BY TORSTEN SCHWANKE
CALYPSO
O Muse, everything the poet must owe
To the loving work of thy favour,
So teach me to sing of the sufferer's forbearance
And give me spirit and give me art of singing,
So will I sing (ah, full of tears)
The Wisdom that guided the man.
Ulysses had departed from Troy
And had come to Ortygia,
The island where the green gardens were
Of Calypso. And the nymph took him there
In her garden, Calypso slender
And beautifully supplied him with nectar drink.
Ulysses became the beautiful nymph's paramour,
But he did not touch her lap.
She sang and played with the golden bobbin
And wove a dress for her beloved husband,
She was as industrious as the bee in the honeycomb
And sang with a honeyed voice.
She lived beautifully in a green grove
Of poplar and cypress, elm and alder,
In black shadows and moonlight
Was she a pearl in her grotto,
Was a pearl in the dark grotto
And worthy to be desired by a god.
There she dwelt with him who was rich in wiles,
Who never forgot his bride.
There she dwelt, where nightingales nest
In the bushes and in the cypresses,
Where barn owls look into the nights
And black crows sleep in the black shadows.
And around the grotto the pigeons would roost
And sat beaking at the springs of water,
A vine grew up there with red grapes
And green geckos through the grasses swarmed
And butterflies flew over the meadow carpet
And flowers were fragrant and herbs and carpets.
And there arrived Hermes, the messenger of the gods,
And said to Calypso, Let him go,
Calypso, let him sail in the boat
And flee from the war to his homeland
And from the garden of pleasure sweetly dewy
Through many a woe home to his bride.
But Calypso spoke, the beautiful nymph,
Cruel jealousy of the gods! woe!
The lightning-dropped trees stand as stumps,
The deer, struck by the arrow, falls!
Because Zeus and Venus' son Cupid are angry,
I must now tune the strings to lament!
But Ulysses sat alone on the rock
And watched the sea in the black night.
Melting with melancholy and longing
His lonely man's heart wanted to melt,
He had to yearn so endlessly -
The ocean caught his tears.
But Calypso suffered with his sorrow
And sighed, Alas! do not forsake me with gloom!
In Ithaca a maiden waits for thee,
Because thou lovest her, therefore feed thou on wormwood
And empty love's bitter hemlock cup
And become a reveler in the cup of hemlock!
You were my delight and my happiness,
My garden was first enlivened by you.
But you must go, I will not hold you back,
Farewell! Calypso's sweet voice trembles,
She covers her moist eyes with her hands
And wants to turn hastily to the grotto.
Then Ulysses steps towards Calypso
And puts his arm around her slender waist.
If I were not restless, I would find rest
In your garden full of sweet scents;
But I am restless and must through woe
And sorrow and woe home to Penelope!
Ulysses made himself a raft in a moment
With an oar and a sail.
The king of the winds let go the winds
And stormy danced the sea-birds away
And tempest fell tempestuously into the sea
And bare in the foam the naughty nymphs were rolling.
Poseidon stabbed with his trident pointedly
Into the sea and whipped with his horse's tail
The tide, indeed he rose from his seat
And ruled with his right hand fierce all over
And furious over naked nymphs,
So that Ulysses was irritated.
Though he saw the green eyes
In the spirit, the blond hair of Penelope,
But naked nymphs sucked at his brand
And spray splashes his marrow and leg with the ache
Of longing without end all time
And ah! abysmal forlornness.
How white the foam, like Amphitrite's bosom,
How black the surge, how deepest night,
The flood outraged with infernal empuses,
With black teeth Hades infernally laughs
And in that night works him such misery,
That Ulysses longs for early death.
Poseidon calls more nymphs from the chamber,
That they may bare themselves to Ulysses by night.
And then flee, and the pure lamentation
Came into Ulysses' mind and soul
And stir again the foam's cream
And then jeer at the unashamed culprit.
Poseidon, however, fierce, bitter and evil,
Tore the sail's guts, broke the mast
And raged so that trunk parted from beam
And shipwrecked Ulysses without rest
And without rest in restlessness
And homelessness drifting in sorrow.
Ulysses on wrecked log that had been washed ashore,
Ulysses held on, ah only the bare life
Was saved for him, and the wave plays
With him, wants to give him the last dagger thrust
And hurl him into the sea's black abyss.
Ulysses sees his naked life fail.
With the last glow from the spark of his soul
He cries to heaven, to the Virgin's star,
Help heaven, virgin help! I shall be drowned,
Died and the core of my life
Will wail in the glen of Acheron
And glow and glow and glow in the phlegeon!
The heaven of all good celestials
Heard his prayer in his distress,
Mostly the heart of the Zeus-blessed
Offered Ulysses his grace and help,
The sea-goddess Leucothea white
Came graciously from her radiant circle.
She came floating, a silver-white heron
Was not as white as she and not a swan.
Then she handed her veil to Oydsseus -
Human eyes never saw such beauty
As that sea-goddess' face -
Oh, poets cannot describe this!
Her veil was breathed of the scent of flowers
And drops of dew were woven into it.
When Ulysses dips it in the floods,
The raging of the sea and the tides subsided.
And Leukothea waved her hand -
Ulysses was carried ashore.
He was full of the salt and foam of the floods
And richly drenched with all-serious sorrow.
He lay down by an olive tree
And lay down in moss, sinking into slumber,
To refresh himself with a deep sleep,
To behold in a dream the goddess of the sea.
NAUSIKAA
Ulysses slept exhausted on the shore
Of Sheria, that island of the Phaeacians,
In a black, sorrowful dream
Grief's sharp teeth gnawed at him,
On his eyelash a tear stole.
Then the divine Athena stirred.
She was Ulysses' patron goddess,
She turned from the head of Jove
And came to the bedside of the maiden Nausikaa,
The daughter of Prince Alcinoos.
Like a lovely playmate
She came to the maiden and gave her advice.
Beloved girl with the beautiful skin,
So brownish from Sheria's sun, maiden,
You are already dreaming yourself a bride.
And you have no clean white dress,
No shirt at all, no skirt at all,
All lying unwashed in the closet?
How shall the youths and men praise thee,
When thou art staring at dirt and filth?
No henna will help your brown hair
And on the neck no lapis lazuli plaster,
If pure and spotless be not thy silk,
That white veils the brown breasts both.
Nausikaa, you have such beautiful hair,
So brown and long it falls down thy back,
And thy brown eyes wonderful
And thy teeth ivory delight
A bridegroom like and a youth surely,
But your dress is not very nice.
So let a friend advise thee now,
You must wash your clothes tomorrow,
Bathe the silk from the Sererland
And the stitches of thy hairy fabric,
As if a god offered you his love,
Be clean, work in the dawn.
In the morning the maiden went with her girls
To the well to wash her clothes there,
The whole basket full to the smallest thread.
They had dainties to nibble with,
Bread for the heart and red wine for the soul
And oils for the pure maiden limbs.
They hung out the washing to dry
And bathed and anointed themselves with myrrh
And gladly gave themselves to the feast
In the labyrinthine twisted maze
Of the graceful fertile green wilderness,
The beautiful girls. What a beautiful image!
Yes, more beautiful still, they laid aside their veils
And their garments off and danced bare
And sang Sappho's odes to the lyre,
Which stroked the daughter of Alcinoos,
Who stood so slender not far from the island shore,
Her brown hair waved about her breasts.
The merry playmates with laughter
Tossed one another the red ball,
When suddenly Athena dropped it into the maw
Of the fountain, and at the fall
The girls shrieked and then laughed.
Then the man woke up from his sleep.
