Sonnet 

 

Like a conquistador in iron armour,

I have travelled the roads in good cheer,

Sometimes resting in joyous gardens 

Sometimes leaning over precipices and chasms.

 

When a mist develops 

In the hazy, starless sky, I laugh and wait

I believe, as always, in my star,

I, a conquistador in iron armour.

 

And if in this world we aren’t able

To unchain the last link, 

Let death come, I invite anyone!

 

I’ll fight it to the end,

And perhaps I’ll end up with a blue lily

In a dead man’s hand.

 

 

 

 Ballad

 

My friend Lucifer gave me five horses

And one gold ring with a ruby,

So that I could descend into the deep caves

And see the young face of the heavens.

 

The horses snorted, beat their hoofs, eager 

To rush off across the wide expanse of the Earth.

I believed the sun was shining for me,

Gleaming like the ruby on my golden ring.

 

For many starry nights and many fiery days

I wandered, not knowing the end of my wandering.

I laughed at the drive of the powerful horses

And at the game of my golden ring.

 

There was madness and snow on the heights of consciousness,

But I struck the horses with my whistling whip.

I directed them to run on the height of consciousness,

And I saw there a maiden with a sad face.

 

The quiet sound of strings were heard. 

In her strange gaze, questions and answers merged,

And I gave the ring to the moon maiden

With the wrong shade of disheveled braids.

 

Laughing at me and despising me,

Lucifer opened the gates of darkness to me.

Lucifer gave me a sixth horse—

And Despair was its name.

 

 

 

 Ossian

 

Leaden, heavy clouds wandered across the sky.

Among them, the moon turned purple like a mortal wound.

Cuchulainn, warrior of green Erin, 

Fell under the sword of Swaran, king of the ocean.

 

The spells of the grey-haired sibyl sobbed ominously.  

The foaming sea rose and fell again

And the hero of heroes, king of the desert, Fingal 

Met frenzied Swaran in a thunderstorm of exultation.

 

They struggled along the dewy crags,

Breaking each other’s bearlike resilient backs,

And news came with the endless winds

About a great battle and great alarm on the plain.

 

When I tire of kind words and embraces,

When I tire of everyday thoughts and deeds,

I hear the air trembling from threatening curses,

I see stern and angry heroes on the hill.

 

 

 

 After the Coffin

 

Underground there’s a secret cave,

A high tomb rests there,

The fiery dream of Lucifer.

Shapely whores roam there.

 

You will die ingloriously or with glory

But death, a sullen and bony old man,

Will arrive with an imperious look in his eyes. 

He’s a boring and sluggish worker.

 

He’ll carry you along the corridor

He’ll carry you from tower to tower.

 

From his wide-eyed glassy gaze

You’ll understand that this dream is common.

 

And when after falling into your tomb,

You’ll dream of heavenly temples

You’ll see before you a whore

With sharp pearly white teeth.

 

It will be sweet for her to nestle up to you,

To kiss you with infinite malice.

You won’t be able to move or cry out…

That’s all. And that will go on forever. 

 

 

 The Rat

 

The light of the lamp is flickering.

In the half-dark nursery it is quiet, eerie.

A timid baby has been hiding 

In a crib with pink lace.

 

What’s there? The cough of a brownie spirit?

It lives there, small and hairless.

Woe! From behind a wardrobe

An evil rat emerges slowly.

 

Twitching its prickly moustache

In the reddish reflection of the lamp,

It looks to see if there’s a girl in the crib,

A girl with huge eyes.

 

“Mama, Mama!” But Mama has guests.

Nanny Vasilisa is laughing in the kitchen,

And like embers, the eyes of the rat 

Burn with joy and malice.

 

It’s scary to wait but getting up is scarier

Where is he, where is he, the bright –winged angel?

Dear angel, come quickly

Protect me from the rat and have mercy!

 

 

 Daybreak

 

The serpent looked around and turning pale

Slowly stretched his fiery joints

But the bright stones burnt

On the chest of the mighty serpent.

 

How wonderfully bright he is, how wonderfully fearsome!

But this peacock is upright and mysterious

His golden tail is decorated

With a thousand multi-coloured spots.

 

They waited silently at the entrance

Only the angel moved his wings

And light feathers began to fall from paradise

Through the clouds.

 

So many of them spread around, 

Turning white like snow on a fragile field.

They extinguished the snake’s emeralds 

And the peacock’s fan-tail wonder.

 

Do we need this pale-morning deception?

The peacock and the snake are alien to people,

So they melted into the mist,

And we’ll not see them anymore. 

We tremble like little children;

Fleeting time scares us.

