An Anthology of Jugoslav Poetry; Serbian Lyrics.

by Various.

PREFACE

"Give me the making of a nation's songs, and let who will make their laws," was the maxim of a Scottish patriot. We would prefer to modify this rule, and say, "Give us the poems which the people make for themselves, and then we shall obtain a clear insight into the national character and learn what customs and laws they are likely to accept or reject." Folk-songs are the intimate expressions of the ideas of the people. What the comic drama is to the cultured, and the music-hall to the ill-educated portions of urban population, the popular song has been, and in some countries still is, to the rural peasantry, a true exponent of their sentiments, though too frequently inaccurate in statements of facts. Critics, as is well known, have censured Lord Macaulay for his indiscriminate adoption of the vulgar and often malignant rhapsodies sung in the streets of London. But the Russian _bylina_, collected by Danilov, Rybnikov, Sreznevsky and others, may be taken as furnishing unimpeachable evidence of the state of Russia during the invasions of the Mongols and Turks. The Jacobite poems give us the real feelings of the people of Scotland for nearly an entire century.

The popular and rustic strains which are handed down from the reign of Henry III have rehabilitated the memory of Simon de Montfort. Moore's Irish melodies, originally composed for the delectation of English aristocrats, have been so generally admired in his native land that they exhibit pretty clear indications of what the Irish patriots would like to do if they had the power. And the battle-hymn by Rouget de Lisle is not only popular in France, but has recently been sung by the Russian bolsheviki when marching to occupy Tsarskoe Selo and other imperial lands.

The songs to which the English form has been given in the following volume have been taken mostly from Vuk Karad[vz]i['c]'s invaluable collection: _Srpske Narodne Pjesme_ (Serbian National Songs).

Karad[vz]i['c], of whom the literary world has heard so much, is the father of modern Serbian literature. He spent many years among the peasants in collecting the national treasures: ballads, tales, proverbs, anecdotes and other folklore. Before his time the songs had never been reduced to written form, and were kept out of reach of the public ear.

He was only able to hear them partly because of a ruse and partly in secret, when he listened with inexhaustible patience to the girls spinning, or the _guslars_ (bards) trolling in taverns and at fairs, or the reapers chanting at their work. In the preface of his first book of _Srpske Narodne Pjesme_ Karad[vz]i['c] tells us that in Serbia two sorts of popular poetry exist--the historical ballads, and popular songs of a character which caused them to be described as _[vz]enske pjesme_ (women's songs) chanted by country folk, both men and women and mostly in duet. It is the latter, _[vz]enske pjesme_, which having been translated into English are gathered together in the following anthology, _Serbian Lyrics_.

Sir John Bowring, who unveiled to his countrymen the rich treasures of Slavic popular songs in general, is also distinguished by being the pioneer to point out the Serbian in particular. But the claims, which we, at the present day, feel ourselves ent.i.tled to make on a translator, are very different from those current in Bowring's time. Correctness and fidelity are now considered necessary requisites in a good translation, just as antiquarian exactness is expected in the publication of an old ma.n.u.script.

Jugoslav lyric poetry is divided into several groups, as, for instance, one grouping contains poems concerning marriage. These songs tell of the beauty of the bride, of her joy and sorrow before departure from the home of her parents, as well as her feelings upon other occasions during wedlock. There are poems belonging to the group of baccha.n.a.lian songs, p.r.o.nounced during the toast, and resounding with many refrains. Then there are lamentations (_tu[vz]balice_) which are mostly provincial, from Montenegro and Dalmatia. They are also accompanied by refrains, expressing sorrow after the death of some loved one, and extolling the virtues of the deceased, or the great misfortune felt by those left behind. All this emotion is described very fitly and in a touching manner. Further, there are poems commemorating the holy seasons and "red-letter days," as _sve[vc]arske pjesme_ sung on the _Slava_ celebration of some _svetac_ (saint). To the same grouping belong Christmas poems hailing the glory of the Christ, and depicting the customs of that season (_koledo_). Saints, such as Sts. John, George, Peter, and others, have their own eulogies. There are besides poems exalting the Holy Ghost (_kralji[vc]ke pjesme_). _Dodole_, which originated from old customs of heathenism, are sung during the summer droughts. Others are reapers' songs, mostly sung at _prelo_ time (social gatherings). There are poems that are connected neither with marriage, nor death, nor harvests, but which treat of mythological or religious subjects; they are called _pobo[vz]ne_, describing the spiritual virtues of the Virgin, or the Christ, or the apostles. Here are also to be found humoristic and satirical compositions, directed against women, or especially against monks, widows, and old bachelors. They are as a rule sprightly songs and piquant, pleasant and witty.

Critics who have written of the Serbian national songs declare that they are characterized by extreme delicacy both of feeling and workmanship, and that they are n.o.ble in their childlike purity, simple treatment of, and sympathy with, every phase of natural human experience. But these Serbian songs have quite a peculiar character of their own. They are directly, pa.s.sionately, fiercely human, and rich with poetic sympathy.

Love, glory, sorrow, death--are the themes constantly handled in a thousand weird and poetic phrases. There is a strong Indian flavor of the joy of rest in Mother Earth; and again, a keen thirst for the fight which smacks of the men who lived with Moslems around them. Although these chants occasionally recall something of the martial lilt of old Spanish ballads, they have an individual original turn which cannot be compared with any extant popular poetry. They have the uncanny mystery of the Celtic tales of love in death, which is very rare.

