Path of the Conquistadors

 

I became a nomad so that I can touch everything that wanders!

-André Gide

 

I’m a conquistador in iron armour.

I enjoy chasing stars.

I travel past precipices and chasms,

And I rest in a pleasure garden.

 

How confusing is the wild and starless sky!

The mist thickens…. But I can wait quietly,

And I believe I will find my love…

I’m a conquistador in iron armour.

 

And if there are no noontime words for the stars,

Then I’ll create my own dream,

And I’ll lovingly enchant it with songs of battle.

 

I am an eternal brother to precipices and storms,

But I will weave into my battle attire

The star of the valleys, a blue lily.

 

 

 

I’ll Be with You

 

 I know that nights are given for love and bright  warm days for battle.

- N. Gumilyov

 

I'll be with you till dawn;

I'll be gone in the morning

To search where the kings have hidden,

Kissing a star.

 

The azure sleep of those kings

Covers a radiant look;

They are a sleeping horizon 

Above a marble mountain.

 

Their crimson robes sparkle

In golden rays,    

And diamond crowns

Rest on their grey curls.

 

And their swords lie around

Like precious stones. 

Gnomes watch over them

And will not abandon them. 

 

But I’ll come with my own sword;

A gnome doesn’t own it!

I will be a maelstrom

Of fire and thunder!

 

I will extract secrets from them, 

All the secrets of their wonderful dreams,

And I’ll fit them into short poems, 

Into a frame of ringing words. 

 

The day will fly by, sunset will light up,

Nature will be a temple. 

I’ll arrive, I’ll come back,

To the open doors.

 

We will meet the dawn together. 

I’ll leave in the morning,

And on parting I’ll give you

A quarried star.

 

 Song of Zarathustra

Young, bright brothers

Of strength, delight, dreams,

I embrace you with open arms, 

Son of blue heights.

 

Shadows, crosses and graves

Hide in mysterious darkness.

The light of rising powers  

Reigns masterfully on earth.

 

Sumptuous rings race along

The bright delight of the heights;

We will meet forever

In the eternal bliss of dreams.

 

The passionate heart of a poet

Shines like ringing steel.

Woe to those who don’t see the light!

Woe to those who embrace sadness!

 

 

 

Credo

 

I don’t know where I came from…

I don’t known where I’m going,

When I shine victoriously

In my gleaming garden.

 

When I’m filled with beauty,

When I’m bored with the caress of roses,

When I, a soul tired of daydreams,

Ask for peace.

 

But I live like a dance of shadows

In the dying hour of a long day.

I’m full of mysterious moments

And the red magic of fire.

 

Everything in this world is open to me—

The shadow of night, the light of the sun,

And in the celebrated ether

The glimmer of gentle planets.

 

I’m not seeking sick knowledge

So where am I coming from?

I know there was a sparkle there

Of a star kissing a star.

 

I know singing rang out from there

In front of the throne of beauty,

When holy white flowers

Intertwined like apparitions.

 

And with an ardent heart believing in miracles,

Having understood the airy horizon,

I’ll accept no limits.

I’ll throw my dream over everything.

 

Always alive, always powerful, 

I am in love with the charms of beauty.

And a rainbow of harmonies will shine

On the kingdom of eternal emptiness.

 

 

 Dark Night-time Reverie

 

Heavy threatening clouds were gathering in the sky,

Among them a crimson moon, like a mortal wound.

Green warrior Erin, mighty Cuchulain,

Fell under the sword of ocean king Swaran.

 

Waves whispered spells to the grey-haired sibyls,

Trees were rocked by the songs of powerful rollers,

And frenzied Swaran met him in a thunderstorm of jubilation,

The hero of heroes, sovereign of the desert, Fingal.

 

After embracing each other, their armour sparkling,

They began a crazy wild dance,

And the wind greeted the battle with sobbing laughter,

And the ocean roared its eternal fairytale.

 

When I get tired of affectionate tender embraces,

When I get tired of everyday thoughts and words,

I hear the air tremble with a wrath of curses,

And I see powerful and angry heroes on a hill.  

 

 

 

 

 Song About the Singer and the King

 

My castle stands on a steep cliff

In the distant misty mountains.

I built it in the dark of night

With a curse on my pale lips.

 

No one lives in that high castle,

Only me, its proud king.

Then at night, a cruel, mocking troll

Descends from wild heights.