At dawn we’ll go to pray 

In the cosy marble grotto.

 

 

 

 Death

 

Delicate, pale, and dressed in ashen clothes

You appeared with kindness in your eyes.

This isn’t how I met you before

In a howl of trumpets and a clanging of swords.

 

You appeared drunk on gold,

Baring your sparkling breast.

In the middle of a bloody mist

You cut a path to heaven. 

 

As with the ever-thirsty Astraea,

Your gazes were wonderfully deep,

And blood flowed more quickly in my veins,

And strength grew in my arm muscles.

 

But even though you are now different,

I know you from a previous dream

Where you lured me with songs of heaven.

We will meet in heaven.

 

 

 

 In the Sky

 

Days flashed brighter than gold,

And the Night Bear ran off.

Catch up with her, prince, catch up,

Lasso her and tie her to your saddle!

 

Lasso her and tie her to your saddle.

And then in the blue tower,

Point out the Night Bear,

To your mighty Dog.

 

The Dog seizes hold with a deadly grip.

He’s brave, strong, and cunning.

He has borne bestial malice

Towards bears since time immemorial.

 

She has nowhere to escape, 

And she will finally die

So that Capricorn, Aries and Taurus

Can roam quietly in the sky.

 

 

 

 Thoughts

 

Why do thoughts crowd around me,

Like thieves in quiet suburban darkness?

Why do they demand cruel vengeance

Like hawks, ominous and dour?

 

Hope has gone and dreams have run away.

My eyes opened with agitation,

And I’ve read on the spectral tablet

My own words, deeds, ideas.

 

Thus with calm eyes

I’ve watched those who sail to victory

Thus with passionate lips

I’ve found lips unknown to sin,

 

Thus these hands, these fingers 

That haven’t known the plough, were too slender,

Thus songs, eternal wanderers,

Have merely worn me down, sad and empty,—

 

Finally the time has come for revenge.

Blind men will destroy the fraudulent, delicate temple,

And thoughts, thieves in quiet suburbs,

Will strangle me in the dark like a beggar.

 

 

 

 The Cross

 

The card behind the card lied to me for so long

That I could no longer get drunk on wine.

The cold stars of anxious March

Grew pale one after another outside the window.

 

In cold madness, in anxious fervor,

I felt as if this game was a dream.

I shouted, “I am covering the whole bank with my card!”

If the card is beaten. I am defeated.

 

I went outside. Dawn shadows

Wandered so gently on the soft snow.

I myself don’t recall how I fell to my knees

With my golden cross pressed to my lips.

 

“Be free and pure like the starry sky

Accept your walking staff, O Sister Poverty,

Wander the roads and beg for bread,

Invoking the sacred cross of the people.”

 

One moment… and in the cheerful, noisy hall

Everyone fell silent and rose frightened from their seats

When I entered, inflamed and angry,

I silently put my cross on the card.

 

 

 

 Masquerade

 

In quiet corridors and deserted halls

Cheerful masks gathered today

In the living rooms adorned with flowers

Crazy dancing proceeded like a hurricane.

 

Moons wandered with dragons under their arms;

Chinese vases were thrown between them.

There was a burning torch, and a lute

Whose strings repeated a single unfamiliar tune.

 

The rousing call of a mazurka rang out.

I danced with a courtesan from Sodom.

I pined for something; I laughed about something,

And something seemed strangely familiar.

 

I entreated a friend: “Take off that mask.

Didn’t you recognize me as your brother?

You reminded me of an ancient fairytale

I heard sometime ago.

 

“For everyone you will remain an eternal stranger.

For me alone you are infinitely familiar.

And believe me, though I hide from people and masks,

I know you, Queen of Sodom.”

 

I heard her youthful laughter from under her mask.

But her eyes didn’t meet mine. 

They wandered with dragons under their arms.

Chinese vases were thrown between them. 

 

Suddenly under the window, where the face of passing night

Was darkened by an empty threat,

She slipped away from me like a snake,

Pulled off her mask and looked me in the eyes.

 

I recalled, I recalled the same songs

The same wild, trembling sensuality,

And the soft ingratiating whisper: “Rise,

Rise for life, for anguish and happiness!”

 

I understood a lot in that secret moment,

But I will not break my terrible vow.

Queen, queen, you see that I’m your prisoner,

Take my body, take my soul! 

 

 

 

 After the Victory

 

The sun is shining, my locks are golden,

I pick Flowers, I talk to the breeze.

Why am I not as happy as a child?

Why am I not as calm as a king?

 

On a well-tried bow the string trembles

And the shining sword whispers and whispers.