Ulysses rubbed the sleep from his eyes
And looked to see if he saw any nymphs,
As the air breathed through the leaves so sweetly,
There he sees a group of deer grazing,
That make the morning hour more still.
But where did that fresh laughter come from?
And there he rose in his greatness,
To seek some maiden or some nymph,
He hid the nakedness of his body in modesty,
That no one might wrinkle his nose,
With a great green oak leaf,
That Priapus' shame hid from him.
Ulysses stared black with sea mud
And bare to the little oak leaf
He stepped forth by a pine trunk,
Then the girls made off,
But Nausikaa stood still, trembling,
Because Athena put courage in her heart.
Just as the prince's daughter, herself stripped bare,
The maiden threw herself on the ground
Before the man who inspires her with fear,
Over her body a summer light dress,
That covered not much, but enough.
And then stood there as Venus' image.
From her shoulders fell the white shirt,
And over it fell her brown hair.
Nothing human was alien to Ulysses,
When he saw the zephyr play so tenderly
With her shirt's lightly waved hem,
Which was white as if wrought of sea foam.
The breaths of Zephyr or Aura float
Around her long brown tide of curls.
He wanted to weave himself into that hair
And look into those eyes brown and good
And wake in the morning under that gaze
And hear her giggles and girlish laughter.
He was infatuated with such grace
That he sank down and embraced her knees,
That all beauty's goddess might hear him
And lead him along the path of love
And touch his heart with her little hand,
That he may find the road home.
But if in her blood should stir
The life force of simple mortality,
Let him shout blessings on her brothers
And praise such a graceful maiden,
So beautiful she could rattle the Olymp
With one of her brown hairs shake!
Nausikaa, frighted at the flesh,
At the heart and mind's immortality,
Replied, I am a girl chaste
And ask thee to put on a dress
Put on one of those, one that suits you,
After you have washed your body.
Ulysses did so. And when he was clothed,
She said she was Sheria's princely child
And brought him to the palace. And so accompanied
In a great-drawn carriage swiftly
The hero she, who has great joy,
From that wilderness to the princely city.
But before the walls of that city she spoke,
Now go alone, or the crowd will blaspheme
And then will accuse me of unseemly sympathy.
Would that I, even among the sisters
I would not see love made with men
Before the wedding bond and the wedding night.
Here you will find the grotto of Athena
In a silvery olive garden.
In this silent melancholy scene
Thou shalt await the Prince's beckoning.
Use thy time, the divine Minerva‘s
Favourable favour may sharpen thy wisdom.
When the prince beckons to thee, near reverently,
Then he offers thee his help.
And if thou dost approach the mother who graciously
Forever won my father's heart,
Then draw near to her with pure love. Behold,
She leads thee home, clasping thy knees.
Nausikaa disappeared, Ulysses remained
In the olive garden by the grotto.
Virgin Athena, wonder-loving!
I will protect you from all mockery,
Which thou hast helped the wretched
Through maiden Nausikaa. To thee will I give thanks!
CIRCE
Ulysses spoke to Prince Alkinoos,
We Greeks sailed on the victorious ship
Across the Mediterranean, with Pergamos at our back,
Through the surging waves, past cliff and reef,
And landed on the edge of an island,
That was Aiaia, more beautiful than a dream.
We asked who was the mistress of the island
And did not know that here at home was
The demigoddess Circe, who wonderfully
Enchanted by bewitching magic,
Who wore a magic pearl on her belly.
From afar we saw the colourful smoke rise.
We chose from among the boatmen one,
To explore the island, Eurylochus
With a few companions went off, recommending
Commending piety to his comrades,
For he did not know whether demons might
Dwell on this enchanting island.
And Eurylochus stepped with the band of companions
On labyrinthine winding paths,
In the most enchanting of earth's gardens,
With a pool worthy of the naiad,
That Orpheus once loved, Eurydice.
I stayed and thought of Penelope.
Ah, you, who wait for me in my beautiful home,
My soul's only desire,
To whom alone my being has a rhyme,
Penelope, you bride of distant seas,
Around whose knees white porpoises do wriggle,
Thou fairest star of all the seven heavens!
So I thought in my heart faithful,
As Eurylochus and the comrades came
To Circe's palace unafraid,
Then Eurylochus had to counsel the others,
That each one stay away from the palace.
He felt the dangers of the woman.
The others could not be persuaded
And entered Circe's hall
As if they entered the Garden of Eden
And saw the ideal beauty's glow -
In truth, approaching a black hole.
Eurylochus came back to me alone.
But the boatmen, all young men,
Who had not seen a strumpet for a long time,
Full of love's longing, Troy's down-burners,
They saw themselves standing before the highest beauty:
Sabean spices were perfumed
Around the anointed nymph's daughter Circe.
Her body as slender as a young birch tree
In a tight-fitting robe
Green as the grass in the flowering district.
And even the most beautiful flower in the land
Was not so fair as Circe's slender body.
And breast and hip the woman shook.
And as she shook breasts and hips
And as she shook her hips and her breasts,
The fragrance of Saba was in her hair,
So sweetly did she stir the lusts
In every flesh, all the men wished,
To be devoured in her hair's henna.
The hair was pinned up in a knot,
Held in place by a silver clasp,
Which she smilingly pulled from the henna-red
Curled hair, which hung like a snake
Down her serpent's body streamed
Down to her loins, and so paralysed them all.
Then the cymbal she took from a silver shine
And stirred round about like smoke from perfume,
And as she danced the dance of infatuation,
She invented a dark magic spell
And said the spell, O kidney, heart and liver -
Then every man became a wild boar!
How good it was for those men,
They grunted as pigs in the dungeon,
That to the ship Eurylochus fled
And spoke to me with quivering voices, raging
Of heart that we all must flee,
This is the most charming of seashores!
But I would free my band
From Eros' fetters, from the spell of infatuation,
And took up my sword with a warlike shout
And with me went seven as one man
And so we went in swift haste
Through the land to the bewitching palace.
Then Jove' son stepped before my feet,
The messenger of the gods with the wandering staff,
Mercury from Olympus' throne,
So beautiful and glorious! And the boy of the gods
Said thus to me, Athenian friend Ulysses,
Are you sure of your victory?
Look, dear friend, you love Penelope
And would crown her with thy troth.
But what if thou should'st see the foam and snow of limbs
And glow of the cheeks and hair of the fair
Of fair Circe, and the lappets of her shirt
And her golden apple bosom bounce?
She will give thee a sweet wine,
Of which thou shalt be drunk with hot lust,
But she will mix in that sweet wine
Mandrake, shall dip the love-apples
Into that drink, and thou drinkest that brew,
Then she'll count you as a wild sow's brood.
But Athena wants to save you, friend
Of the faithful lovers she is called,
To protect thee from the enchanting foe,
Jove' daughter hath sent me to thee.
If Circe bewitches thee, Laertes' son,
Dip the virgin's poppy in Circe's drink.
And with that Mercurius went up
To his father's house in the summit snow.
I went thither a man strengthened in God,
Carrying in my heart my brothers' woe,
Walked with the poppy without rest
And entered the bewitching palace.
When Circe met me - oh terror
And fear seized me before mighty Eros!
Eros and Circe seemed to be teasing each other
And wanted to destroy me, Hellas' hero,
With a wave of their colourful skirts
Enchanting me into the body of a goat.
Then Circe handed me with a sweet smile
The love-apples in the sweet wine.
She already saw me panting as the dog of Hades,
Then I dipped in the drink of the virgin poppies
With white milk and crimson blossoms.
Enchanting Circe's white cheeks glowed.
Who art thou, stranger? said the fair one softly,
That you have not become a beast to me?