 

On a distant cliff, cowardly and ridiculous,

He speaks with treachery,

But feels that the sword is in store for him,

A sword that knows no mercy.

 

Once while I was sitting in my gold and purple robe

With my diamond crown shining,

A homeless, wandering young singer

Knocked at the door.

 

The palace doors were always open

To everyone rich in courage and strength.

In the purple hall I was happy to listen

To the singer’s crazy words.

 

With a beautiful harp, he became entranced,

He tinkled the trembling strings 

And the harmony of a sick song

Spread wildly through my halls.

 

“I walked alone in the starless night

From ledge to ledge in the mountains,

 

“Snakes were slithering along the ledges.

A gloomy thistle was growing there.

And above the beautiful female corpse

A mad clown was wandering about.

 

“And disturbing a wonderful dream of death,

He shook a tambourine in his hand,

Above the world of a virgin bed

He danced in a silly nightcap.

 

“The tiny bells barely sounded,

And didn’t reach the mountains.

Cheap rings sparkled

On his narrow wrinkled hands.

 

“He laughed, funny and toothless,

Galloping across dark hills,

And pressed his sore lips

To cold, girlish lips.

 

“I departed full of questions,

Disturbing the deity with them.

I hadn’t seen anything in the world

Like the scene on those cliffs.

 

I couldn’t listen to the madman any longer.

I raised my shining sword

And gave the singer a blood-stained flower

As a reward for his audacious words.

 

The flower gaped on his upper chest

Burning beautiful crimson…

“Mad singer, you scare me, be off!”

But the singer is deathly pale.

 

The strings snapped with prolonged ringing

As I broke the harp.

I did it because he made me weep,

Me, the proud and powerful king.

 

As before, there was no moon in the mist.

As before, the troll wanders about.

He’s afraid of the sword. The poor man doesn’t know

That the powerful king is crying.

 

The lonely palace is still quiet, 

Inside there are three, just three:

The sad king, the murdered singer

And his crazy song.

 

 

 

 

 A Girl’s Story

 

The fires are burning this evening...

We will pay special attention to this time.

Lord, come down to the praying children

And drive off evil spells!

 

I was resting at the gates

Under the shadow of a dear old spruce,

And above me snow was blazing

From unknown heights. 

 

At this moment a bizarre sorcerer

Came down to me from a distant mountain.

He fixed his summoning eyes on me

With a look full of powerful bliss.

 

And the amazing sorcerer sang:

“Come with me to the heights

Where I have found the marble grottos

Of a fire-crowned people.

 

“Their eyes are wonderfully deep,

They are beautiful and airy,

And the spirits of heaven are so obedient

To the touch of their hands.

 

“We will enter their homes

With the sound of a lively tune,

And there you will be queen 

As I am a mighty king.

 

“Oh, let the voice of the storms be terrible

And the faces of the dark hollows be awful!

But the mountain air is so cool,

And the azure so captivating.”

 

And this song burned dreams,

Bestowed the power of the moment,

And arrayed dreams

In such bright flowers.

 

But the look of my eyes was quiet,

And my heart waited calmly.

Is it possible to be tempted by shapely chains

Of light-enchanting speeches?

 

And this amazing wanderer departed, 

Fading into the sun’s radiance.

But a heavy sob was repeated 

Clearly to me across the confused valley.

 

The fires are burning this evening...

We will pay special attention to this time.

Lord, come down to the praying children

And drive off evil spells!

 

 

 

 

 Sun Maiden

 

I

The powerful king is stern and angry,

His sombre face as dark as night;

A crowd of frightened princesses

Run away in speechless confusion.

 

Gold sparkles around him,

With purple and crimson diamonds;

The scarlet colours of sunset

Redden the marble palace.

 

In the high hall he makes a speech 

To a crowd of dressed-up flatterers.

In his eyes there’s the sparkle of steel

And the roar of ocean waves.

 

He says: “Even as a child,

In the backwoods of neighbouring villages,

I greeted the cheerful early day

With joyful and powerful songs.

 

I sang to the azure sky, 

And I wept in mute terror

When joyless storms

Ruled the blue sky.

 

Youth came to me—a holiday of peace.

Blood was seething in my breast,

And in the brilliance of a solar banquet

I saw my love.

 

In a dream she flew to me 

And leant towards me,

Whispering wondrous words

About the golden azure day.

 

She beckoned me to come

And let some white flowers fall.

She opened for me the door 

To raptures of sweet dreams.