He, out of his mind, has not forgotten the island,

The blue sea of endless battles.

 

Strong sword and long-distance bow,

Whom are you now preparing death for?

Or don’t you know that the Earth has been conquered

And it has bowed to us as an ally and friend?

 

Every sea has kissed my ships.

We’ve honoured every shore with battles.

At the edge of the wide Earth and the edge of the skies,

Did you recognize the enemy?

 

 

 

 Choice

 

He who builds a tower will fall.

The headlong years will be terrible.

At the bottom of the world’s well

He will curse his madness.

 

The destroyer will be crushed,

Knocked down by slab debris.

Abandoned by the All-Seeing God,

He will cry out about his torment.

 

Entering dark caves

Or the creeks of a quiet river,

He will meet a ferocious panther

With terrifying pupils.

 

You will not be spared from the bloody fate

That Earth has intended for us.

So be silent: it’s an incomparable right

To choose your own death.

 

 

 

 Clever Devil

 

My old friend, my faithful devil,

Sang a song to me:

“All night the sailor swam in the gulf,

And he sank to the depths at dawn.”

 

All around walls of waves rose, 

Fell, and foamed again.

His great love, foam,

Rushed before him, ever whiter.

 

He heard this call while swimming:

“O trust me, I won’t deceive you.”

… But remember,” said the clever Devil,

“He sank to the depths at dawn.”

 

 

 

 Rejection

 

The queen—or perhaps just a sad child—

 

She leant over the sleepily sighing sea.

Her shapely, lithe figure seemed so thin

It secretly aspired to the silver dawns.

 

Descending dusk. Some kind of bird cried out,

And then before her in the water dolphins flashed by.

They offered their lustrous backs to swim her

To the turquoise domain of the lovesick prince.

 

But the crystal voice seemed especially clear

When it stubbornly said the fateful “No.”…

The queen—or perhaps just a capricious child,

A weary child with a weak, tormented look.

 

 

 

 Dreams

 

Behind an abandoned rickety dwelling

Where the remains of the fence are black,

An old raven talked with a ragged beggar

About delight.

 

The ever-anxious old raven,

Trembling with excitement,

Said that he had dreamt fantastic visions

While in the ruins of a tower.

 

And that in his bold and fanciful flight

He forgot the sadness of his dwelling.

And he was a gentle white swan,

While the prince was a repulsive beggar.

 

The beggar cried helplessly and unclearly.

Deep night descended from the sky.

And an old woman passing close by

Crossed herself hurriedly and timidly.

 

 

 

 Glove

 

There’s a glove on my hand

And I won’t take it off.

There’s a mystery under this glove

That’s sweet to remember

But that leads my thoughts into darkness.

 

There’s a touch on my hand

 From thin fingers of a sweet hand.

And how my ear remembers the singing!

This elastic glove, my true friend,

Preserves the touch of those fingers.

 

Each of us has a mystery 

That leads into darkness.

Mine is a glove.

It’s sweet for me to remember her,

And I won’t take it off till we meet again.

 

 

 

 I Dreamed

 

I dreamed: We have both died

And lie with a calm expression,

Placed side-by-side

In two white, white coffins.

 

When did we say that enough is enough?

Long ago, but what does that matter?

Still, it’s odd that my heart doesn’t hurt,

That it doesn’t weep.

 

Weak feelings are so strange;

Hardened thoughts are so clear.

And although they are eternally beautiful,

Your lips are not desirable.

 

It’s over: We have both died

And lie with a calm expression,

Placed side-by-side

In two white, white coffins.

 

 

 

 Sada Yacco

 

In the dim, austere hall

Violins were playing. You were dancing.

As if alive, there were

Groups of butterflies and lilies

On greenish silk. They spoke 

With the electric sunset.

And on the greenish silk lay

The shadow of acacias.

 

You seemed like a candy box

Above an elegant bookcase.

Like whitish cats,

Like children at play,

Your little feet

Trembled on the parquet floor.

And like golden beetles

Your name shone to us.

 

And when You said

That we loved distant things,

You gave us flowers

Of an unfamiliar art,

Intoxicating our senses

With unknown words.

And we believed that the sun

Was just a Japanese invention.

 

 

 

 Suicide

 

She smiled and sighed,

Suspicious about peace,

And looked at her carpets and wallpaper

For the last time.

 

She dropped a red globule

Into the wine in a decorated goblet

And capriciously mixed in

Corals of delicate sponges.

 

And the living tint of a blush

Was replaced by a white hue.

Her drooping body bent

Into a strange dancing pose.

 

And alien sounds of peace

Come rushing from afar,

And her invisible hand beads,

Trembling, rearrange themselves.

