she was earth itself
and inside her i did not apologize for violence
the violence of emotion
of devotion
the violence of void
as i emptied myself
again and again
i live
i breathe
it is now
only. ever. always.
now
1 comment:
Anonymous
said...
Obsession
Great forests you frighten me, like vast cathedrals: You roar like an organ, and in our condemned souls, aisles of eternal mourning, where past death-rattles sound, the echo of your De Profundis rolls.
I hate you, Ocean! My mind, in your tumultuous main, sees itself: I hear the vast laughter of your seas, the bitter laughter of defeated men, filled with the sound of sobs and blasphemies.
How you would please me without your stars, O Night! I know the language that their light employs! Since I search for darkness, nakedness, the Void!
But the shadows themselves seem, to my sight canvases, where thousands of lost beings, alive, and with a familiar gaze, leap from my eyes.
Epilogue
With quiet heart, I climbed the hill, from which one can see, the city, complete, hospitals, brothels, purgatory, hell,
prison, where every sin flowers, at our feet. You know well, Satan, patron of my distress, I did not trudge up there to vainly weep,
but like an old man with an old mistress, I longed to intoxicate myself, with the infernal delight of the vast procuress, who can always make things fresh.
Whether you still sleep in the morning light, heavy, dark, rheumatic, or whether your hands flutter, in your pure, gold-edged veils of night,
I love you, infamous capital! Courtesans and pimps, you often offer pleasures the vulgar mob will never understand.
Lament of an Icarus
Lovers of whores don’t care, happy, calm and replete: But my arms are incomplete, grasping the empty air.
Thanks to stars, incomparable ones, that blaze in the depths of the skies, all my destroyed eyes see, are the memories of suns.
I look, in vain, for beginning and end of the heavens’ slow revolve: Under an unknown eye of fire, I ascend feeling my wings dissolve.
And, scorched by desire for the beautiful, I will not know the bliss, of giving my name to that abyss, that knows my tomb and funeral.
Calm
Have patience, O my sorrow, and be still. You asked for night: it falls: it is here. A shadowy atmosphere enshrouds the hill, to some men bringing peace, to others care.
While the vile human multitude goes to earn remorse, in servile pleasure’s play, under the lash of joy, the torturer, who is pitiless, Sadness, come, far away:
Give me your hand. See, where the lost years lean from the balcony in their outdated gear, where regret, smiling, surges from the watery deeps.
Underneath some archway, the dying light sleeps, and, like a long shroud trailing from the East, listen, dear one, listen to the soft onset of night.
1 comment:
Obsession
Great forests you frighten me, like vast cathedrals:
You roar like an organ, and in our condemned souls,
aisles of eternal mourning, where past death-rattles
sound, the echo of your De Profundis rolls.
I hate you, Ocean! My mind, in your tumultuous main,
sees itself: I hear the vast laughter of your seas,
the bitter laughter of defeated men,
filled with the sound of sobs and blasphemies.
How you would please me without your stars, O Night!
I know the language that their light employs!
Since I search for darkness, nakedness, the Void!
But the shadows themselves seem, to my sight
canvases, where thousands of lost beings, alive,
and with a familiar gaze, leap from my eyes.
Epilogue
With quiet heart, I climbed the hill,
from which one can see, the city, complete,
hospitals, brothels, purgatory, hell,
prison, where every sin flowers, at our feet.
You know well, Satan, patron of my distress,
I did not trudge up there to vainly weep,
but like an old man with an old mistress,
I longed to intoxicate myself, with the infernal delight
of the vast procuress, who can always make things fresh.
Whether you still sleep in the morning light,
heavy, dark, rheumatic, or whether your hands
flutter, in your pure, gold-edged veils of night,
I love you, infamous capital! Courtesans
and pimps, you often offer pleasures
the vulgar mob will never understand.
Lament of an Icarus
Lovers of whores don’t care,
happy, calm and replete:
But my arms are incomplete,
grasping the empty air.
Thanks to stars, incomparable ones,
that blaze in the depths of the skies,
all my destroyed eyes
see, are the memories of suns.
I look, in vain, for beginning and end
of the heavens’ slow revolve:
Under an unknown eye of fire, I ascend
feeling my wings dissolve.
And, scorched by desire for the beautiful,
I will not know the bliss,
of giving my name to that abyss,
that knows my tomb and funeral.
Calm
Have patience, O my sorrow, and be still.
You asked for night: it falls: it is here.
A shadowy atmosphere enshrouds the hill,
to some men bringing peace, to others care.
While the vile human multitude
goes to earn remorse, in servile pleasure’s play,
under the lash of joy, the torturer, who
is pitiless, Sadness, come, far away:
Give me your hand. See, where the lost years
lean from the balcony in their outdated gear,
where regret, smiling, surges from the watery deeps.
Underneath some archway, the dying light
sleeps, and, like a long shroud trailing from the East,
listen, dear one, listen to the soft onset of night.
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