 

And in order to become worthy of her,

To savour divine love,

I raised my sword in great wars

And swam in gold and blood.

 

I became the ruler of the universe, 

God’s scourge, God’s voice,

A cruel and arrogant king

But only for you, O, only for you.

 

For her I am a passionate lover

Who’s eternally young.

I am the silent hymn of the moon, 

Harmonious with an impassive shining star.

 

Slaves, find the Sun Maiden,

And bring her to me, the king,

And I will give you all palaces, 

Chevronets and lands.

 

He fell silent and everyone dithered.

Then ships took sail, 

And loyal servants rushed about

And hurried to all ends of the world.

 

II

So many suns and moon have gone by.

The sad king waits wearily.

Leaning by the stone gate,

He looks eagerly down the road.

 

One day when the sun was setting,

Its rays were quietly flickering

Like the songs of the finest chorale,

Like an army of angelic swords.

 

A dusty messenger rushed in,

And behind him came yet another.

The king, burning with love,

Looked ahead with hope.

 

Like the sounds of a heavenly melody,

He catches rapid words,

“She lives, holy maiden…

Rumours about her are already spreading…

 

“She has come to your domain.

She’s now at these walls.

The people greet her with song

And genuflect.”

 

Gripped by his passionate dream,

The king rushes toward the maiden, 

But a mourning bird is hovering

Above the crowned head.

 

He sees the maiden, and in his eyes

A fiery brilliance fades.

She is so pure, innocent

And shy and timid, like a spirit.

 

Without lowering her eyes,

She walks with her lips closed, 

Like the maiden of a fiery paradise

Like a young dream of the sun.

 

Light and simple was her clothing

And lifeless her golden curls, 

A wreath of sunrays,

Covered the dullness of her shoulders.

 

She walks with a light step

Her eyes infinitely deep,

She innocently braids

Steppe sunflowers into a wreath.

 

She ignores the voice of the storm.

She has left the palaces.

Before her they spilled into the azure

Of crimson steppe sunsets.

 

Her soul is warmed by a dream.

The azure beckons her forward,

And waves of gentle light

Flutter in her breast.

 

She goes before the people.

She hides in the distance

As the sun bows its face to the water,

Forgetting the troubles of the world.

 

Silently pale and alone,

The proud king didn’t move.

Someone laughed gaily

With joy from a bottomless pit.

 

But the king watched with an eagle eye

And cried out with a powerful voice.

And blood flowed in a stream,

And death rushed by like a storm.

 

In the scorching glow of dreams

He’s destructive as a thunderstorm,

Since he loves excessively

The extravagant white flowers.

 

But the world sleeps in complete silence.

It knows truth; it understands dreams.

Death and Blood are given to us by God

To highlight whiteness. 

 

 

 

 

Autumn Song

 

The kiss of autumnal bliss

Burnt in the forest like a scarlet star,

And the song of the transparent, babbling streams

Seemed quiet and weary.

 

A dry leaf fallen from the trees,

Part pale yellow, part crimson,

Was crying sadly above the ground

In the dewy mist.

 

The splendid distant sun

Dreamed of dreams in abundance

And kissed the face of the Earth

In the languor of sweet impotence.

 

And in the evening skies

Scarlet clothing was burning,

And stained and in tears,

Doves of Hope were sobbing.

 

Flying in boundless beauty,

Hearts beckoned to the distance.

Wreaths of airy-white lilies

Were built on high.

 

That autumn was full of words

In a burning melody

Like a fruitful wife

Like an ancestor of Eve.

 

*

 

In the forest, where young Dryads

Often gamboled in the undergrowth,

Stood a silently austere temple 

With restfully alluring colonnades.

 

And the white marble spoke

Of the kingdom of Eternal Silence,

Of the flight of proud wings

That were incredibly heavy, like a sob.

 

And from above the high altar,

In the hour of midnight visions,

Two golden shadow-maidens

Quietly came down together.

 

In the embraces of the blue night,

Like momentary roses of joy,

They whispered amongst themselves

About the secrets of God and the universe.

 

Then suddenly the whispering stopped,

Like the sound of a peaceful chord,

And the white marble gleamed 

Pensively and proudly again.

 

Sometimes, when the evening coolness

Descends from heaven,

The young dryad would play tricks,

After leaving the meadow, flowers and forest.

 

She arrived quietly, all atremble,

Flooded with crimson darkness

And putting her white finger

To her radiant and rosy lips.