 

She is shivering on the carpet

Like a white dove,

And the poisoned golden liquid

Shines in the goblet.

 

 

 

 Princess

 

In the dark covering of a summer night

A young princess got lost.

She was found in tears by a workman,

Who was working in the depth of the forest.

 

He took her to his hut

And treated her to flatbread with bitter lard.

He put a pillow under head

And wrapped her legs in a blanket.

 

He himself went to sleep in a far corner

And became as quiet as a silent vision.

The flickering flame of the lamp 

Lit up only part of the room.

 

Are these just rags,

Pathetic and useless garbage,

Dried rabbit feet,

Cigarettes thrown on the floor?

 

Why should she suffer?

This hut seems painfully familiar,

And the dirty logs whisper to her

That she is only now really at home.

 

… In the early morning the sleepy workman

Took the princess to the edge of the forest.

But more than once later on, in the dead of night,

Tears were shed for the hut.

 

 

 

 The Cave of Sleep

 

There, where the magician is buried,

Where the marble cave opens up,

We will hear a timid, secret step,

And you and I will see Lucifer.

 

Wait, the dull day will fade.

The world will be as quiet as a temple,

And like a ghost, Lucifer will steal by

With the quiet evening shadows.

 

Hidden and invisible to everyone,

We will stay gently silent

And listen to silvery laughter

And the helplessly bitter sobbing.

 

A blue brilliance will bewitch our eyes

Fairy Mab will tell her tales,

And the wandering Eternal Jew will scare off

The orange-tinted butterfly.

 

But when the airy symbol of the moon

Becomes pale, marching to its fall,

The old magician will become a corpse again,

Lucifer, the wandering shadow.

 

Fairy Mab will fly off on a moon petal

To a distant palace,

And sullenly gripping his staff,

The Eternal Jew will take to the road.

 

And ascending the slabs of the altar,

We’ll look through the narrow window

To meet the king with a song—

The golden, fiery sun. 

 

 

 In Love with the Devil

 

Who’s the pale handsome knight

Galloping on that raven-black horse,

And what fabulous bird

Is circling above him in the heights?

 

And what a sad look he gave

On my stained-glass window,

And why did my native and familiar world 

Become unbearable a long time ago?

 

Why is my older brother scared

By the trembling flicker of a candle,

And why did he take chain mail from the cellars

And sharpen spears and swords?

 

And why today did everyone

Gather in the chapel and read psalms,

And why did the sullen monks sing

Incantations against gloom and darkness?

 

And why did the gloomy astrologer

Descend from the exorcising tower,

And why was the argument with my old father

So strangely long?

 

I don’t know, I don’t know anything.

I’m still so young,

And I still cry and sob.

And I always dream.

 

 

 

 Lovers

 

The love of their souls was born near the sea

In sacred groves of virginal naiads,

Whose joyfully eternal songs argued with 

The play of the wind and the melody of strings.

 

The great priest… he was alien and severe. 

He showed scarcely any human beauty

With his calm look and compressed lips.

Over his curls he wore a band the colour of blood.

 

When a mist arose above the watery steppe,

The great priest performed a holy ceremony,

And the dances of nubile swaying maids

Wound along the shore like a chain of pearls.

 

Among them is one more captivating than a fairy tale.

The great priest performed the honours,

But he forgot that beauty attracts

And that the red band is intoxicating.

 

The predawn stars were twinkling

When the great priest forgot his vow.

Her lips did not say “No”;

Her eyes did not refuse him.

 

As a result of the emerging scandal,

They left the darkness of the sacred groves

To where the power of their hearts disappeared

To where their hearts live as one love.

 

 

 

 Spell

 

The young magician in a purple tunic

Spoke in strange words.

Before her, the lawless princess

Squandered magic rubies.

 

The aroma of burning plants

Opened up a borderless space

Where gloomy shadows moved in,

Some like fish, some like birds.

 

Invisible strings wept,

Fiery pillars floated,

And proud military tribunes

Lowered their eyes like slaves.

 

But the queen disturbed the mystery

That was playing with quiet coolness,

And her satin skin

Was intoxicated by snowy whiteness.

 

Overcome by the power of her whims,

The young magician forgot everything around him.

He looked at her small breasts,

At the bracelets on her outstretched arms.

 

The young magician in a purple tunic

Spoke, not breathing, as though dead,

His soul was so enlivened that he surrendered

Completely to the lawless queen.

 

And when on the emerald Nile

The moon swayed and faded,

The pale queen dropped

A red flower for him.