Who can escape my magic circle
And his own carnal desire?
I said, O nymph, give me back
Those enchanted ones, the children of Athena!
Then she waved her magic wand
And before me stood Hellas' heroic sons.
Take to thee those I have given thee
In a new enchanting beauty,
Said Circe, my Ulysses, stay a while
And live in Circe's garden like a king!
We stayed gladly, no need to be ashamed,
As nymphs naked before us bathe
And Circe herself sweetly praised
Danced before us the dance with the naiads -
O snow of the body, o rose of the locks -
Then we made ourselves free of Aiaia.
THE EGYPTIAN HELEN
But how fared the prince Menelaus,
Who sought his bride ten long years?
He walked through ruins, blood and dust and chaos,
Always before his eyes a bright clear
Vision of the beauty of his beloved maiden,
Who ever increased in glory!
He lay with his servants in the tent
And was alone in his sleeping dream
And beheld her in his inner world
And saw her floating through the inner room
And there sounded the dearest name,
And he was filled with blissful feelings.
To love her so bordered on madness,
She herself seemed mad to him,
With love's mad beauty she wore,
She was to him madness and misery,
She plunged into the abyssal chaos
Of Menelaus' sensual desire.
But out of the chaos of his passion
She emerged pure as a lily,
Clad in the serer silk taffeta
She appeared to him like pure moonlight
And her eyes were blue flowers
And a pure soul's sacred flowers.
The bliss of the soul, a spark of the gods
From the blissful grove of Elysium,
Intoxicated him with delight. Drunk with delight
He sank blissfully still and silent
In her soul's fair grace mild,
Minerva‘s, Juno‘s, Venus' image.
Athena gave her wisdom and understanding
And Juno the sublime pure change
And Venus (without or with robe)
Gave to her eyes the white milk of the almond
The charm and spark so beguiling,
In which Menelas was too deeply sunk.
But the war was over, and out of the rubble
Of smoky chaos Menelas hastened,
Before his soul‘s eye the dream-image ever;
Whether he would savor of its reality,
To seek was his only desire,
So he boarded the ship and set sail for the sea.
He sailed with a fleet of chosen friends
To the wide Mediterranean to find out
Whether she was but a sinful coquette
In mad sensuality and sins of the flesh
Or a saint in purity
And far from all shameful meanness.
He was so dream-drunk with the image,
That lived in the dreams of his soul,
That he saw her in the foamy clime
Of the sea, as if she floated there like Venus,
Like a cloud, like a white hand,
Who beckoned to him, who stared unblinking.
And yet the shimmering figure melted
Into nothing, as dreams melt early in the morning.
Instead Menelaus soon saw
God Proteus resting alone on a rock,
His cloak was of brown sealskin
And his aged eyes looked bright.
And Menelas called to Proteus the word,
Where shall I find the fair Helen?
And Proteus cried out, There is a place,
Near the shores of the Mediterranean,
Where priestesses Phryne and Thais are
Before Isis' image, the Queen of Sais.
Step before the graced image of Isis you
And greet her and lift the veil chastely
And you will look - and weep all the time.
And Proteus flew away as a white heron
And left the brown sealcoat behind.
And Menelas continued to plough the sea.
Then he saw the Sphinx with sharp paws
And lion body and the splendour of woman's breasts.
In this desert land of wild cats
All the sons of the desert seemed to lust,
To bed down in the dead realm of lust,
Hence the glory of cities of the dead.
The naked women waltzing their linen
And girls lay lightly at love play
And called their beloved their hawk
And praised his blood as Father Nile
And from the desert the south wind blew
The sultriness into the goblets of open lotuses.
The living surrendered to their senses
And to their lust in the land of Egypt,
But the gods lay in the linen
As the dead deep in pyramid crypts.
But one called Mizraim as sweetheart:
The goddess with the head of a kitten.
In black velvety smoothness
The slender cats strode through the alleys.
In velvety suppleness the maiden
In the twilight would never refrain
To step before her goddess Isis' image
And to pray for her dream of the senses.
The girls in transparent robes,
Menelas did the same and approached the image.
A white linen, with blue ribbons
Surrounded, the image of Isis veiled.
Then the priestly Thais prayed
For Menelas to the Queen of Sais.
Then a rustle blew through the white cloth,
Black stones fell from the priestess,
She seemed to listen to Isis' word,
As if the pure one spoke to the sinner,
Then she said, If you seek your Helen,
Then hasten at once to Alexandria.
The prince went straight to Alexandria
And saw her sitting there drinking beer,
Helen in her enchanting light.
O Helen, beloved, art thou here,
Who always glowed in my dream!
Let me touch thee! Come home to Sparta!
And Helen touched his hand,
Ten fingers entwined, tenderly.
So tenderly they left Egypt,
Through the waves they forced themselves.
They swam proudly with their ship
And came to the Spartan clime.
They lived there in matrimonial hall
And shared table and board, beer and bed
And in the bed of their voluptuous gushes -
Then the fair one gave herself cool and coquettish
And again cool and cold and then frigid
And peace reigned in the graveyard of the house.
When the frigid rose from the cold camp
Rising in the morning, beautiful and slender,
Then Menelaus called her hunger-stricken
And weakling. And with endless quarrelling
Each day the cold morning began
And all desire sank into vile sorrow.
And unbearable became his nearness
To fair Helen in sweet charm
And dead body. And their marriage
Was but torment and all happiness avarice.
And how the lust also tempted that maiden,
She remained a frigid fountain of strife.
And so it went on until her hair turned grey
And her skin withered and her teeth dulled.
In a dull marriage husband and wife
Wounded in the dreary mire of everyday life.
And what once was the sweet torment of lust,
Was but tasteless and vile and stale.
LUSITANIA
The gods are indeed very jealous!
The celestials in the battle for Pergamos
Are already praised by the poet valiant,
But where is the prize of Dionysus?
O Liber! pass the pine-stick with vines,
Then I'll sing of thy friend's wandering life.
From the Indus and the Ganges had come
In wine intoxication and madness with the Maenads
Dionysus, his eyes glowing
Like flames of fire from the grace of wine,
Who died and gave himself in the blood of the vine -
With the Bacchantes now Bacchus rests.
Not only with dissolved hair maenads
To him sacrificed song and grape juice,
At first bathing in the stream like naiads,
There were also in Jacchos' discipleship
The glorious one's friends anointed with oil:
I praise Lusus now from the congregation.
When Bacchus had once come to Thrace
And married there with Aphrodite -
By marrying the Graces -
There arose, wreathed with foamy blossom
Before Jacchos' disciples a white nymph,
Who showed herself to Lusus with bare feet.
From that moment the man was initiated
Into the mystery of the myth.
He departed from Bacchus and went very far
And consecrated himself to the heart of Aphrodite
And always honoured her beauty's charms
As the perfect image of Zeus.
Dionysus then departed from Lusus
And loyally Venus stood by the favourite disciple.
His heart was a temple-hoard to her image,
She sent him as her bringer of joy,
That all nations might behold her beauty,
To a land near the Pyrenees.
He stood on the noonday mountain of the Pyrenees
As if on a throne of high gods,
There the fair Aphrodite let see
Lusus a glorious vision,
And Lusus beheld the supreme beauty's charms,
Yea, in perfection the daughter of Zeus.
Verily, the beautiful Aphrodite was
Goddess of that land Lusitania
And loved it above all others
(And much more certainly than Germany)
And stood up for that nation of fishermen
Before Zeus, who dwells in inaccessible light.
The curly hair curled gold-red
Around her bosom that darkened the snow,
Her milk-white breasts quivered wonderfully,
Her eyes with sweet charms enchant'd sparkle,
A lapis lazuli silver necklace kissed
(Cupid fingered it) the breasts.