 

She threw a purple rose on the ground

That was warmed by the moon

And ran off laughing,

Loving her earthly reverie.

 

She is attracted by the sound

Of joyful sylvan singing,

But children of sin and pleasure

Can’t be in this temple.

 

For a long time the rose on the ground

Burnt with a purple radiance

And filled the half-light

With silver-sorrowful sobs.

 

When the world, having risen from sleep

Sparkled with a crystal smile,

She, sad and lonely,

Was dying in the silent temple.

 

*  

 

When sunset fades

In the dark sky

And when the last scarlet ray

Falls on the altar steps,

 

One woman bows before him,

One who wants a melody

Either a sad wife

Or a deceived maiden.

 

Who knows the darkness of the human soul,

Its delights and sorrows?

The tablets are hidden from us

By blue enamel.

 

Who will explain to us

Why this wife is always sad? 

Her eyes show semi-darkness

Although they hide a distant reflection.

 

Why does her forehead 

Wrinkle with doubt

And age-old deep suffering

Lie between her eyebrows?

 

Her lips are smiling.

Why are they enigmatic and trembling?

And why does the dream passionately demand

That this will not be a smile?

 

Why are there so many quiet charms in her?

Why is there a fire burning in her eyes?

For us she’s a sick nightmare, 

A truly pitiful nightmare.

 

Why in terrible dreams

Does she lean on the steps?

What does she need from heights

And from an airy-white shadow?

 

We don’t know! The darkness of night is deep,

A dream is fire; moments are groans.

When will the east dawn

With rays of renewed life?

 

*

 

The stillness barely trembles.

Laughing at the ethereal blue waves,

The sorrowful wife looks on

In strict, mute silence.

 

The blue of the distant skies

Repeats vague reproaches,

Words light up in her soul,

And fiery lines beckon.

 

They ring, they sing

So incantatory and strict:

“A refuge for the tormented soul

In the halls of Joyful God;

 

“But the Day of the Great Veil

Is not for your powerless wings

You are all still in the grip of dreams

In the grip of onerous efforts.

 

“Dark nighttime

Gives you its joy

And in it lives your sister—

A carefree young dryad.

 

“And you still love so much

The laughter of an earthy scarlet veil,

And in garlands of blue sky

You weave bright sin.

 

“But if you wish for the Day

and love the highest joy,

Embrace the fire,

Your sister, your dryad.

 

“Let it burn in you

With mighty joyful burning,

Praying to all-seeing fate

And obeying her commands.

 

“Your call will be heard;

Prayer will not be fruitless.

After leaving the joy of the forests,

You will be divinely free.”

 

Those words inflamed my soul.

Fiery arrows were burning

The scarlet light and the light of the world

Appeared like an airy-white light.

 

 

 

 

 Songs of the Dryads

 

I love you, prince of fire,

So rapturous, so alluring,

You call, you call me

From the midnight forest thicket.

 

Even though she has dreams of golden flowers

And tales of good friends, 

You know so many words,

Words of love and selflessness.

 

How your scarlet doublet burns,

How your sweet eyes sparkle.

I will leave my native land

I will leave behind night-time kisses.

 

I have long been searching for you,

And you, golden star and loving, 

Have also sought me. 

A bed will be made for us out of rays.

 

You will take me in your arms,

And you, you I will embrace,

I love you, prince of fire, 

I want and wait for your kiss.

 

*

 

Flowers sing their forest hymn

That’s familiar to children and swallows,

And under the spreading pine tree

Little gnomes are dancing.

 

Amber resin is burning;

The forest palace is blazing brightly.

The blue twilight

Flutters around like a butterfly.

 

The powerful and handsome bridegroom

Burns like a joyous bonfire.

His proud brow is gleaming;

His doublet blazes red.

 

The purple flowers ring out:

“Give us space, more space,

She’s coming, the beauty of the dryads,

The bashful-white bride.”

 

Beautiful and quiet,

She does not heed the joyful singing.

She enters the groom’s embrace

In love-trembling ecstasy.

 

A scarlet curtain hid them

From the gaze of tender flowers,

There were plenty of songs, reveries and dreams

Amidst the azure forest.

 

It’s a perfect, grand marriage,

A crazy cry of worldwide orgies!

Let the forests be covered in darkness;

There was happiness and delight in them.