 

 

 

 Hyena

 

Hidden among the reeds of the slow Nile,

Where only butterflies and birds fly,

Lies the forgotten grave 

Of a nefarious but charming queen. 

 

The darkness of night brings its own illusions.

The moon rises, like a sinful siren,

White mist moves in,

And a hyena slinks out of a cave.

 

Its groans are savage and crude,

Its eyes are sinister and cheerless,

And its threatening teeth are menacing

Above the pink marble grave.

 

“Look: the moon, beloved by the mad.

Look: the stars, harmonious visions,

And the dark Nile, lord of the quiet waters,

And butterflies, birds and plants.

 

Look, everyone, how my coat stands on end,

How my eyes shine with evil zest.

Isn’t it true that I’m the same queen

As the one who sleeps under these stones?

 

A heart full of betrayal beat inside her.

Her arched eyebrows carried death.

She was a hyena too.

Like me, she loved the smell of blood.”

 

In the villages dogs howl in fear.

Little children cry indoors.

And sullen fellah peasants grab

For their long merciless lashes.

 

 

 

 Ship

 

What do you see in my eyes,

In this pale, glimmering gaze?

I see the deep sea

With a huge sunken ship.

 

That ship… bolder and more majestic

Could not be seen above the sea’s abyss.

The tall yards were swaying

The water behind the stern was trembling.

 

And the strange flying fish

Abandoned their underwater home

And threw curves into the air

With their shiny emerald bodies.

 

You stood on a distant cliff top

You looked, called and waited

You are stirred by the fiery aspiration

In the last jolly sailor.

 

And no one will ever know

About the crazy dying struggle

And about where it is now resting,

That ship that was heading towards you.

 

And why do these thin fingers

Cut through the darkness with pearls,

Like swallows with a parting song,

Like dreams flying away to him?

 

Only the one who is with you, Queen

Only the one who remembers him.

And his blue tomb

Is in your clouded eyes.

 

 

 

 Jaguar

 

I had a strange dream today: 

I dreamed that I was sparkling in the sky

But that life, monstrous procuress,

Gave me an unkind fate.

 

Suddenly transformed into a jaguar,

I was consumed by mad desires.

In my heart was a threatening fire;

In my muscles, crazy tremors.

 

And I sneaked into people’s home

Across dark empty fields

To get some midnight food,

My share prescribed by God.

 

But unexpectedly in the dark copse

I saw the tender outline of a maiden

And noticed bright pendants,

The gait of a doe, the gaze of a queen.

 

“Ghost of Happiness, White Bride”…

I thought, trembling and embarrassed,

And she uttered: “Don’t move!”

And her look was peaceful and loving.

 

I was silent, submissive to her call.

I lay down, bound by her command,

And was caught, like a jackal, 

By charging, savage dogs.

 

She walked past the copse

With quiet light steps.

A moonbeam encircled the pendants;

The stars talked with the pearls.

 

 

 

 Terror

 

I walked along corridors for a long time.

Silence, like an enemy, lurked everywhere.

From recesses, statues looked at the newcomer

With a hostile stare.

 

Things were frozen in a gloomy sleep.

The grey twilight was strange.

My lonely steps sounded 

Like a sinister pendulum.

 

And where gloomy twilight was deeper,

My burning gaze was confused

By a barely noticeable figure

In the shadow of the crowded columns.

 

I approached, and fear, like an animal, 

Instantly got hold of me.

I met the head of a hyena

On shapely feminine shoulders.

 

Blood had stuck to its sharp snout.

Eyes gaped emptiness,

And a hoarse whisper foully emerged:

“You came here. You’re mine.”

 

Terrible moments ensued.

Semi-darkness floated in, 

And pale horror was repeated

In countless mirrors. 

 

 

 

 The Lion‘s Bride

 

The priest decided. The people agreed

With him and killed my mother.

A desert lion, a beautiful god,

Waits for me in the steppe paradise.

 

I’m not afraid. Will I hide

From this threatening enemy?

I have put on my crimson belt,

My amber and pearls.

 

Here in the desert I cry out:

“Sun-beast, I’m tired of waiting.

Prince, come and tear to pieces

Your human prey!

 

“Let me flinch from your heavy paws,

To fall and not rise again.

Let me smell your strange odour,

Dark and drunk like love.”

 

The grass smells like incense.

Like a bride, I’m quiet.

The blood-shot eyes 

Of a golden groom are above me.

 

 

 

 The Gardens of the Soul

 

The gardens of my soul are always patterned.

The winds in them are so fresh and quiet.

They have golden sand and black marble

And deep transparent pools.

 

The plants are, like dreams, extraordinary.

