Néhány vers Lovecrafttól
 
Gyüjtöm Lovecraft verseit és pillanatnyilag itt tartok,
bár még néhányat még nem tettem fel gépre...
Tudomásom szerint magyarul még nem jelent meg Lovecraft egyetlenegy verse sem,
én is csak angolul tudtam őket megszerezni.
 
A versek:
 
| Beyond Light and Dark | Néhány Haiku | Nemesis | Where Once Poe Walked |
| Hallowe'en in a Suburb | The Cats | In Ulthar | Yuggoth on the Rim | Yule Fest |
 
  
 
 
 
Beyond Light and Dark
 
Shades shift fade imperceptible
Moonlight flicker trees dance
Shadow-cloaked earth
Window-slit wind hymn
to spirits of darkness
conjures powers eldritch and old
The One in All:
chromatic dimensioned spheres
colors sing and shatter
fragment
(nothing but stars)
Where stars burn fiercely
Old Ones play
Incomprehensible
And dark abyssal eyes
wait silent and wise
Warned caught entranced
I am seduced enraptured
Into night-warm wells of sleep
 
 
 
 
Haiku
 
R'lyeh
cold watery deep
giant slumbers, trapped, troubled
--Great Old Nautilus
 
 
Arkham Autumn
cool wind muttering
strange shadows, steeples, grasping
swollen harvest moon
 
 
Dunwich
thunder under hills
breathe in time with whippoorwills
--dusky psychopomps
 
 
Innsmouth
abandoned buildings
gape fish-eyed, sea smell, old folk
lurk behind shutters
 
 
Y'ha-nthlei
below Devil's Reef
darkly shining ocean, deep
where coelacanths play
 
 
Kingsport
snow-covered city
lost and forgotten gather
--ancient Festival
 
 
 
Nemesis
 
Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being
driven to madness with fright.
 
I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without
knowledge or lustre or name.
 
I had drifted o'er seas without ending,
Under sinister grey-clouded skies
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons that out
of the green waters rise.
 
I have plunged like a deer through the arches
Of the hoary primordial grove,
Where the oaks feel the presense that marches
And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers
through dead branches above.
 
I have stumbled by cave-riddled mountains
That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the frog-foetid fountains
That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things I care not
to gaze on again.
 
I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
Shows the tapestried things on the walls;
Strange figures dischordantly woven, that I cannot
endure to recall.
 
I have peered from the casements in wonder
At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roofed village laid under
The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble I listen
intently for sound.
 
I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
I have flown on the pinions of fear
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages;
Where the jokulls look snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes
what it never can cheer.
 
I was old when the pharoahs first mounted
The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on
the far Arctic isle.
 
Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of
unmerciful gloom.
 
Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being
driven to madness with fright.
 
 
 
Where Once Poe Walked
 
Eternal brood the shadows on this ground,
Dreaming of centuries that have gone before;
Great elms rise solemnly by slab and mound,
Arched high above a hidden world of yore.
Round all the scene a light of memory plays,
And dead leaves whisper of departed days,
Longing for sights and sounds that are no more.
 
Lonely and sad, a specter glides along
Aisles where of old his living footsteps fell;
No common glance discerns him, though his song
Peals down through time with a mysterious spell.
Only the few who sorcery's secret know,
Espy amidst these tombs the shade of Poe.
 
 
 
Hallowe'en in a Suburb
 
The steeples are white in the wild moonlight,
   And the trees have a silver glare;
Past the chimneys high see the vampires fly,
   And the harpies of upper air,
   That flutter and laugh and stare.
For the village dead to the moon outspread
   Never shone in the sunset's gleam,
But grew out of the deep that the dead years keep
   Where the rivers of madness stream
   Down the gulfs to a pit of dream.
A chill wind blows through the rows of sheaves
   In the meadows that shimmer pale,
And comes to twine where the headstones shine
   And the ghouls of the churchyard wail
   For harvests that fly and fail.
Not a breath of the strange grey gods of change
   That tore from the past its own
Can quicken this hour, when a spectral power
   Spreads sleep o'er the cosmic throne,
   And looses the vast unknown.
So here again stretch the vale and plain
   That moons long-forgotten saw,
And the dead leap gay in the pallid ray,
   Sprung out of the tomb's black maw
   To shake all the world with awe.
And all that the morn shall greet forlorn,
   The ugliness and the pest
Of rows where thick rise the stones and brick,
   Shall some day be with the rest,
   And brood with the shades unblest.
Then wild in the dark let the lemurs bark,
   And the leprous spires ascend;
For new and old alike in the fold
   Of horror and death are penned,
   For the hounds of Time to rend.
 