On her slender thighs desires climb
Up to the round curved hip.
The lap - the content of dreams to all the gods -
A breath of gauze, fine as perfumes,
A veil fair in frothy tumbles,
Which shall inflame each desire still more.
Her countenance is the countenance of a genius,
So heavenly pure, veiled with sadness,
Because Lusus' land by the dark sea Venus
As melancholy Urania celebrates.
As if a lover had grieved her,
She looks so sad and in love at the same time.
With sadness in her soul's longing
She hastens to Jove, sobbing, to beg him,
She moves the Eternal with her tears
And her grief, since she has suffered
With Lusus' people in their melancholy.
Oh how this grief glorifies her!
In Lusitania every human child writes, loves and sings
And sobs even more every human child.
Each one sways away full of longing
And loves a distant girl sweetly mild
Unhappy and fatal, consuming
The whole soul and desiring in vain.
The love of Lusitania in the heart
Of the melancholy at death's border
Doomed to loneliness and soul pain.
Mimosa trees blossom tenderly in youth,
But bitter wormwood drips from their blossoms
And drips into the souls black gloom.
Every poet desires a dream
And loves in his depths an illusion.
Voluntarily he and gladly deceives himself
And loves only a name without reward
And always the lover is deceived
By his goddess on the dark waves.
For the beloved is not reality,
She is but a dream in the poet's soul,
She is his pain, his longing, his sorrow
And only a choking in his throat
And only a whirl of his passion
And leaves the poet without strength.
The lover sees only himself and always
Only his soul's incomprehensible dream
In a pure woman's image
And humbly he kisses the white hem
Of the floating robe - she flees -
He stays behind with a sad song.
He suffers, suffers because he wants to suffer,
He never finds loving companionship.
He calls to her, but she remains distant and silent
And proud and hard, hard-hearted to the point of enmity,
And so his love's dearest friend
By Cupid's cruelty becomes his foe!
Such songs are canonical
Among the Tagids, nymphs of Lusitania:
The mourning poet loves quite platonically
The distance with the glow of Spain's mysticism,
With India's nard, Palestine's myrrh,
And in the song a reveling and a gyrating.
Full of secret infatuation, sweet lust,
Destructive lust and burning ardour
Is every song in the poet's breast.
Erato gave him the art of his lyre,
Erato, who tunes love's lyre -
But the beloved never hears the song.
O endless enchanting bewitchment
Of a pure beauty's lovely charm!
O Cupid's cruel and hostile destroying
Of the poet's soul by happiness's avarice!
But the poet praises Cupid's cruelty,
Since the poet is in love with his suffering!
Then from the source of his anguish
Longing rises, an endless yearning;
So often from the grottoes of his eyes stole away
The sorrowful, lamentable tears,
Were born from the flood of tears of grief
The beauty the poet had chosen.
But this grace not of this world
Floats in the crystal sphere of the stars.
The poet never holds her in his arms,
So his soul longs to be far away.
Beautiful as she is, incomparable in beauty,
Yet so distant and unattainable!
O empty fantasy! O vanity!
O nothingness! is the poet's grief.
Then sweet voluptuousness mingles with his sorrow,
His misery overflows with the shiver of delight,
And he is but melancholy - O saudade! -
Of a melancholic Venus‘ grace!
PENELOPE
And at last Ulysses had arrived,
Stranded in the late night on the fringe
Of Ithaca, where through the night swam
The white moon in the silver foam.
Ulysses laid down his weary limbs
In the green moss, his eyelids sank.
Old terrors rose in his heart
With a lust like pomegrenades fertile,
To rouse the python dragon within him,
The sirens seemed beautiful and terrible.
As much as he held himself bound to the mast,
He was drawn to the one he found beautiful.
In the sweet song of the sirens' choir
One excellently appeared full of splendour,
With garnet mouth and white teeth,
The snow of her bosom, the night of her eyes,
A body like a goddess' body of foam,
The womb covered with a transparent hem.
The more lust and desire tore
Ulysses' flesh, he called his comrades,
To save him from the power of darkness.
And so the blood flowed of Adonis,
Because the lust of the wild sow
The beautiful Cypris plunged into mourning.
The swell, the swell of her body
And the siren's whisper of infatuation
And the promise of pleasure of the sea-sprouting woman
Gave Aphrodite's glory Cyrene
(That was the beauty's name), but around her bosom
Demons, serpents surged and empuses.
And when Ulysses was chained to the mast
And more tightly bound, the more
Cyrene tempts him, Bedded in lust
I give Elysium's delight of desire
To brave Ulysses. - And one cry
To King Zeus, and all was over.
Ulysses' heart was so weary
As if his soul were Troy's ruins.
His body was bloodless, as if he'd been beheaded
And now walked as a revenant, worse
Demon of the night, with hollow blind eyes
Sucking the blood from the hearts of men.
He woke up from a confused dream,
When he asked Agamemnon, the prince,
Whether from Aurore's red silk fringe
Had the shaft of Memnon's pillar rung out?
And if the black one felt pleasure
As a bitch feels, swarming with dogs?
And be not at all the mad bitch
Of Sparta to blame for the whole war,
She was a hind to Menelaus
In sweet-dreaming groves of sweet love
And rare-beautiful, as beauty never is;
And was but a street bitch in heat!
Ulysses awoke and was bewildered,
For this great bitch Helen
He had wandered through flood and archipelago
And ever far from his native Ithaca?
Because Paris sipped at the fountain of lust,
Was he smitten by the gods' wrath?
The proud son of Venus and Bacchus
Priapus lifted his head, dripping with blood.
Ulysses had a hate and scorn
At that garden god's fierce rage,
Who ruined Troy and Greece,
Gave them into the wrathful gods' hands.
Then mighty Priap took his revenge
And stirred on Ulysses‘ sweet blood.
He longed for a deep grave
In the womb of mother earth, from the flood
Drinking eternal oblivion, from Lethe.
So Ulysses, sinking anew into slumber.
The lovely one in the third kingdom of heaven
Compassionately watched him, Urania,
With sadness so soft as velvet.
At her feet Philia listened,
Who was the love goddess' faithful handmaid
And suffered as her mistress softly lamented.
Urania, from your eyes almond
Yet flows the milk of consolation,
Like a cloud of melancholy. A tender mourning cloak
Emerged from the butterflies of the sky
And tapped with the butterfly's feelers finely
On Venus' white shoulder bone.
Deeply touched by such tenderness,
The queen of the universe felt
How love beautifully adorns all creation,
How love was the meaning of all creation
And how above all, O how wonderful,
Her father Jove was full of love!
Yes, above that sphere of lightning and thunder
Was Jove's, the most-beloved, domain.
And she, the star of the morning over the sea,
Beat upon her wonderful dove's eyelid
And dripped a tear on the byssus
Of her robe, and blessed Ulysses in his sleep.
I weave him in my long hair
And lay him in the crook of my arms.
I make more glorious the wonderful
Penelope and give the glow-warm
Aura of heaven's glory to her.
Be my love her beauty's adornment.
From the Adonis garden I pluck roses
And weave her a red mantle.
The green eyes of that flawless one
I dip in my love's milk of almond.
I pour my love's lovely sweetness,
So that it flows from her head to her feet.
Urania let down her veils,
So that waves of mist enveloped the earth,
From which the trees drink drops of silver,
The thirsty, the eternally unquenched,
The veils sank into the weary grass,
That fed on the milk of Venus' star.
Urania called Vesper of Hesperia,
The gleams came from the Atlantides
And gave Lusitania in Iberia
And its sad poets peace,
In a blue mantle they wove sorrow
And sank into slumber on Venus' breast.