 

*

 

Yes, there were many, many dreams

And strings ringing rapturously

Amid the mysterious forests

In their blue, cheerful thickets.

 

Now the worlds have opened

To the divinely-haughty wife.

In return for her faded sister

She recognized the dream of a universe.

 

The fabric is clothed in sunshine.

She is a great shrine.

She is not a pale wife

But a crowned goddess.

 

Shining in the joyful ether,

The waves of the world are breaking,

And in the temple the White Child

Creates a holy liturgy.

 

Leaping fitfully and madly,

The white Horseman called out

That the moment had come, the great moment,

Primitive and thoughtless delight.

 

Already the distant sound of hooves has died.

But this is the forever-joyful moment!

…There are no dryads, the Earth is asleep

Before the bright hour of awakening.

 

 

 

 

 A Tale of Kings

 

“We, young kings, 

Are handsome and powerful.

We soar like clouds in the sky

Above the mirages of the Earth.

 

“With eternal songs, with eternal dance

We will erect a new temple.

And even if there is a purple covering,

We will at least have windows.

 

“Windows to eternity, to radiance

To the banks of the Holy River.

And after us let nightmares

Create their own wreaths.

 

“Let the blackthorn needles torment

Only a tired brow.

Only the sun in the evening

Could warm our curls.

 

“On a cloudy, hazy night

Do not torment a sensitive heart;

Be a stormy or golden cloud

Among clouds.”

 

*

 

Thus spake one lover

In the songs of the sun, in the joy of the world,

Radiant like columns

Of clear ether,

 

Having calmed the heart’s torture

With a prophetic and thoughtful word.

But the old walls of the chambers

Laughed at the madman.

 

The gloomy, pale-grey darkness

Of the rooms mocked him,

But another king arose

With new words and new ideas.

 

His voice was so passionate.

So many dreams lived in his gaze;

He was trembling and masterful

Like a calm sea.

 

He said: “We don’t understand

The patterns of Indian fabric; 

In them there are unrestrained desires

Unknown to our eyes.

 

“In a dark swamp clothed in darkness, 

A pale lotus under the moon

Breathes one secret

With our colour, with white colour.

 

“In the follies of Teocalli  

Something different is heard.

Life is without happiness, without sadness,

And without pale peace.

 

“Who knows what languishes

Outside our knowledge

And waits like a pale queen,

Tormented and kissed.”

 

*

 

On a black horse a sombre rider was hurrying along.

He was wrapped up in a velvet cloak.

His gaze was terrible, like a town on fire,

And like lightning at night, brilliant.

 

His curls flowed on to his shoulders like snakes.

His voice was a song of fire and earth.

He sang ballads to young kings

Who listened, embarrassed.

 

*

 

“Lucifer gave me five mighty horses

and one gold ring with a ruby.

I saw the bottomless underground caves,

And the young face of splendid valleys.

 

“They brought me wine, strong fire,

A mountain fairy and, most important, a purple Gnome.

I saw the sun was beginning to burn for me,

Shining like a ruby in a gold ring.

 

“I understood the delight of created days,

The blossoming hymn of the world priest.

I laughed at the impulses of the mighty horses

And the playing of my golden ring.

 

“On the heights of consciousness were madness and snow…

But my delight burned through the blue horizon.

I directed my path towards the heights of consciousness,

And I saw there, as in a dream, a sick maiden.

 

“Her voice was as quiet as a trembling string.

Questions and answers were weaved in her eyes.

I gave the ring to this moon maiden

With the wrong shade of mixed braids.

 

“Laughing at me and despising me,

Lucifer dressed my eyes with semi-darkness

And gave me the sixth horse.

And Despair was its name.”

 

*

 

The voice of painful sadness

And songs of grief and earth

Rang out in the high hall

Where the kings stood.

 

The cold columns,

Through their immobility,

Emphasised the confused look 

And appearance of the kings.

 

But they cried out together

Alleviating their sick breasts, 

“The Path to the Unknown Bride

Is our one true path.

 

“Our chalices are full of liquid.

Let’s drain them to the lees.

The Virgin of the World will be ours

She must be ours!

 

“Let’s pull the deadly grey covering

Off the joyful tablet.

Exposing distances

Will tell us the truth of dreams.

 

“This is the true way.

The world is ours or no one’s.

We will advocate God’s truth

With the power of fiery swords.”

 

*

 

On the road of their estates

The sound of a trumpet resounds:

The voice of royal pleasures

The voice of glory and war.

