I saw you back then, your ascension surging,
as if by angels’ arms being borne aloft …
Just as the world was mired, in mists submerging,
from which the sun-blushed bud emerges soft.
You were the perfect shape and form, all braving,
above you flags by fresh joy fanned were waving,
you like a clean white surface brightly shone …
Of you, and thus, my soul dreamed then, and on.

We watched you though, lifted quite slowly, chary,
from murky streets, the dust of everyday,
by feeble force … Your face a grey mask, wary,
bore fear, which our spirit can’t wash away,
tortured by swarms of midge-like myriad dangers.
How long ago, my city? We were strangers,
from ages past, some wellspring was upwelling
soul-ward – but oft too weak and uncompelling.

Oh city mine – your fate’s fruit night-filled, waited,
and yet our searching fingers missed and doubted!
You did not grow – we in you, isolated,
without God’s grace, we just lived on without it.
Life in a monster’s maw, all round us, scary,
we, happy, not until the cemetery,
where at least all was level, uncompromising
and up from crosses yet, the morning rising.

When in that sphere did we suspect, hope, tell,
who can say? To your Calvary you climbed,
albeit the shroud they’d tailored for us fell.
Your factory smoke swelled Sombre tuned, slow timed …
Must our goal lie beyond the wilderness?
dread are the moles that blindly onward press,
and titan interests that shake the ground so deep –
did we reach over mankind’s chasms steep?

Well, goodbye dreams, in which but beauty’s living!
Bring people wise, awake, and even-handed!
Only from deeds does strength come, ever giving,
that the deceased pass to the living, splendid!
You, our old nest of casemates, heads rolled, reckoned,
lough aloud now, by far horizon beckoned
what kind – what kind! All of it, yours for taking!
Never more to go begging, humbly quaking!

There are towns gnawed at slow by doom unplanned,
unstoppable by any golden temple,
there are towns where compatriots lend a hand,
rich in their opportunities still ample –
like Brno! To live for it, once we chose,
our world must be where toil’s horizon glows
with all resolve! Stand tall o’er fate we must,
that in our city we’ll vest our faith and trust.

(28 September 1935)

translated by Václav Pinkava

Mahen, Jiří: Brno, moje krásné Brno… Výběr poezie a prózy o Brně (Brno my beautiful Brno … a selection of poetry and prose about Brno), ed. Jiří Hek, Brno: Univerzitní knihovna 1960, pp. 22–23.

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