O mild goddess in the blueness of evening,
With roses your mantle is red embroidered,
We weave ourselves in thy loving care
And see how beautiful your heavenly eye looks,
Merciful calming of our soul's woes.
Penelope walked through the evening glow.
Ulysses awoke in the damp moss,
Saw her with the grace of charites
Walking like a soft white rose
In the red of the evening glow. With glowing love
Urania embraced the fair grace,
The eye green as Ithaca's pistachio.
O green of the sea, white of the moon, mildness
The face's graceful gleam!
In change chastity, without all wildness
Of lust, purest of all women!
Flowing silk white as milk and snow
Her dress, her body a slender brown doe!
There flowed the glowing snow of the silk dress
And the moon's milk of the gaze around the mind
So wonderful to the sufferer of heavy woe,
That he was weary with happiness
Deeply immersed in the grace of her being,
By Charis's likeness so drunken of love!
THE SINGER PHEMIOS
And Phemios of Ithaca, the singer,
Spoke in the hall of his queen
Penelope: Homerios sang longer,
But I too have my mind of muses
And give my throat in song
To the god who gave them to me, the god Apollo.
Yes, I am drunk with Apollo's ardour,
For a seer he created around him the poet,
Who sees the star on the dark night's tide
And light's lord, and praises like prophets
The sun of God that as a white rose
From Aurore's chaste bosom came.
Apollo comes to his dear muses
And many a young singer chooses his own,
The sorrow of Melpomenes, Erato's bosom,
But I chose not: mine called me up
From my life's tragic stage
To the fountain of Castalia, Queen Mnemosyne!
O mother of all muses, daughter of Zeus,
You singer of the highest song of praise!
To thee I sing, thy beauty's delightful charm,
O grace of Greece, a blue and wistful song,
A wistful song of thy beauty,
That thy grace may crown me with laurel!
All thy daughters and the Charites
I will take as the image of thy love,
In their beauty I'll adore thee
So that my song may remain for the ages to come,
I will reflect beauty's eternal fountain,
Deity on the wave of tears!
O queen of the muses, show me
Thy winding paths to Parnassus' meadows
And Helicon's groves so native,
Let me there behold thee in thy beauty
And sing at the gods' feast of peace
With thee united to our love's lyre!
And Phemios of Ithaca walked lonely
Through the labyrinth of Ithaca's alleys,
The people were there with bread and wine together,
And Phemios the singer sat alone
And looked at a girl's round bosom
And thought of the Queen of the Muses.
In his soul lived even her image
And looked at him with black eyes glowing.
The singer saw if there was an image
In the simple throng of the people, the brood of men,
But none seemed fair to him, none worthy,
Who only the mistress of the Parnassus honoured.
She sang to him from an old reel,
Her singing was like the singing of Alcaius wild,
But more beautiful still the gracious one
In the poet's heart her likeness,
The image of the highest ideal,
The black and beautiful queen of the universe!
She was the daughter of Zeus, the servant
Of Apollo Musagetes of the parnassus
And bride of the singing wind that blows
Where blossom was wet with dew
And gods loved goddesses in stone
And gods of love gave nectar wine.
And the breath drew into the night, rich with gloom,
And Menmosyne, pure and spotless,
Appeared, the pink pearl beautiful on her belly,
In a black skirt, to Phemios the singer,
With brown arm and ornamental silver clasp
And black veiled her hair long.
She sat in golden-red twilight
On a white stone and looked afar.
The singer was so old and was so young
And his longing went to the realm of the stars
And to the true full land of life -
He kissed Mnemosyne's slender hand.
And Phemios was seized by the wind of the Muses,
That mingled with his passions.
He sang a song on a girl's bosom
And played with his hand in his long beard
And sang in his age-old virtue
The bosom of that girl of fair youth.
How brown it spilled from her black dress
And offered itself ripe as a pomegranate fruit,
Beautiful as Venus' bosom, praised by the heathen,
Who long searched for a fitting comparison
And took the image in its simplicity,
Naming the woes of his passions.
As Bacchus once welled in India
Drops of blood from the red and blue grapes,
As from the blossoms nectar dripped in full
Foaming overflows, hardly to be believed,
So their Olympus rose in full splendour
With peaks from the garment of night.
O Aphrodite! your heavenly bosom
Is chosen by men, were once allowed to kiss!
Of thy beauty all the muses sing,
Of thy love blessed overflows
The poets, Aphrodite on the flood,
And of thy pure virgin love's glow!
You emerged from the white foam of the sea,
Love's soul in the ideal body,
Thou wast the poet's fairest dream,
Glorious maiden of heaven, divine woman,
To the seafarers, the fertile jamboo.
From India - your bosom to the poets.
Because this maiden's bosom may see
The singer, he sings praise to all the gods,
That they dew down the heavenly grace
On this earthly world mean and coarse
And transfigure Ithaca to Elysium
In the heart of Urania, the immortal sweet!
And Phemios went into the night alone
And longed for sensual pleasure.
In the moonlight in a pine grove
He walked lonely and flowing by a river,
And on the waves splashes of foam bloomed
And clear as eyes the stars of heaven glowed.
He came to a deeply hidden grotto,
There he found this river's clear spring.
Here dwelt lonely and bridal to her God
The nymph of this wonderful place,
Who no one saw because she was invisible
In the ethereal realm crystal clear.
But once Phidias had been here
With marble from Carrara, when there to him
The nymph sat for a beautiful work of art
As an image of the highest passion sublime.
And as the artist formed in marble,
Near came the nymph's bridegroom, the god Cupid.
There was seen a flowing naiad
In a round body of splendour,
As she came from the bath,
Her skin beaded with drops of water,
As she slung her loins casually.
The shawl and the tide of curls wreathed.
Thus dreamed Phemios the bayadere,
Who sacrificed herself to God in the temple dance,
So dreamed he the dreaming Cythere
And all delight in the most sublime splendour,
Whom all nations of all ends honour,
The heavenly one with beautiful hands.
Folded she laid her hands
On the beautiful head, wistfully dreaming,
Who pondered beneath closed lids.
And longed for the open air, joyful freshness,
And bent her round knee bare,
Which gives a shiver of deep, deep delight!
EVANTHE
The father Bacchus had gone away
And left the mystic feast of meat and wine,
As Thrace's corybant cymbals sounded
And Eleusis, too, rests in red glow
And Samothrace celebrates its rites
And sings the hymns of its sacred myths.
Silenus remained in the circle of the satyrs
And carried the cup of wine into the woods
And preached to the peasants and the animals
And prayed to the Demeter of golden fields.
Silenus then called from the pearl boat
The divine Demeter, the mother.
Demeter handed out risen grain,
The white goddess in the blue of heaven.
Silenus nourished at the fountain of wine
The spirit of life and his love's faithfulness -
For life was in the blood and blood was wine -
And all was to be joyous rapture!
Silenus gave the cup to the round,
Invited were all the forest creatures
That with smooth, with hairy mouths
To gather the grapes from the divine vine:
Silvans, Fauns, Nymphs and Naiads
And Pan's Panisques bathed in the wine.
Silvans scampered through the pine groves
And fauns hopped secretly to the Floras,
The nymphs bathed in the purity of the well
And the naiads were chosen
By the bacchanalian triangle splendour
To dance a dance for father Bacchus.
A sorrowful Silvan walked alone
Through his native pine forest
And saw in a clearing in the glow
Of the sun a glorious figure -
Whom he called the goddess Aphrodite -
That was the nymph of that grove: Evanthe!