 

Their swords are of the best steel,

Their shields are like silver, 

And their visors

Each display a swan’s feather.

 

Winged with hope,

They all leave their family homes,

Seen off by a hunchback,

A faithful old major domo.

 

Faithful to the sweet plans,

They march toward the sunset, 

And those left behind

Watch them till they’re out of sight.

 

Seeing only white armour,

Resonant like a babbling stream,

They send a kiss

With a sunburnt hand. 

 

*

 

Only the brave will cross the precipice...

They met the Earth Maiden

But she didn’t want to love them

Even though they were kings.

 

Despite their lavish entreaties,

She could not love them.

With the blue happiness of sorrow,

She cursed the young kings.

 

Sick weeping willows, 

Covered them with shade.

In that land, they were hopelessly happy

Without delights, dream or rays.

 

The mermaids wove wreaths for them

Out of violets and sea lilies.

And laughing, they donned violets

On their bowed heads.

 

Not one returned from battle…

Great-grandfather’s home, where holy prayers 

Were so often repeated by the hunchback major domo,

Fell to pieces.

 

*

 

The colours of a scarlet sunset

Disappeared in the dark forest,

Where an worn-out humpback

Shed tear after tear.

 

Above an abandoned well

He whispered his own words,

And from above an owl mocked

The deformed man shamelessly:

 

“Woe! The mermaids have died,

The kings have abdicated,

And I, helpless and pathetic,

Have become the ruler of the earth.

 

“Before I was dancing carefree.

I loved the Royal hall,

But now I’m wearing

A wreath of pine needles.

 

“Now the evenings are 

So empty in my palace.

The world is terrifying, terrifying,

Gods… Help me… I am dying….”

 

Above an abandoned well

He whispered his own words,

And from above an owl mocked

The deformed man shamelessly. 

 

 

 

 

 When from the Dark Abyss of Life

 

 Who knows the darkness of the human soul,

 Its delight and sadness?

 The tablets are hidden from us 

 By blue enamel.

 N.Gumilyov

 

 

 

When from the dark abyss of life

My proud soul flew, my sight restored,

A sad-sweet melody was played

At my funeral feast.

 

And to the sounds of this melody,

Leaning on the marble coffin,

Sorrowful maidens kissed

My lips and pale brow.

 

I am from the bright ether

And remember my joys there.

In response to the call of melancholy love,

I’ve again returned to the edge of the world.

 

I’ve spread out flowers

In the transparent shine of babbling streams

To return with fragrant lips

Their kiss to the earthly ones.

 

 

 

 

 To People of the Present

 

For what we don’t stand for

Our thoughts are hot and trembling.

We’ll fill the air with weeping,

With dreams mixed with lies.

 

In order to be useless,

Without bliss, without sorrow,

Between Time and the Abyss

We will trace our spirals.

 

So that in the dark,

Full of dreams and surfeit,

We will throw away painful signs 

Of weariness and impotence.

 

When throngs of joyful visions

Meet in the temple

They’ll be heavy stones

For future generations.

 

 

 

 

To People of the Future

 

People have long respected

One ancient link.

This is written on their tablets:

Love and Life are one.

 

But you are not those people. You live 

With a dreamt arrow piercing the firmament.

You’ll fly from Love and Death

In a joyful flight.

 

People have long said

That they are all slaves of the earth

And that they, creatures of dust,

Have been born and will die in dust.

 

But your bright nonchalance

Has brightened the mad songs of lyres.

Your bride will be eternity

And the temple your world.

 

Everyone believes deeply

That we must live and love playfully, 

And that the wife is a child of vice

A child that’s a hundred times unclean.

 

But you are behind the times.

There’s a different mysterious sound now,

And you will attend to the Heights

Of your female friends.

 

 

 

 

 

Prophets

 

There are still prophets,

Although the altars have fallen.

Their eyes are clear and deep

With the coming flame of dawn.

 

But a victorious call is so alien to them.

The power of endless words crushes them. 

In the masses of stone houses

They’re pale and frightened.

 

And sometimes in stormy sadness,

The prophet, not recognized among us,

Raises to heaven his gaze

Of radiant and clear eyes.

 

He says that he’s mad

But that his soul is holy,

That he, in thoughtful sadness,

Has seen the bright face of Christ.

 

The dreams of the Lord are many-eyed,

And the hand of the Giver is generous.

