slava, ni sreca ni bogatstvo,
pak bilô svakog srca i zivota kroz svet,
sto ti i ja i svi jure i uvek, uvek, im to promakne,
Otvoreno ali jos uvek tajnovito, stvarno od stvarnosti, iluzija,
neprocenjivo, obecano svakome, ali ne u vlasnistvu covekam
sto pesnici uzalud traze da bi stavili u rimu, istoricari u prozu,
Sto vajari jos nikada nisu isklesali, ni slikari naslikali,
Sto pevaci nikada nisu otpevali, ni govornici ikad izgovorili,
Posvecuje sada i ovde, to ja izazivam.
Indifferently, 'mid public, private haunts, in solitude,
Behind the mountain and the wood,
Companion of the city's busiest streets, through the assemblage,
It and its radiations constantly glide.
In looks of fair unconscious babes,
Or strangely in the coffin'd dead,
Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night,
As some dissolving delicate film of dreams,
Hiding yet lingering.
Two little breaths of words comprising it.
Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it.
How ardently for it!
How many ships have sail'd and sunk for it!
How many travelers started from their homes and ne'er return'd!
How much of genius boldly staked and lost for it!
What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur'd for it!
How all superbest deeds since Time began are traceable to it--and
shall be to the end!
How all heroic martyrdoms to it!
How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth!
How the bright fascinating lambent flames of it, in every age and
land, have drawn men's eyes,
Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands, and the
cliffs,
Or midnight's silent glowing northern lights unreachable.
Haply God's riddle it, so vague and yet so certain,
The soul for it, and all the visible universe for it,
And heaven at last for it.
Walt Whitman[/QUOTE]
TO sto tkuje ovaj stih i bilo koji stih,
Necujno za najostrije uho, neoformljeno u najcistijem oku, ili u najlukavijoj svesti,
ni teskoca ni slava, ni sreca ni bogatstvo,
pak bilô svakog srca i zivota kroz svet,
sto ti i ja i svi jure i uvek, uvek, im to promakne,
Otvoreno ali jos uvek tajnovito, stvarno od stvarnosti, iluzija,
neprocenjivo, obecano svakome, ali ne u vlasnistvu covekam
sto pesnici uzalud traze da bi stavili u rimu, istoricari u prozu,
Sto vajari jos nikada nisu isklesali, ni slikari naslikali,
Sto pevaci nikada nisu otpevali, ni govornici ikad izgovorili,
Posvecuje sada i ovde, to ja izazivam.
Indifferently, 'mid public, private haunts, in solitude,
Behind the mountain and the wood,
Companion of the city's busiest streets, through the assemblage,
It and its radiations constantly glide.
In looks of fair unconscious babes,
Or strangely in the coffin'd dead,
Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night,
As some dissolving delicate film of dreams,
Hiding yet lingering.
Two little breaths of words comprising it.
Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it.
How ardently for it!
How many ships have sail'd and sunk for it!
How many travelers started from their homes and ne'er return'd!
How much of genius boldly staked and lost for it!
What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur'd for it!
How all superbest deeds since Time began are traceable to it--and
shall be to the end!
How all heroic martyrdoms to it!
How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth!
How the bright fascinating lambent flames of it, in every age and
land, have drawn men's eyes,
Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands, and the
cliffs,
Or midnight's silent glowing northern lights unreachable.
Haply God's riddle it, so vague and yet so certain,
The soul for it, and all the visible universe for it,
And heaven at last for it.
Walt Whitman[/QUOTE]