Evanthe was the nymph of nature,
She clothed herself in the garb of Flora,
She was the most beautiful creature
And wrapped herself in curls of Aurore
And danced there in Aphrodite's body,
The body that beguiles all fauns.
There lay Silvan in the green grass,
The little child Cupid sat by him,
And Silvan, his eyes full of lasciviousness, sneezed,
He saw the sweetness of the south sublime,
Like wreaths twining around victorious lances,
He saw her dancing in the fall of her hair.
She threw aside her skirt's finely woven linen
To one side, showing transparent gauze -
O delight to the enlightened and light senses
And reason for the drunken intoxication of ecstasy -
Her round knees and white legs
Like marble in the noonday sun's gleam.
Where all are clothed - here is nakedness!
Where all is coarse cloth - here is fineness!
Where all is worm - here is the size of the gods!
Where all is dirt - here is nymph purity!
Where all is shame - here is innocence,
For Heaven's sake, from Elysium!
When from the heavens, when from Uranos
To the sea of earth she was born,
Begotten of Aeol from the womb of the sea,
As Cypris from the heavens chose,
Melic nymph from the host of Venus
In her wet hair she wore the Stella Maris.
From her curls fell lily blossoms
And from her hand came a rosary.
Evanthe's eyes diamond glowed,
As she danced her dance before the Silvan,
Her curls fell like a cataract
On her shoulders and arms naked.
And the Panisque Silvanus took delight
At her body's beautiful line,
As the naiad, wet with dew,
Waved like a pine tree in the breeze.
As if the enamoured wind-gods shake
In the top, so was the shaking of her hair.
O Aphrodite, giver of delights,
To thee the turtledoves ruthlessly jerk,
See the bouncing of these lovely breasts
And let Silvan gaze on these breasts too:
Magnolia blossoms snow-white from Iberia
And golden pomegranates from Hesperia!
As Daphnis hung on a goat's udder,
As Romulus at his wolf's teat,
Goddess grant that one day I may lie
In the hill of leaping gazelle fawns
And sing like Solomon to Sulamith
And to Cypria the poet Theocritus.
When Venus loosed her magic belt...
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The faun was but one desire
And wanted to kiss the naiad's cheeks,
But the naiad knew how to deny herself
And gave only the dream streams of pleasure
And let all the beauty's charms only be gazed upon
And not devour the Faun in love!
To give comfort also to the panisque
And to his eyes new refreshment beautiful,
Goes Evanthe sweetly to guide him
To her sisters' flock, that he may crown them
With bunches of rowan berries
And reeds from the quiet seas of the ponds.
O Corydone, thou in fullness of body
Your shoulders shook and your beautiful back
And thy full bosom's soft wave,
The parted apple is a delight
And thy brown hair's glowing veil
Before thy face joyous celebration!
O Sylphia in thy rich splendour
The round fullness of thy body and thy full
Milky breasts in the night of the dress,
Like fruitful shells they gushed forth
They sprang forth, brimming with milk and honey
And like idols - stone Madonnas!
O graceful Maia, you in a blue dress,
With a beauty mark on your face
And with the silent eyes dark dew
And with the curly hair so golden,
You danced so virginal and motherly,
That doves felt more deeply!
O Circereia with your red hair
And your brown, puffy skirt,
How wondrously did her arms wind
Like magic snakes on the juggler's stick
From the shoulders to the slender hips -
O rosy shell! light breezes of spring!
Then Silvan saw Aphrodite in truth,
As she wafted on her shell,
A pink pearl glowing in her navel,
Which Uranos sowed for her adornment
In the sea's bottom, where heaven's seed
The lady begat, the lady of all ladies!
ULYSSES IN HADES
Ulysses remembered the instruction of Circe
And stepped towards the entrance to the realm of the dead,
To find counsel in the subterranean,
In the abyss of the subterranean district
And also to see if Eros' fiery glow
And the green flood of Lethe lived beyond.
How glorious Circe had seemed to him,
The pure nymph, daughter of that god,
To whom all the golden rays of the sun shone,
Who was pure light, far from the filth of mockery.
At noon stood in most glorious transfiguration
And gave to his seers a clear light.
He was certainly the god of the poets too,
To whom the wise poet submits
And all his singing is a pious prayer
To the enlightener of all the earthly world,
Who yet to the moon Luna gave her glow
Over the ocean waves, wet with waves.
As white and pure as the robe of Phoebe,
The goddess-like maiden Cynthia,
Was Circe's dress, the shimmering fabric,
With flowers woven in it,
From whose calyxes dripped floods of nectar,
Ambrosial odours of incense.
And Circe's was the power to damn,
To drive an unclean creature into the swine,
To shut up the coop behind the boar.
And then to stay purified from the dung -
Because Herakles mucked out the pigsty -
As a dove that nests in green crowns.
Yes, white as dove's feathers was her linen
And crimson the veil over her hair.
Illuminating Ulysses' dark senses
She gave him wise instructions wonderful,
To climb into the kingdom beyond, to see in the night,
To behold the splendour of a goddess.
Ulysses stepped to the mouth of Avernus
And looked into the Acherusian sea.
The mask stared there, the mouth of truth,
And announced an abysmal woe,
Where the torn and descended sang
Of distress and anguish and torment and woe!
According to Circe's instruction the man was ready,
Saint Ulysses, now to slaughter
His sacrifice, just now, at the right time,
For the great night had dawned,
Half his life was over,
Now came the autumn, dark and dreary.
And in the mists and the stench of the ground
He tried to light a fire
With wood and the skill of his hands,
But the adversity of the winds prevented it,
Then he called upon Jove, god of gods,
Jupiter, ruler of the weather.
Then lightning struck him in the damp wood
And flames flared up and black smoke -
In humility Ulysses' pride bowed -
He laid the branches stalk by stalk,
Soon the flame of fire blazed very high,
Then Ulysses went to the sacrificial flame.
O father Zeus, thou in thunderstorms above,
O Cronus, O god of eternity,
Saturnus I will praise thee, O father,
Who walked in the golden age
In the Tempe Valley at Olympus' foot!
So Ulysses shouted his Jove greeting.
Was it from the ram or was it from the lamb,
That ascended to the heaven of the gods
In a self-sustained sacrificial flame
And was it a sacrifice also of pied goats
And this sacrificial meal of fat was handed down,
To make up for Ulysses' sins?
Ulysses now met the giant, the warrior
And Charon the ferryman on the shore's edge,
That he might lead him into the realm of terror
And into the night's terrifying dream
And into the distance of all human happiness -
O heaven help! I beseech thee by the Styx!
And Charon, with the stroke of an oar, drove
Down the black waters his barge,
Down the green or black Lethe,
He swam along as a black mourning swan
And came to the realm of Acheron,
Where shadows walked at the Phlegeton.
O woe! cried those gloomy shadows
And sighs blew away and empty whispers,
A whisper went through the asphodel mats
And twilights ever more gloomy
And shadows cried empty and hollow:
O living ones, give steadily the obol!
And Agamemnon went with Menelas,
Lamenting old peoples' fraternal strife,
And Paris sat alone with Oenone
Lamenting aloud over mortal desire,
And Hector lamented Pergamos' ruin,
And all they wanted to do was to die, to die!
Anthistenes and Menon were struck by the hammer
Of fate's spell: endless suffering,
Love would be their life's misery
And dream only the nymphs of sweet silk
And dream only life and past
And at the breast alone madness as snakes!
Andromache sold to Helenus,
Cassandra slain by Clytemnestra,
For Helen's coveted kiss alone!
That she may perish from the breast
In her breasts according to fate's decree!
And what goddess could resist this curse?