There are still prophets like him—

Holy knights of good.

 

He says that the world is not frightening,

That he is the prince of the Coming Dawn

But that the spirits of the dark towers

Listen to these speeches, laughing.

 

 

 

 

 

The Mermaid

 

The mermaid’s necklace is on fire,

And the rubies are sinfully red.

These were strangely sad dreams

Of a worldwide, sick hangover.

The mermaid’s necklace is on fire,

And the rubies are sinfully red.

 

The mermaid has a twinkling gaze

Midnight’s dying gaze.

It shines sometimes longer, sometimes shorter.

When the ocean winds scream,

The mermaid has a charming look.

The mermaid has sad eyes.

 

I love her, the maiden-undine,

Illuminated by the secret of night.

I love her glowing gaze

And the bliss of her burning rubies…

Because I myself am from the abyss,

From the bottomless depths of the ocean.

 

 

 

 

 

On a Motif by Grieg

 

A seabird cries victoriously

Above the free swell of the fjord waves.

What limits does it strive for?

What is it celebrating so proudly?

 

Cold winds and a grey saga

Look imperiously from the ringing song.

In a lunar reverie, the sea mist

Is still transparent, still miraculous.

 

Castles will be born from this lunar reverie.

In lofty castles maidens pine away.

The melodies of multi-stringed 

Golden harps sound so alluring.

 

But the melodies carry me farther away,

And I see links to the whole universe.

My striving asks for something else,

Other pearls, other stones.

 

I see a cheerful noisy festival.

An echo rejoices in the thick oak forest.

You pass by in a thoughtless dream,

Ringing with delight, blazing with laughter.

 

And on heights so perfect

Where tears of pure lilies sparkle,

I see the passionate among the blessed;

Roses are red on the mountain snow

 

And somewhere a pale image shines for me.

Always sad, always silent…

…But only the seagull cries victoriously

And the grey waves splash proudly.

 

 

 

Autumn

 

Along a narrow path I went, 

Intoxicated by my reverie.

In each blade of grass

Someone’s eyes were burning.

 

The grasses were interlaced,

And the flowers sang with delight--

Until the breath of poison flooded in,

Bright green and autumnal.

 

Into the deceptive happiness

Of the last cold and powerful sunbeams,

The laughter of Pan rang out--

And the sound of unearthly words.

 

The dryad maidens shed

Crystal tears over azure spring,

And after tasting ecstasy,

Dozed in a divine autumnal sleep.

 

I know betrayal,

So today I am the jubilant brother of Pan.

But tomorrow I’ll be dressed 

In the capricious apparel of snowdrops.

 

And with a dwindling agitation in the blood,

An icy sadness will tell 

Of happiness without heaven,

Eyes without smiles and dreams without love.

 

 

 

 

Sometimes I’m Sad

 

Sometimes I’m sad.

I’m a forgotten and abandoned god,

A builder of a future palace

In a pile of ruins of old temples.

 

It’s difficult to raise temples from ashes.

And bloodless lips whisper,

Wasn’t the blind and ancient Holy Dream

Burned down forever?

 

And then it is clear that above me,

Somewhere up there in the blue heights,

Someone’s voice, impetuous and passionate,

Is talking of the world struggle. 

 

“Weary and pale brother, get to work!

Sacrifice yourself to the land

If you want the mountain heights

To catch fire in the midnight darkness.

 

If you want bright prospects

To appear before sick people,

Take into your powerful heart

Days of silence and burning sadness.

 

Be a blue pre-dawn sacrifice

Burn silently in the dark depths…

…And you will be a Star of Promise

Announcing the approach of dawn.

 

 

 

 

Along the Walls

 

Along the walls of the emptied house

Cold shadows run by,

And powerless gnomes sob

In the silence of their new possessions.

 

Along the walls, along the tables, along the buffets,

Everyone could see them with their own eyes,

Those left behind by the gentle light

And surrounded by joyless night.

 

Since the death of the owner,

Their sick and weak bodies

Have trembled with melancholy and languor

In this once cheerful home..

 

In the darkness of the rooms of lost souls

The silence is sadder every moment.

Their owner was strangled by them

In the murk of a gothic bedroom.

 

The funeral candles have been removed;

 The farewell funeral feast is over.

Only vague words remained

And, yes, sobbing full of reproach.

 

Along the walls of the emptied house

Cold shadows run by

And powerless gnomes sob

In the silence of their new possessions.