CLOPOTE

De Edgar Allan Poe

I.

Clopoei de sanie,
Clopoei de-argint!
O, ce lume de-ncntri e-n duiosul lor alint!
Cum clinchesc, clinchesc, clinchesc,
n vzduhul nopii reci,
De cnd stele ce clipesc
Sus pe cer, din ochi clipesc
Cu descntul lor de veci;
i se prind n mers, mers, mers,
ntr-un fel de runic vers,
ntr-o tintinabulare muzical doinind din ei
Clopoei, clopoei, clopoei, clopoei,
Clinchete i singhete de clopoei.
II. Clopote de nunt,
Clopote de aur
O, ce lume fericit-n armoniosul lor tezaur!
i pe-al nopii dulce vnt
Cum i cnt-al lor descnt!
i din notele-n risip,
Dimpreun,
Ce cntare se-nfirip
Pentru turtureaua ce ascult, cu-o arip
Peste lun!
Din sonorele calicii
Ce talaz masiv de eufonice delicii!
Ce de hohote!
Ce de clocote!
Cum rostogoleste-n opote,
Rpitorul ritm de clopote
Cntecul si-ncntecul de clopote
Clopote, clopote, clopote,
Clopote, clopote, clopote, clopote,
Clangtul i zngtul de clopote!
III.Clopote de-alarm, clopote de-aram!

Ce fantastice terori tulburarea lor proclam!

i-ntr-al nopii aspru vnt
Cu ce spaim ne-nspimnt !
Prea-ngrozite spre-a gri
Pot rcni, rcni, rcni
n discordie nebun
ntr-o aprig chemare de-a da ajutor la foc,
ntr-o nfruntare-adus surdului, slbaticului foc,
Ce se urc sus, mai sus, c-un dor beat de nenoroc
i-o-ncordare-alucinat
Spre-a stinge-acum, acum sau niciodat,
Palid nchipata lun.
Oh, clopote, clopote, clopote!
Ce poveste spun nfricoatele lor opote,
i ce vaer!
Cum mai sun, bat i rag!
Ce de spaime-arunc-n larg
n snul tremurtorului aer!
Ci urechea desluete
ntr-un huiet, ntr-un vuiet,
Cum primejdia se-nvolbur i crete;
Ci urechea prinde-n opote
Dintr-un hohot,
Dintr-un tropot,
Cum primejdia se-afund i d-n clocote,
n afundul i n clocotele furiei de clopote,
Clopote,
Clopote, clopote, clopote, clopote,
Clopote, clopote, clopote,
n iptul i strigtul de clopote!
IV. Clopote de-ngropciune, clopote de fier!
Ce solemne gnduri cnt n prohodul lor sever!
Si-ntr-o noapte fr vnt
De ce spaim te-nspimnt !
Cu al glasului lor patetic freamt!
Cci un sunet izbucnit
Din gtlejul lor dogit
E un geamt.

Clopotarii, clopotarii,
Sus n turle peste arii
Singuri stnd,
Cei ce sun, sun, sun
Melancolicul comnd,
Se simt mndri s ne pun
Peste inimi un mormnt.
Ei nu-s oameni i nici fieri.
Nu-s brbai i nici muieri,
Ci-s furtun:
Craiul lor e cel ce sun ;
i el tun, tun, tun,
Tun
Un paian de clopote!
Snul lui e-n zvocote
De acest paian de clopote!
Iar el joac, joac-n hohote
i se prinde-n mers, mers, mers,
ntr-un fel de runic vers,
Cu sunetul de clopote,
Clopote, clopote, clopote,
Cu tunetul de clopote.
i se prinde-n mers, mers, mers,
n funebre ropote
ntr-un vesel, runic vers,
Cu dangtul de clopote,
Clopote, clopote, clopote,
Clopote, clopote, clopote, clopote,
Clopote, clopote, clopote,
Cu bocetul i mugetul de clopote.
Traducere Dan Botta

Edgar Allan Poe. 18091849

88. The Bells

HEAR the sledges with the bells,
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Hear the loud alarum bells,
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night

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How they scream out their affright!

Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Nownow to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells,
Of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
Hear the tolling of the bells,
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the peopleah, the people,
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone
They are neither man nor woman,
They are neither brute nor human,

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They are Ghouls:

And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A pan from the bells;
And his merry bosom swells
With the pan of the bells,
And he dances, and he yells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pan of the bells,
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

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