The love songs of the Jugoslav lands have a dreamy, calm and exalted sweetness that reminds us of the Alps and the Cevennes. Among these the Bosnian _sevdalinke_ (love songs of Bosnia) are especially worthy of remark, for they are full of emotion, yearning and tender pa.s.sion. The greater warmth of the songs of Herzegovina and Montenegro is owing more to the sonorous language than to any superiority in melody. Here are mostly to be found _tu[vz]balice_. As to Dalmatia, Croatia and Slovenia, their melodies are chiefly marked by simplicity and a feeling for the domestic side of life. Ba[vc]ka and Banat, blessed with much open air and sunshine, possess no love-songs in the strict sense of the term; but they have _serenade_ and _posko[vc]ice_, although for these there is little or no original melody. To the light-minded and bright-witted singers of these provinces imagination is easier than memory.

A country very rich in melody is Serbia. Here one may find a truer and more intense musical feeling, a stronger love of the soil, and more sincere devotion to the beauty of nature, especially of spring and summer, than in any other part of Jugoslavia. The love songs of Serbia seem to have a special inspiration of their own. We may hear the shepherds singing in green pastures and among the fir-woods, or in the silence of the mountains. From the vineyards, from the fair and dances, and from the daily round of work the strains arise. Everywhere that youth is seen a poem is heard, and every occupation is accompanied by a song.

We cannot, however, leave this part of our subject without mentioning some of the burlesque poems, which the Jugoslavs possess in great number, partly narrative and partly lyric. The Americans are accustomed to think of the Jugoslavs and their kinsmen as grave and sombre, or, when their pa.s.sions are excited, p.r.o.ne to deeds of tragic violence.

Those who are better acquainted with them know full well that they are as loquacious and sarcastically sportive in their social gatherings as any nation, and many of their verses are redolent of these qualities.

They display all the gradations of the comic, from the diverting simplicity of the innocent confession of an enamoured girl, together with the ludicrous situation and disappointed vanity of her cheated lover, up to a strain of bitter satire and merciless irony. Poems marked by that simplicity which borders between the touching and the humorous are also represented in this volume. Such is the song, "Trouble with the Husband":

I married last year, This year I repent.

Bad husband have I, With temper like nettle: My lot I resent.

The frost kills the nettle, But this husband of mine, He thinks the frost fine: By the stove all day long He does nothing but sit, And says that the frost He minds not one bit!

In Celovec 'tis market-day, 'Tis market-day to-morrow; I will take my husband there, And will either there him change, Or else will sell him at the fair.

Not too cheap I'll let him go, Because he was so hard to get; Rather than too cheaply sell him, Back home again I'll take the man, And love him--howsomuch I can!

The western world has already heard of the rich mine of Jugoslav folk-literature. Nevertheless, comparatively speaking, only a very small number have been translated into English. The extreme simplicity of these verses, the peculiar character of the Serbian language, with its melodiously protracted words, its pompously sonorous sounds, and its harmonious diffuseness, all render it exceedingly difficult to translate Serbian lyrics without encountering the danger of making constant additions; especially when rendering it into a language with so many monosyllabic words, and so philosophically condensed, as the English.

MILIVOY STANOYEVICH.

New York, 1920.

I

THE CURSE[1]

I heard a sprightly swallow say To a gray cuckoo t'other day,-- "Thou art a happy bird indeed; Thou dost not in the chimney breed, Thou dost not hear the eternal jarring, Of sisters and step-sisters warring; Their woes and grievances rehearsing, Cursing themselves, and others cursing."

A young step-sister once I saw, Foul language at the elder throw; "Perdition's daughter! hence depart; Thou hast no fruit beneath thy heart."

And thus the elder one replied: "Curse thy perverseness and thy pride!

Mihailo is a son of thine; Now thou shalt bring forth daughters nine, And madness shall their portion be.

Thy son shall cross the parting sea; He never shall return to thee, But, bathed in blood and wounded, pine!"

And thus she cursed;--the curse was true;[2]

Her sister's nine fair daughters grew; And madness seized them,--seized them all: Mihailo,--far away, and wounded, By solitude and woe surrounded, I heard him on his mother call: "O mother! mother! send me now A bandage of that snowy linen Which you so thoughtlessly were spinning, When curses wander'd to and fro.

In your rage you wove it,--now remove it; Tear it for bandages, as you tore Love and affection all asunder.

Where it was bleach'd thy son lies under; With it cover his hot wounds o'er.

Rend it, mother; and send it, mother!

May it thy suffering son restore!"

S. J. B.

II

FAREWELL[3]

Against white Buda's walls, a vine Doth its white branches fondly twine; O, no! it was no vine-tree there; It was a fond, a faithful pair, Bound each to each in earliest vow-- And, O! they must be severed now!

And these their farewell words:--"We part-- Break from my bosom--break--my heart!

Go to a garden--go, and see, Some rose-branch blushing on the tree; And from that branch of rose-flower tear, Then place it on thy bosom bare; And as its leaflets fade and pine, So fades my sinking heart in thine."

And thus the other spoke: "My love!

A few short paces backward move, And to the verdant forest go; There's a fresh water-fount below; And in the fount a marble stone, Which a gold cup reposes on; And in the cup a ball of snow-- Love! take that ball of snow to rest Upon thine heart within thy breast.

And as it melts unnoticed there, So melts my heart in thine, my dear!"

S. J. B.

III

THE VIOLET[4]

How captivating is to me, Sweet flower! thine own young modesty!

Though did I pluck thee from thy stem, There's none would wear thy purple gem.

I thought, perchance, that Ali Bey-- But he is proud and lofty--nay!

He would not prize thee--would not wear A flower so feeble though so fair: His turban for its decorations Had full blown roses and carnations.

S. J. B.