And like water in the morning, the birds turn pink.

--Who will discover the hints of an ancient secret?--

A maiden is there in the wreath of a great priestess.

 

She has eyes like the reflection of pure grey steel,

An elegant brow that’s whiter than oriental lilies,

Lips that no one has kissed

And that have never spoken to anyone,

 

And cheeks like the pink pearls of the south,

A treasure of unimaginable fantasy,

And hands that caress only each other,

Intertwined in prayerful ecstasy.

 

At her feet are two black panthers

With a metallic tint on their coats.

Her flamingo floats in the azure,

After taking off from the roses of a secret cave.

 

I don’t notice the everyday world.

My dreams follow only the eternal.

Though the sirocco may rage in the desert,

The gardens of my soul are always patterned.

 

 

 

 A Plague

 

A vessel with long banners of the prophet

Is approaching Cairo.

It’s not hard to tell from the crew

That they’re from the East.

 

The captain fusses and yells

In a harsh, guttural voice.

Dark faces and some red fezzes 

Are visible among the tackle.  

 

The wharf is crowded with children.

Their thin bodies are comical.

They have congregated at dawn

To see what will become of the foreigners.

 

Storks stand on the roof

And stretch their necks.

They are higher than everyone

And can see better what is happening.

 

Storks are magicians of the air.

They understand many mysteries:

Why one vagrant has

Crimson spots on his cheeks.

 

Storks are crying out above the houses,

But no one is listening to their story

That among the perfumes and silks

A plague is creeping into the city.

 

 

 Sinbad’s Eagle

 

While following Sinbad the Sailor

In foreign countries, I collected ducats 

And wandered across unknown waters,

Where, at times, the glare of the sun glowed.

 

How often have I thought of Sinbad!

I cherish those thoughts in my soul…

Sailing along foreign coasts,

It was sweet to dream about Baghdad.

 

But an eagle, whose feathers are the same 

Flame-red colour that rich Sinbad wore, 

Picked me up and dropped me on a rock

Where the marine coolness blew.

 

Let my robe be drenched with fresh blood!

In my heart death burned with dreams.

I, like a child, am caught in love

With a maiden wrapped in silk.

 

There’s silence above the distant horizon,

A holiday from the bright impotence in my thoughts,

And the eagle, in my confused gaze,

Is spreading its wings and flying away.

 

 

 

 The Giraffe

 

Today I see you are especially sad

And your arms around your knees are especially thin. 

Listen: far, far away at Lake Chad

An elegant giraffe is wandering about.

 

He has been given graceful harmony and bliss,

And his skin is patterned in a magical design.

Only the moon dares compete with him

As he splashes and sways over the broad lakes.

 

From afar he looks like the coloured sails of a ship.

His run is as smooth as a joyful bird’s flight.

I know that the Earth sees many wonders

When he hides in a marble grotto at sunset.

 

I know of cheerful stories from mysterious lands

About a black maiden, about the passion of a young leader,

But you’ve been breathing the heavy mist for too long;

You don’t want to believe in anything but rain.

 

So how can I tell you about the tropical garden

The slender palms, the scent of incredible herbs?...

Are you crying? Listen… far away at Lake Chad

An elegant giraffe is wandering about.

 

 

 

 Rhinoceros

 

Do you see the monkeys rush

With wild cries into the lianas

That hang down low, low?

Do you hear the rustle of many feet?

That means it’s close, close.

That’s the angry rhino

From your woodland clearing.

 

Do you see the general confusion?

Do you hear the stomping? Without a doubt, 

Even if they are sleepy,

The buffalo will retreat deeper into the mud.

But, if you are in love with something otherworldly,

Don’t seek safety

By running and hiding.

 

Raise your arms high

With a song of happiness and separation.

Thought will take your eyes 

Far in the pink mists,

And from the promised lands

Feluccas invisible to us

Will sail for you.

 

 

 

 Lake Chad

 

On the mysterious Lake Chad

Among the ancient baobabs,

Majestic Arabs sail 

Carved feluccas at dawn.

Along the wooded banks,

In the mountains, amid the green foothills

Ebony-skinned maiden-priestesses 

Worship strange gods.

 

I was the wife of a mighty leader 

And the daughter of the powerful Chad.

During the winter rain

I alone performed secret rituals.

They said that for a hundred miles around

No woman was paler than me.

I never removed the bracelets from my arm,

And amber always hung around my neck.

 

The white warrior was blessed 

With red lips and calm eyes.

He was a true leader;

And a door opened in my heart.

When it whispers to us,

We do not argue, we do not wait.

