No. 79 Avagy búcsú a matrónáktól... (Baka István fordítása)

                                                        No 79
                                      Avagy búcsú a matrónáktól,
                            elsősorban Maja-Myra kocsmárosnétól,
                          aki a Solgrändenben székel a főtér mellett,
                                                      anno 1785

                                               Charon a kürtjét fújja,
                                               Zúg a vihar, szél harsog,
                                               Már a kötél, vitorla
                                               Reccsen és hasad;
                                               Búvik az éj bús holdja,
                                               Csillagi fény se pislog:
                                               Életidőm oly kurta,
                                               Gyorsan elszalad,
                                               Mint homokóra pereg le;
                                               Charon evez, sebesedve
                                                      Csattan az árba
                                                      Fürge lapátja,
                                                      S egy gyalulatlan
                                                      Deszka a habban,
                                     Mint ravatal, sötéten úszva erre ring,
                                                      Füst, por kering,
                                                      Bőg éji had.

                                               Kocsma-madame, te drága,
                                               Útravalómat add át
                                               Most, hogy atyáim árnya
                                               Vár a sírba' lenn.
                                               Zord csapos úr, ha látna,
                                               Nem hivogatna: jer hát!
                                               Kalpagomért se ád ma
                                               Flaska bort nekem.
                                               Kocsma-mamám, ha örökre
                                               Tartozom is, te töröld le:
                                                      Két őre halra,
                                                      Egy meg a vajra,
                                                      Ángolna pőrén,
                                                      Volna csak őrém,
                                     S még ez a tányér krumpli, ezt még fölfalom:
                                                      Forró, finom,
                                                      Be kedvelem!

                                               Íme, a testamentum,
                                               Írtam a krigli mellett,
                                               Exegi monumentum,
                                               Olvasd jó mamám!
                                               Sok keserű momentum
                                               Volt ez a lét, nem ünnep:
                                               Fényteli firmamentum,
                                               Te borulj reám!
                                               Most emelem meg a korsót:
                                               Prószit! e sör csuda jó volt!
                                                      Habja pezsegve
                                                      Tornyosul egyre:
                                                      Ócska zekémre
                                                      Folyva le végre.
                                     Jó Maja, jó mamácska, fáin volt sered.
                                                      De integet
                                                      Charon komám.

                                               Vén kobakom lehorgad,
                                               Törzsem előre görnyed,
                                               Rossz nyakam ingadozgat.
                                               S hogyha bámulok
                                               Öltözetemre, nyomban
                                               Folynak a sűrü könnyek,
                                               Hercegi kelme volt az,
                                               Csakhogy megkopott.
                                               S oly csudaszép ez a nadrág:
                                               Hol van, aki ilyet ad rád?
                                                      Rongyos a mellény,
                                                      Foltos a mellén,
                                                      És a harisnyám
                                                      Is csupa lik mán.
                                     S honnan a drága ingem? Beckmanné alól.
                                                      Szoknyája volt,
                                                      Mit eldobott.

                                               Ringat a gyászos sajka,
                                               Hogy nyikorog lapátja!
                                               Árnysereg erre-arra
                                               Tántorog sután;
                                               Sír Aeolusnak ajka,
                                               Charon a sípját rágja,
                                               S fülsiketítő zajba
                                               Kezd a sok-sok árny;
                                               Dörren a menny, csupa rémség,
                                               Ránk szakad itt a sötétség,
                                                      Villog a Göncöl,
                                                      Billeg, el is dől,
                                                      Hamvad a csillag,
                                                      Köd gomolyog csak,
                                     Végül az éjbe vész az égi boltozat;
                                                      Pokol fogad,
                                                      Jó éjt, Madame!

   
C. M. BELLMAN: FREDMAN EPISZTOLÁI ÉS DALAI című kötetéből
Baka István fordítása

Az episztola eredeti szövege a svéd Bellman-weboldalon olvasható: N:o 79. FREDMANS EPISTEL. eller
Afsked til Matronorna, synnerligen til Mor Maja Myra i Solgränden vid Stortorget, Anno 1785.