I am not a poet myself, and I usually don't know a lot about music. But this song is without a doubt the most famous song from Slovenian poet Simon Gregorcic. I think in Slovenian poetry is difficult to find a similar masterpiece and it got my attention 1000% (the Slovene translation of course).
I will share the English translation of the poem with you (I found it on the followinglink) accompanied by photos made this weekend, while we visited the charnel house of Italian soldiers (you can read more about it on this page).
You are splendid, limpid daughter of the heights,
You are graceful in your natural beauty,
When your transparent depths
Are not disturbed by the
Wrath of darksome storms,
You are splendid, limpid daughter of the heights!
Your course is lively and gentle
Like the walk of highland girls,
You are serene as the mountain air,
You are loud as the vigorous
Chant of the highland youth –
You are splendid, daughter of the heights.
I like to look into your lively waves,
These green-blue waves;
The dark green of highland grass
And the cheerful azure of the heights
Have flown together with delight;
From the dew of the blue skies,
From the dew of green mountains,
You have drunk your beauty –
You are splendid, daughter of the heights.
You are my most dear friend!
When you rustle down from mountain woodlands
You seem a messenger from home,
Carrying plenty of dear greetings –
May God welcome you amidst the plains!…
How dearly and loudly you murmur,
How stalwartly and soundly you bound
When you still flow through the mountains!
But when you clatter down to the flatlands,
Why do you lose your lively joy?
Why do you flow tiredly and slowly,
Why are your voices sad?
Is it hard to part from the mountain range,
The cradle of your waves?
Do you know you are passing by the graves,
The graves of Slovene homeland?
A double grief you suffer here!
In this grief, mournful and sluggish,
You seem like a big tear to me;
But even as tear – splendid!
You are splendid, limpid daughter of the heights,
You are graceful in your natural beauty,
When your transparent depths
Are not disturbed by the
Wrath of raging storms!
But, alas, my poor child,
A dreadful storm, a horrible storm
Is threatening you;
It will storm in from the warm south,
It will rage through the fertile plain
Nourished by your waters –
Woe!, that day is not far.
A clear arch will stretch above you,
Around you a hail of lead,
Rain of blood and streams of tears,
Lightning and thunder – oh, stifling battle!
Bitter steel will strike upon these lands,
And you will flow full of blood:
Our blood will nourish you,
The enemies will muddy you!
Remember then, limpid Soca,
The commands of your fervid heart:
All the waters stored
In the clouds of your skies,
All the waters in your highlands,
All the waters of your blossoming plains,
Rush it all up at once,
Rise up, froth in a dreadful stream!
Do not confine yourself within the banks,
Rise wrathfully over the defences,
And drawn the foreigners ravenous for land
To the bottom of your foaming waves!
I hope you liked it at least half as I did. Goodnight.