Ulysses departed from poor Menelas,
When he saw the poppy-flowered gate,
There came to him the old man Tiresias,
Who once saw Athena in the bath.
And therefore nightly like the Hyperborean
His eyes wandered, and therefore he was a seer.
His eyes turned inwards,
He saw the image of nameless woe
In a land of sorrowful tears:
The black queen Persephone!
Because she ate the seeds of the pomegranate,
She now sat with her deadly husband.
O red fruit with thy golden seeds,
How very tempting thou wast to look upon!
There was the black lady before the ladies
Beguiled like lightly beguiled women
And that goddess through the earth's crack
Drove into the darkness of the realm of the dead.
O king of all gods! save us
From eternal damnation in Hades!
Cried aloud the seer, his mouth agape.
Help us from the dreadful state‘s
Prison into the sun our saviour Heracles -
Is that his name? - are you sure of that?
Yes, Heracles, it was he who had gone
Down into the realm of the dead below,
To conquer the centaur people,
The horse-footed ones, and into
The colourful garden of Athens
The Greek king Theseus, to the myrrh.
When Heracles led Theseus into the light
With the sign of the staff in his hand,
Theseus saw the face of Aurore
And saw the lonely land of life
And went to the Platonic Academy
And honoured Sophia, and loved her!
MINERVA
And Telemachus had a vision,
Visions had young Telemachus,
He saw the Zeus-begotten maiden's light
And heard her voice softly aching,
She bade him softly turn from the path,
Away from the disordered desire.
And Telemachus went into a quiet valley
In the south of Ithaca, in solitude,
In solitude, went, in his soul's torment,
Went and sought healing for his sorrow
And sought healing in Minerva's grove,
There he sat in the grove all alone.
Olive trees were everywhere
And tall dark pines in avenues.
The sun's red ball had sunk
And light breezes of warm nights were blowing.
And what did he know in his youth,
Young Telemachus, of true virtue?
Forgive me, Minerva, white barn owl,
If we sacrificed to thee two turtledoves!
We brought thee the pine-stick's column,
And you, you wanted nothing but our faith,
O wise maiden with the shield!
But we believe thee to be the good, the mild,
Telemachus said, and went to a hill
And there plucked the green herb of the goddess.
As if the wings of a barn owl were rustling
He was at one, he looked around,
Then he saw a light foot walking
And thought it was the genius of his life.
And Telemachus went to the rocky cave,
Which there of black rock, of green moss
Flowered. As if his own soul bloomed
As in the niche a white rose
So faithful to his father's help!
How he loved the maiden's faithful mind!
And Telemachus spoke his heart's consecration
To Zeus' daughter, wisdom's queen:
All thy child's error forgive him
And present me to Jove with a faithful mind,
With mine also the hearts of my neighbours
Present to the most glorious and the most high!
For my mother I beseech thee, the blond one,
Take her as your heart's friend,
The father's kingdom reach to the horizon,
So bless the godly man,
Forgive him Zeus the sea's fault
And look mercifully on Ulysses' forbearance.
Embrace Laertes, whose flame of life
With his spouse's embers burns together,
And take her to thee, my nurse,
Whom my lip calls with reverence:
Grandmother of my heart, Polyxena!
O take hold of her, Minerva!
Then night had appeared to him in the cave
Minerva in the armour of silver shine,
With her shield of blue, her face full of grace,
Around her left hand an olive wreath
She appeared in the cave of mischief
Alone to the pious worshipper Telemachus.
Around her rose the dawn,
Palm fronds waved, and her hand
Gave blessing to Telemachus' prayers.
Now she stood transformed before him,
The goddess there in pure white linen
And blue ribbon before Telemachus' senses.
And through her left hand ran the long cord
With many knots and olive stones.
The wise one loved nature
Of green gardens and of bright stars
And saw in the ethereal building
Father Zeus enthroned in the ethereal building!
Minerva was called up,
By his father and Telemachus,
Then she stepped purely on Diotima's steps
To love's nuptial chamber
In the secret of that supreme good -
Telemachus thought of Adonis' blood -
And barn owl flew and white cloud
And silver shone the olive tree,
And Ithaca with its sleepy people
Awoke from sleep with its dream
And felt the glory of Minerva.
And Telemachus saw her white dress flee away.
Once more the wise one let see
The greenish flowing olive wreath,
That around Telemachus it twined and rolled
And wind him in wisdom's splendour,
Who before holy heroes
Blown to her Father Jove's throne!
O glorious Minerva, wise one,
Virgin from the head of Zeus sprung,
With olive tree and with vine, my field
Bless me who have sung thee praise,
And give bread from the carob tree
And let me see thee, queen, in a dream.
The wise lover, Philios,
Calls thee Sophia, supreme ideal,
He calls thee unsullied by lust
And temple of divine wisdom, house and hall,
Which in Jove‘s own bridal chamber
Waits for thy darling Telemachus.
Olives and owls are thy signs,
Thou quietly shut up olive garden,
From which the barn owls never depart.
I will henceforth await my death
In thy pure virgin‘s sign of victory,
O Pallas' shield, the shield of the victorious.
And Zeus gave her to us as an olive garden,
Which lonely handed us carob,
When we stood by the monkey tree for counsel,
She was blue evening red,
To bequeath wisdom to our hearts,
Which passed in Adonis' dying.
O queen of wisdom, give songs!
Of life we sing, of battle and glory
And of immortality and victory
And consecrate to thy purity‘s sanctuary
All our man-killing war's weapons,
We pledge to thee today at the tree of apes.
You lead our weapons' cause of battle
With the unchallenged shield of Pallas.
At your feet the dragon writhes
And you stand proud, grace's graven image,
On a golden sickle in the sun's robe -
O stand by us in our wandering woe!
Thou dost rule all the wars of the world
And battle of demon and genius
And our passion as thou pleasest,
O Zeus! you subdued at her foot
The python with the slobber in his liver
And the Adonis murderer too, the boar.
To command Greece and Asia
Thou hast set her on the highest mountain,
Then she gave us a commandment: Keep peace,
O peace with yourselves and with the world
And with the Father Zeus, who sent me
To lead his own into Elysium's land!
So I will come to you one day
And sing to you the fourth of the eclogues:
O love, O love Daphnis, all you pious ones,
Dear Daphnis has never deceived you,
For, strange enough! From Minerva's womb
Has sprung the sacred shoot of the gods!
ULYSSES' WEDDING
Ulysses be blessed! Ithaca's
With green wreath crowned king he,
Who for all Helen's sin
Perils through the troubled sea,
Who wisely overcame that boasted city
And carried the maiden on the ship's prow!
Ulysses be blessed! All hills
And all the valleys yield rich fruit,
In the olive rustles the dove's wing.
He resisted at the bay of the sea
And had but one longing, one goal:
The homeland, sea-fringed asylum!
Blessed be Ulysses! His homeland -
With all the hills that slept in the morning,
With every nymph that lusts glue,
With all barn owls and olives -
Blessed be he who is its king.
And around him of everlasting love‘s may!
Ulysses was the king of Ithaca,
To whom all the islands brought tribute,
Vases from Sparta brought Menelas,
In Crete's goblets came the blood of the vine,
From Alexandria came parchments,
From the nymph Menthe came the veil of Orange.
Ulysses was the king of Ithaca,
Who loved India and Iberia even more,
Who saw in a dream the image of Helen
In the golden apple orchard of Hesperia
And called it the fair image
Of God's beauty, sweet and mild.
Ulysses was the name of the king of Ithaca,
He gave bread and wine to his people,
Who was like earth to the green grass
And like the morning star in the morning light.