He told me it was rare

That he saw anyone in France

More captivating than me,

And that as soon as day came

He would saddle up

A Barbary horse for two.

 

My husband hunted us with his trusty bow,

He ran through forest thickets

Jumped ravines

Sailed across gloomy lakes

And suffered mortal agony.

Only on a scorching day did he see

The body of a ferocious wanderer,

A body covered with shame.

 

But on a fast and powerful camel,

Wallowing in a caressing pile

Of wild animal hides and silk fabrics,

I was carried away like a bird to the north.

I was waving my rare fan,

Anticipating the rapture to come.

I parted the flexible folds

Of my multi-coloured tent

And laughing, peered out of the tiny window

And saw how the sun was reflecting

In the blue eyes of the European.

 

And now, like a dead fig tree

Whose leaves have fallen, 

I am an unwanted and boring lover.

I was abandoned in Marseilles like an object.

I ate miserable scraps

In order to live, and in the evening

I danced in front of drunken sailors,

And they, laughing, possessed me.

My timid mind has been destroyed by troubles.

My gaze is now fading by the hour…

To die?  But somewhere there’s my husband.

He is waiting and he doesn’t forgive.

 

 

 

 Pompey with Pirates

 

From the stern, decorated in red,

Valuable aromas are flowing

Into the hold, where menacing pirates

Are hiding in dangerous agitation.

 

With suppressed anger from fear

They speak out, now brave, now pale,

And demand in a low voice

The beheading of Pompey.

 

How many days have they served as slaves, 

Either obediently or with suppressed anger?

They don’t dare wander 

From the red stern into the tents.

 

A call is heard. It’s the voice of Pompey,

Who is surrounded by flock of doves.

He shouts: “Hey, dogs, get going.

Where’s the wine. My cup is empty.”

 

And above the grey deserted sea,

Rising lazily on his elbow,

He sprinkles crushed rubies

With his long, rosy nails.

 

Abandoning daydreams of revenge

The confused pirates fall silent

And all at once provide like servants

Wine, flowers and pomegranates.

 

 

 

 Founders

 

Romulus and Remus climbed the mountain.

The hill in front of them was wild and silent.

Romulus said: “Here will be a city.”

“A city like the sun,” Remus answered.

 

Romulus said: “By the will of the constellations

We have found our ancient honour.”

Remus replied: “What has happened before

Must be forgotten. Let us look forward.”

 

“Here will be the circus,” said Romulus,

“Here will be our home, open to all.”

“But we must place the burial vault

Closer to home,” replied Remus.

 

 

 

 Manlius

 

Manlius has been overthrown. Glory to Rome.

Its power is still as it was,

Forever indestructible

Like the Tarpeian Rock.

 

Rome, like the sea, was agitated.

Screams cut through the darkness,

But he smiled calmly,

Overthrown by Rome.

 

So why in the midday gloom,

Illuminated by a ray,

Does the sullen Marius appear

With a bloody sword?

 

 

 

 The Games

 

The Consul was kind: in the bloody arena

The third day of the games isn’t finished.

The tigers have gone completely mad;

The boa constrictors breathe ancient malice.

 

Elephants! Bears! 

With intoxicated, blood-drunk warriors

And aurochs clashing their horns,

There was hardly any love in Rome.

 

And only then the prisoner was given to them.

Badly wounded, the leader of the Alamani

Was a wizard of the winds and mists,

And a killer with the eyes of a hyena.

 

How we longed for this moment!

We waited for the battle, knowing he was brave.

Fight, beasts, burning body!

Tear, beasts, bloody meat!

 

But pressed against the railing,

And calm and sullen, he suddenly howled.

The bears, the wolves, the aurochs,

Responded with a collective roar.

 

The boa constrictors sprawled submissively

And the elephants, waiting for his command,

Fell to their knees and raised their bloody trunks.

 

Consul, consul and eternal gods,

We’ve never seen anything like this!

Look! Hungry tigers are licking

The sorcerer’s dusty feet.

 

 

 

 To the Emperor

 

Ghost of some unknown force,

Are you the one who explained the laws of fate?

Are you the one, Emperor, in a dark grave,

Who wants me to talk about you?

 

Woe is me! I’m not a tri

bune or a senator,

I’m just a poor wandering singer,

So why, so why, Emperor,

Are you placing a crown on me?

 

The doors of all the rich are closed to me,

And only homeless animals listen

To my poor tales and poems.

Yes, there are shepherds on the high mountains.

 

My old tunic is tattered and black,

My eyes aren’t sharp and my voice is weak,

But you have spoken, and I will be obedient,

O Emperor. I am your faithful slave.

