Jan Kochanowski
(selection)
I sing to myself and the Muses! Who on earth
Would like to please his heart with my melodious airs?
Who wouldn't rather use this time to look after gain,
Grasping small change everywhere, perhaps not in vain.
For what profit from poems besides hollow ring?
But he who has money, has hold of everything
His is power, his are laws, his are offices;
He is handsome, well-spoken, he takes best places.
It is not strange that people chase after gold hence,
While the poet, sans listeners,. plays behind the fence,
Competing with crickets, which over meadow grounds
Bid welcome to the warm summer with their loud rounds.
And yet I have this hope that many years away
My wakeful nights will not be left without repay;
And what the present time takes while I still live by,
Later age will richly reward after I die.
For fair Latona's son' foresaw it long ago
That the ashes of my bones would not be laid low.
Translated by Michal J. Mikos