And in Ulysses' Ithaca just now
Aurore rose in rosy tissues.
The Greeks' morning star, a genius
And good spirit sent by the eternal Theos -
Himeria I call thee and sing greeting
To thee as the diadem of fair Aurore.
And Aurore spread her blue mantle
Over the slender tree with white almonds.
O almond blossom, white and rose-red,
O tree's leaves, foliage's green veil,
O star with thy ray's light plumb,
The heavens celebrate thy peace,
When to the sound of a bird you
Appear with lovely grace, fair and chaste.
The horizon's dusky blue velvet
Embroidered with a single diamond!
Thy halo and thy crown flaming
And silent are all the corybanths
And all the agitated tumultuous dance
Comes to peace before thy gleam!
How chastely, with what secret silent shame
Hast thou veiled thee with the bower green.
Where was the fair bride to the bridegroom?
Absent was her feast celebrated,
There sang to heaven a love-lyre
And to his treasure in the foliage's veil.
Himeria, Himeria, oh, oh,
Himeria, you beautiful bride!
Seeing thee makes the soul still and glad,
Yes, you were seen by Telemachus in the morning,
Then thou barest thyself under the green arbour,
In which the dove rests so peacefully.
And when the dove's call was quiet
And silent, Ulysses' son heard close by
A voice's cry, which swelled darkly,
And a maiden's laugh: Ha ha ha!
No one did his eye see there,
But she was near, Himeria, the bride!
And at Ulysses' wedding feast with
Penelope, the Ithacaean bride,
The three graces appeared; fine cut
Of the gauze, that they might be seen fair,
So they danced and stood still
And handed apples, not to be resisted.
They handed ripe red apples there,
And the healthfulness of the bounty.
Heaven's children there on Ithaca
In full joy on the meadow jumped.
The curly hair fell about their cheeks,
That swayed in dance like glowing veils.
How your eyes looked darkly glowing,
The faces woven in the hair,
Like night the hair and like morning,
That fell on their breasts to praise,
That like melodies softly waved
And from the bosom's shroud they sprang.
How your shoulders, your arms flowed,
The whole line trembled so softly,
The body was beautiful in its soul's charm,
The limbs were lovely, the souls graceful,
They gave themselves completely, with fair faces.
They danced with the grace of dolphins.
Then these graces danced to the harbour
And sailed away in a sailboat,
To sleep at night on the sea under the moon.
And in the morning to gaze at the dawn,
In Stella Matutina, Stella Maris
In homage to the goddess Aphrodite.
And when they landed with their boat
It was on the Tagus, in the land of Lu.
In the mimosa trees it glowed red
In the morning, Eos held out her white hand,
With wreaths of roses entwined in red,
She held out her white hand, her heart in glory.
Ulysses anointed himself in his bath,
Having washed his heroic body,
Then he took a robe from the ark,
A purple robe with fine stitches,
He brushed his teeth with horsetail,
Which gleamed like white sanguine swans.
His beard was manly rich, yet neat,
His torso a man's breast,
He put on the pearl necklace
With which the goddess he knew to honour,
He put the ring on his hand, the slender one,
Then he went to the open sea, the wavering one.
Then he cried into the distance: Sea, O sea,
Girded by the eternal Oceanus,
A mirror to all the stars,
O mother, who has burdened me,
O star of the sea, lead me, spirit-laden,
As I await my dear bride.
Penelope came from the green land
In white dress and blue girdle
Carried to Ulysses on the beach,
Where he was joined to the glorious one,
The epitome of all loveliness,
The deepest source of his bliss.
Then Penelope stepped in her veil,
In the green, green as the olive leaves,
To her bridegroom's wedding feast,
And around her swarmed little gods of love,
Envoyed genii, ardent erotes,
In praise of the Fair Lady of the Cyprians.
For when he had betrothed his bride,
Married to himself, the Ithacian hero,
Ulysses then said, Our love crowns
The beautiful mother with the child Eros,
In you, Penelope, is near to me
The heavenly beauty of Urania.
VENUS IS COMFORTED WITH ROME
And Telemachus went on a long journey
And came to Gaul to the sea's breast.
He listened to the blue Mediterranean song
And sucked childish delight full of lust,
As he lay at Eucharis' bosom -
Like David at the breasts of Abishag.
But the goddess Venus, full of sorrow,
Went to father Jove, and tickled his beard,
Now Troy's wall is sunk in dust
And Asia stares before blood and corpses,
Mother Asia was shattered
By that war of sin for Helen!
How shall not my tears flow there,
That love has made all barbarians,
The lovers are but shadows of sighs,
The living now in Hades,
But where, in all this voluptuous rage,
Is the true ardour of my son's love?
How shall I not weep, O father, before thee,
When I see the foolish poets,
How they weep for the great fall of bricks
And weep for mother Asia's woe
And have such a sorrow in their bosom
And choose the blackest of the muses?
Salvation has come from my bosom,
That will become a painful calamity to many,
From my son Cupid came the arrow,
The arrows all aim at the hearts,
Then weak men feel this wound -
And become mad as bitches and dogs!
What destruction has been wrought
The men for the sake of the One Beautiful Grace?
That Homer has scarcely spelled out,
Whether I am to blame for this?
Can a goddess be accused of guilt?
Must not every nation on earth pay homage to her?
The father of Sol and Luna, Venus' father,
The father of all lights thundering spoke,
I lead thee, daughter, by my genius,
I speak in my heart's bridal chamber
With Cupid's mother whom I love and honour
And to whose star the seas are subject!
With Troy the old time has sunk,
The time of sin's war and battle's tumult,
When to me stank the stench of flesh,
The blood of corpses cried up to me in the sky.
And voices called from the bosom of death
To Cronos, to Father Uranos!
Yes, salt shall salt! Salty is the sea,
From which you were born pure and undefiled,
You emerged, virgin! Cupid is the lord
Of lovers chosen
To a wedding dance and feast of love -
O lead them, O Queen of the Sea!
Though Troy has sunk, yet Rome's gates,
Rome's gates, golden and full of force,
O enter thou into Rome's green gardens,
Let thy gracious image by the sea bay
Gaze, like marble of Carrara pure,
And thy eyes blue gems!
O ride on the shell on the Tiber
And tread sweetly on the Aventine!
Take Cupid with you, that evermore my love
Let the myrtle bushes bloom under the moon
And blue flowers in the green gardens,
Where poets walk in the footsteps of the Muses.
And stand ever by Rome's fountain
And take sesterces for the return.
Stand thou, shielded from Rome's thousand suns,
In the Vatican, in the bosom of thy limbs,
In thy limbs ivory and marble.
Take heed, your breast will be wounded by Cupid!
Bathed in honey milk, washed with soap,
Beauty washed in the perfume of the Orient!
The ripeness of the rose is yours for the oil,
Crown thy breasts with clusters of myrrh
And anoint thee with sweet aloes,
O Pharos mare, slender brown, dun.
Earrings we made and silver chains
And onyx stones we gave to the fair one,
We would bed her in velvet and silk
And bedposts to decorate and gild
And hang blue skies above the bed
To the queen of dreams and songs.
And then Venus grew pale and turned to stone,
All beauty became hard marble.
The Vatican Venus stood alone
In the golden temple of the Muses, where Cupid
In the colourful image wore the eye-shell.
Then spoke the Tiburtine Sibyl:
Another, more beautiful image of a woman is coming,
A divine child she holds in her arms:
The gracious one is she, full of grace,
Her son fills the earth with pity,
Her son, he brings the beautiful mother,
The Virgin, who suffered for all men.
O Lord, I am still yours,
And thy death my muses mourn.
In dreams you lead me to Mary's groves,
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