 
 
The Cats
 
Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.
 
Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.
 
Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.
 
Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.
 
Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.
 
Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.
 
 
 
In Ulthar
 
In shadowed Ulthar, where the moonbeams fall
Draping the chimneys with a silver pall
Where the people work by light of day
And trade with the merchants from down Hatheg way
In Ulthar, one must all cats respect
No cat in Ulthar ever knows neglect
For the cats of Ulthar are special ones
Old ones that drowse by the light of the sun
Young ones that sing when the moon fills the sky
Wise ones that gaze with intelligent eye
Kittens that caper on slanted rooftops
Teasing the moon till the Old Man cries "Stop!"
Leaping and climbing from gable to gable
Till rooftops are seething with calico and sable
Until finally, the sunrise
When they narrow their bright eyes
Down from rooftops they gambol
And homeward they amble
To nap on the hearth till the sun should go down
And the gibbous moon rises on their little town
And the star-pinned night sky will send out its call
In shadowed Ulthar, where the moonbeams fall
 
 
 
Yuggoth on the Rim
 
Across the nighted deeps of space
Past Neptune cold and dim,
Where solar wastes meet starry voids
Is Yuggoth on the rim.
From the wells of night to the gulfs of space,
Beyond the sun's wan glim,
On gossamer wings come flying the Fungi
From Yuggoth on the rim.
Lost in the darkened hills where they lurked, I
Heard their voices coarse and grim,
Whisper of space, and time, and stranger things
On Yuggoth on the rim.
In darkling woods, encircled, they gathered,
Chanting an eldritch hymn:
"Ia! Nyarlathotep! who brought strange joy
To Yuggoth on the rim."
In sibilant tones they sang of Shub
Niggurath's fabulous vim;
Of Yog-Sothoth, who dwells beyond
Even Yuggoth on the rim.
Tomorrow they will take me there
Through spacetime's limpid scrim,
Across vast chasms of empty space
To Yuggoth on the rim.
 
 
 
Yule Fest
 
Gathered together for the centuried rite;
Across snow-covered ground we walk bleakly t'ward home,
Through archaic Kingsport and streets seldom trodden,
After sunset's last rays have sunk into the gloam.
Only the lonely and poor still remember
Why we have come to this place out of time;
In this strange haunted city where once lived our elders,
With its gambrels and gables all covered with rime.
In the last ancient house at the end of the alley
We are met by the priest in his waxen-faced mask;
From blasphemous books we relearn the rituals,
Through tunnels beneath we descend to our task.
In green-litten caverns we hold dark communion,
Near a subterrene river where ghouls fear to tread.
With wild harmonies and songs cacophonic,
We sing and we laugh as we feast with the dead.
Then beyond the blackness from over the river,
Where the green flame burns bright and the black waters fall,
Come our mounts that are neither a mole nor a buzzard,
But something a sane man could never recall.
Far back in the shades of these gangrenous caverns,
In the depths of this cosmic Tartarean hall;
Are shapes of vile things that somehow are moving:
Vile things that walk but ought only to crawl.
Maddened, we rush down that black, oily river,
Past chaotic cataracts that thunder and boom;
Through caverns infernal on wings gaunt and membranous,
Our steeds flop and fly as we rejoice in our doom.
Yes, only a few of us old ones remember--
Only the cursed and the sad demon-kissed;
And snow fills the footprints that wend through the alley,
And the last ancient house disappears in the mist.
 
 
 
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