The Bloody Sonnets #16

Adaptation of Krvavé sonety.

Welcome to my series of adapting Pavol Országh Hviezdoslav’s The Bloody Sonnets into free-verse. This is the sixteenth of thirty-two sonnets.

Following the adaptation, I invite you to read some reflections on the poem.

---

Clouds of collected souls roll 
     over a house.
In this home sits a grandfather —
     now the caretaker of a 
     fractured family.
At his feet an old woman sits 
     like a hen,

wrapping her arms around 
     her grandchildren.
Each one sobbing as they 
     stare into the stars.
In the kitchen, 
     a newly widowed wife —
          unaware.
With wet eyes, 
     she joins them by the fire.

And in the orchard,
     all alone,
     the daughter.
Heart yearning for her brother
     who also went with a 
     bold mind to
          the reaping fields,
where the scythe is sharpened,
     daily, 
     with a wet stone —
     fresh with the morning 
          dew of blood.
Who will answer for 
      these sufferers?
What can be said to these faces 
     filled with tears
     and sorrowful loss?

---

The original is in the Slovak language, which was originally written in 1914:

---

Včuľ po mraku vše zvolá podstena,
čo doma zbudli, všetkých dohromady.
Prah ňaňo zaujal, kmeť vetchej vlády;
u nôh mu čupí žena, starena,

sťa kvočka, kol vnúčat pnúc ramená:
a každé zosŕka, jak k hviezdam hľadí —
V kuchynke nevesta; priam sprace riady
a prisadne k nim, muka zrosená.

Len dcéra umkla v sad, i s inou strelou
v srdiečku, neboliacou ostatných:
veď s bratom tiahol on tiež s mysľou smelou
do kosby, krv kde rosou, riasou vzdych…
Kto odpovie i za tých trpiteľov?
ich strasti, slzy, snáď i straty ich?

---

Reflections

This is the sonnet that made me fall in love with the Bloody Sonnets. We are now halfway. I forgot to mention, Sonnets 13-20 are available online. So you can enjoy and compare JM’s translations if you wish. (But be careful, it will spoil the ones I haven’t yet done!)

There’s really too much to say on this sonnet. I made at least four different drafts, each exploring a different angle. All of them exists in pieces of paper under my typewriter. I was talking with

Bence Ádók

today and I said something like it was only through poetry could I really express my feelings about this topic. It remains true.

Instead, I will tell you a fun story about cutting grass with a scythe. I learned this skill when I visited Pohorelá, Slovakia. Here is a picture of me putting that skill to use for some free labor. Well, in return I was well fed by my hosts.

Pohorelá is home to the World Scything Championship, and my host was once a competitor. So I will share with you some scything wisdom. The blade of the scythe on its return swing, is to be kept very close to the ground. Novices will return the blade even a few inches above the ground, wasting effort.

Besides for sport, I witnessed some men returning from the fields in the mid-morning with scythes in their arms. It’s still very much a thing.

Prior to use, the blade is indeed sharpened with a stone. Which was the inspiration for this line:

---

Here’s the link to the previous sonnet.

The entire collection can be found here as well.