 

 

 

 Caracalla

 

Emperor with the profile of an eagle 

And a black curly beard,

O what a ruler you could have been

If only you had not been yourself.

 

He had a curious and thoughtful tenderness

As if a shadow on the royal lips.

But such a wild rebellion

Was hidden in his knitted brow!

 

Powerful images of Rome,

Julius, Caesar, Augustus, Pompey--

A shadow, pale and barely visible,

Before your quiet secret.

 

The series of iron dreams is over,

The graves of gloomy fathers are quiet,

And the fast Tiber proudly caresses

The steps of the pink palaces.

 

Your thirst for dreams is insatiable:

You can set up military camps,

Throw a flame into the temple of Jerusalem,

And tame the Parthian rebels.

 

But why victory in the evening hour

If the shadows are falling,

If the sight of the legs of shapely dancers

Is like gold on niello?

 

Passionate like a young tigress,

Tender like a swan in sleepy waters,

The empress waits in a dark bedroom.

Trembling, she waits for someone who won’t come.

 

There in your garden is the night sky.

The stars are scattered as if in a delirium.

There, perhaps, you saw

The trembling Phoebus wandering about.

 

Like you, pierced by the arrow of dreams,

Stock still and gazing mysteriously,

The dark emerald crocodile,

Brought there by the Nile, dreams.

 

The quiet deserted gardens

Are like a whimsical cameo where snakes

Hang down from the dark palms on to the grass

And fantastic fruits ripen.

 

The light sleep of plants is disturbed.

The mist floats like a dream.

In them are moths, like shadows,

With pearly white wings.

 

Secret things occur in nature.

Young, bright and in love,

She descends with a light step to you.

The moon is wrapped in a cloud.

 

Apart from lunar songs on a summer night

There’s unearthly silence in this world.

But in reply to her you say words 

That are even more terrible and forbidden.

 

And then in your green temple,

Slowly, as befits a king,

You awaken the dawn

With your beautiful sonorous verses.

 

 

 

 Pausanius, the Navigator

 

Pausanius, the navigator,

From the distant shores of the Nile,

Brought deer skins to Rome

With Egyptian fabrics 

And a huge crocodile.

 

Those were the days of madness,

The perversions of Caracalla.

The god of the merry and the feckless

Was decorated with a chain of noisy band

Of bizarre stones.

 

On a golden, innocent mountain

The sun sank into the sea,

And in purple attire

The emperor set sail

In order to meet the crocodile.

 

Bearded wanderers

Bustled in the galley,

And graceful courtesans

Rose like marble fingers 

In honour of Venus.

.

 

And in some wonderful fairy tale, 

The crocodile, that spoiler of harmony,

Sparkled on the pontoon

Beside the ship,

With its emerald scales.

 

 

 

 Neoromantic Tale

 

On a high mountain

Castle towers appeared.

They were surrounded by a river,

Like a fancy picture frame.

 

A harmonious couple lived there

A prince not long out of the nursery

And with him an old butler,

Omniscient and pompous.

 

In the hall of Proud Exclamations

There were many spears and lassos

For hunting both deer 

And roaring wild boars.

 

Assuming a dashing demeanour,

The prince goes hunting,

And behind him the butler

Runs and cries, driving away drowsiness:

 

“Beyond the boundaries of Weleda

There’s a sacred road.

I saw an ogre there

Riding on top of a huge rhinoceros.

 

“Bloodthirsty and dark-faced,

The ogre casts an evil stare.

His huge rhinoceros

Shakes the mountains with its roar.”

 

The prince doesn’t listen and rushes off.

His white armour is so shiny.

A falcon, the royal bird,

Trembles on his hand.

 

Suddenly… the cannibal’s dwelling

On the dark edges of rocks.

The spoils of his victory

Are half-eaten corpses.

 

And there are speckled boas,

How extraordinary his dreams are…

But the butler knows secrets;

He is burning magic herbs.

 

The altar hasn’t time to cool down.

The cannibal is already worried;

He doesn’t try to extract

His trusty sword from its scabbard.

 

There’s an overwhelming horror in his soul

As well as unbelievable anxiety.

Straining, he blows into his horn

And summons the rhinoceros.

 

But he will soon put down his horn.

His friend in the forest darkness

Is being persistently chased 

By swift hounds.

 

The young prince unexpectedly enters

This house of mute sobs,

And the frightened host

Is tied up with a lasso.

 

They imprison the cannibal.

He’s alone with his melancholy

In the dark tower, the dusty tower

Behind the high wall.

 

They say he has become kinder,

And acknowledges passers-by.

He composes children’s tales

About how fairies dance.