The Casting of Bells

by Jaroslav Seifert, Tom O'Grady (Editor), Paul Jagasich (Editor)

This is Seifert's first collection published in English in the U.S.A. (translated from the Czech).

Genres: Poetry

64 pages, Paperback

First published August 1, 1967

About the author

Awarded 1984 Nobel Prize in Literature "for his poetry which endowed with freshness, and rich inventiveness provides a liberating image of the indomitable spirit and versatility of man."

Reviews

[Steven Godin · Rating 4 out of 5]

No doubt the stand out poem was A Letter from Marienbad.

Some others I really liked were -

End of a Story
With the Roll of our Blood.
Cannon Fire
A Requiem for Dvorak
When we are Denied
Before those Few Light Kisses


Extract From A Letter from Marienbad -

Have you seen the lilies bloom?
Among the slender stems
The small blue ones shine—
And those are your eyes
Watching from behind frail fingers,
With laughter choking your palms.

Laugh at me,
I'm to be laughed at, I know,
And hide, as if you knew only about me.
As long as I can grasp for air,
I will faithfully crawl to you.
And when I capture you, you'll be mine only.
You are as real as a blade of grass,
And more so than the sky.
I'm clutching your tender wrists
As if I were holding on to the burning bars of hell.
But there is no hell.
It is only you.
Even the sky is mere semblance,
And I just invented the grass blade,
And now even you do not exist.

There is only the black, cold emptiness
Which we are approaching.

But we still hold tenaciously
To our passionate life.

[Steve · Rating 5 out of 5]

A used book store find, and a real winner. This is a short collection (60 pages) that was cranked out by the translators shortly before Seifert won the 1984 Nobel Prize. Of the great eastern European poets, as far as I can see, he more than holds his own. In fact, I find him more approachable in that his main theme -- at least with this collection (which the translators note is an interconnected statement), is Love - at its most lyrical. The others (Milosz, Herbert, etc.) are a bit more gloomy. To see this in a modern poet is a real find. Wonderful! I'm going to be reading more of this guy. A brief taste from "A Letter from Marienbad":

Hold me in your long entanglment,
a woman's laces,
The rose withering in the poet's lines.
Still it is the blossom of love that moves us,
The language opening flowers reveal,
And until bosoms break the bars of whale bones
A new era will not begin.
But today we are already distant from those times,
We are close, close -- close to what?
Close to that which we do not know!
And unhappy, miserable, cast off the throne.

There was a time when artists placed
The tools of laughter and complaint
In carefully made boxes --
But suddenly the colonnade looks so tall.
And over the tops of the rigid pinnacles
We see the sky...

(Jaroslave Seifert, translated from the Czech by Paul Jagasich & Tom O'Grady).

[Book2Dragon · Rating 4 out of 5]

These are love poems from Czech poet Jaroslav Seifert. That surprised me just a bit, because I had read that "his books had been suppressed as the result of his activities encouraging free speech during the ill-fated Prague Spring of 1968." (from the Foreward). They also say his poems are "accessible, yet so subtle." I tend to like Accessible more than Subtle, so these were not my favorite poems. There is a darkness or sadness beneath the passionate lovemaking and desire, but you really have to search for deeper meanings. (I'm not much for romance, you might have guessed.)
I liked this title "If The Sand Could Sing" and these lines: "These are the moments when there is talk/and people are listening/but no one hears anything." I think it was seeing that quote that led me to him.

[Sarah Shaw · Rating 5 out of 5]

Jaroslav Seifert was one of the best poets who ever wrote in Czech- a language rich in great poetry. If memory serves, this is the translation which brought him to the attention of the Nobel committee and for which he won the prize.

[Bob Lopez · Rating 3 out of 5]

The last poem, A Letter from Marienbad, is a stunner. The rest I can take or leave.

[Rosopsida · Rating 2 out of 5]

66-letý Seifert se ve svitu luny vyznává z lásky k ochmýřeným klínům mladých žen a k rozcuchaným důlkům milenčiných podpaží.

Seifertovy ženy jsou skleněné nymfy, co chodí po pavučinách a něžně se dotýkají květů. Pozornosti neuniknou ani líbezná ňadra šestnáctileté, ani zesnulá třináctiletá dívka, jež je ve vzpomínkách ještě krásnější.

Seifertova děvčátka si v bílém neklekají, jsou tiché, jak troška vody na dlani. Jsou tajemným úsměvem, hebkou kůží, krásným tělem, jež čeká na pomilování.

Třpyt měsíce a snění o dívčích klínech místy zakalí myšlenky na smrt. Se soumrakem se sice rodí hvězdy, ale Seifertova smrt je zlá, ničivá, nepřátelská – je potřeba jí vyslovit své pohrdání a smrt pokořit. A o to jde! Smrt nám totiž bere tělo – a dle Seiferta je tělo to jediné, co máme. Vše ostatní jsou kalné přeludy / a mihotání stínů.

(Nejmilejší verš: A já jsem churavěl touhou. / To však v mém chorobopise / nebylo napsáno.)

[EIJANDOLUM]

“They remain an unspoken secret
setting fire to a darkness that does not move
In the enormous grave
But only clings
To miserable bones:
The mark of fire.”

“And when I capture you, you'll be mine only.”

“But still we hold tenaciously
To our passionate life.”

“I still feel your cold forehead
Leaning toward me.
I still taste the sweet water of your lips.
The heat of your blood.”

[William Romsek · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not what I expected from an older Czech poet. Very accessible and humorous in a modern style. I can picture him hunched over his work with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his eye creating poetry with the same attributes. An enjoyable discovery for me.

[lux · Rating 4 out of 5]

》Jen jednou jsem spatřil
slunce tak krvavé.
A pak již nikdy.
Zlověstně padalo k obzoru
a zdálo se,
že někdo rozkopl dveře pekla.
Ptal jsem se na hvězdáně
a vím už proč.

Peklo známe, je všude
a chodí po dvou.
Ale ráj?

Možná, že ráj není nic jiného
než úsměv,
na který jsme dlouho čekali,
a ústa,
která zašeptají naše jméno.
A pak ta krátká závratná chvíle,
kdy smíme rychle zapomenout
na to peklo. 《

[Robin]

novel