By Torsten Schwanke
APHRODITE
Beloved Aphrodite above the sea,
You foam-born, who loves laughter,
Urania in your celestial sphere,
You are the goddess who gives grace,
I praise thee, O holy one, O honourable one,
Thy sparrow before the chariot softly peeps,
Thou hast given me thy priestess,
O sweetness, O delight and O life!
I saw the priestess of Aphrodite
In a glory light like white foam,
Her body as white as a lily blossom,
More beautiful than I once dreamed in a dream,
She came from thy heavenly region
A messenger from the highest space
And stood before me in her white body
Of voluptuous bliss.
I praise thee out of my very confused mind,
O goddess of all love's lust,
The priestess with her great bosom
Has drawn me tight to her breasts.
I have long sought the favour of the Muses
And dreamed of the Muses unconsciously,
Now the Muse from the third heaven
As priestess came into this world's tumult.
Now I see the cute and the nice
In all her physical charm,
The chaste and at the same time coquette
Spurns me not with hard love's desire.
O priestess of Venus, on the bed
As a female willingly spread thy legs,
The lily's stem is in the open vase,
We stagger in drunken ecstasy!
O mercy, let me drink thy source,
Let me gush over the fountain of grace,
I see the white body in the light of the sun,
She is bright with rays of grace,
O woman of lust, woman of delight,
Virgin, I am thy bachelor.
For thy messenger‘s sweet maiden blossom
I thank thee, O goddess Aphrodite!
Now on the French shore, on the sea,
I saw Aphrodite in the bed of heaven.
So fair the fair, so fair the fair,
Charming and enchanting and sweet and lovely,
In her third heaven's light sphere
The goddess smiled charmingly, coquettishly,
At her heart rested, at the warm,
Adonis in the goddess's lily arms.
And down in the warm ocean
The priestess of Venus took a bath.
Her suitor as in a drunken delusion
Approaching her white body in love,
Her lap as white as butter, as white as cream,
Like honey sweet from a beehive,
From the Mediterranean, the warm,
And lay in her beloved's arms.
The white spray splashed up on the rock,
To the shore rolled white sea foam.
The lovers rolled in love,
With love they fill the space of the world.
As fire embers melt the wax of candles,
So they melt into a dream of love.
And under the water they exchange sparks
And tumble into each other blissfully drunk.
The goddess smiles from the heavenly bed
On the lovers in union
So graciously, so sweet and so kind,
The suitor feels virile, vigorous, young,
The coquette beckons to him with her sweetness,
Who swings her hips in a beautiful sway.
The stars on the Mediterranean burn,
As lover and beloved recognise each other.
O Luna's clarity! In the wine tavern
The lovers hear poetry.
O Luna's clarity! In the gracious watering hole
They hear beautiful harmony of spheres.
O Luna's clarity! Think of the beauty
And never forget her, remember her,
You strive towards her with all your life's drive
And blissfully smiling Love blesses us.
But high up on the Pyrenees
In a shepherd's hut the spirit
Of Sappho had appeared to me
Like a ghost called a revenant.
She seemed to dance, seemed to spin beautifully,
Like a Grace silently praising
And celebrates Wisdom in the colourful mythes
And sings an ode to Aphrodite.
In a long white silk dress
With a glittering gold belt band
The feast for the eyes appeared before me
In a shepherd's house in the Basque country.
On her face no trace of sorrow,
The swan's lyre stroked her white hand
And softly she praised forebodingly under shadows
The beautiful goddess and the husband-god.
As if descended from Elysium
Sappho sang me to a beautiful ode,
As once sung by the Greek pious
And as it is repeated by the girls' choir.
I heard with a soft ear,
How Sappho swore allegiance to Aphrodite,
How she consecrated all her life instincts
And also the death instinct to the goddess of love.
The swan lyre with the seven strings
She played tenderly with the plectrum,
Fingers gliding over silver strings,
Her bosom felt the ardour of longing,
She let the song accompany the strings,
The hot longing she cooled chastely.
The apple hung too high in the apple tree,
It could only be plucked in a dream of longing.
When Sappho sang me this ode,
I went to my girlfriend in the warm bed,
The girlfriend lay before me in Eve's fashion,
So willingly waiting and so sweetly kind,
We longed for a little love's death,
Chaste and bashful, erotic and coquettish,
In space the world's axis spun!
O great space, grow on and on!
But when we were in the bedchamber,
There was always the beautiful image of Venus.
Then love was not yet pain and sorrow,
Love's delight was sweet and mild.
The man held the thunderbolt in his hand,
The woman like a fountain of love springs.
Then we learned Petrarch's language so sweetly,
Like turtledove-maidens on the roof.
Venus Medici was as an icon
The guardian of the bedchamber.
The naked goddess on the shell throne,
The pure celestial Urania,
Idea of beauty she undoubtedly was,
The foam-born goddess Paphia,
With tide of curls veiling her bosom and breasts,
So naked she rushed on Cyprus' shore.
As Zephyrus and Aura blew strong
The fair goddess from the sea to the land,
Then she came to the sweet paradise,
Mother Earth held in her hand,
A dress embroidered with lilies from the meadows,
Clothed, the naked goddess found herself,
Mother Earth handed her her mantle.
Thus she saw our love's faithful change.
When Aphrodite was wounded by Diomedes,
Wounded in war, she fled to God's house,
There the queen wandered on foot
To Zeus, the father scolded the daughter,
O queen, o sapientia sedes,
Thine is not the work of war's fury and horror,
Thine is the work of pillow fights in the bed,
When lovers spend the night together.
Thus Venus taught all the arts of love,
Written in the Kama Sutra,
The sublimation of all hot breasts,
That's how the act of union becomes beautiful.
Then bodies sweat, hot vapours steam,
The little love-death's resurrection
Then the lovers play in the bed,
Don Juan and Anna, the coquette.
THE WHORE BABEL
I have seen the Queen of Babel,
She was the wild queen of lust,
As naked as Eve, who gave birth to Abel,
All unveiled her great breasts,
A cup of sweet mingled wine was her navel,
She lived on the urges unconscious,
She cried out as seagulls cry by the sea,
While she rode naked on a lion.
The queen of lust on a lion
With her thigh-pressures guiding,
To rejoice in this wild beast,
To which she slid so imperiously in the saddle,
With wild lust, unafraid,
The long mane without shape or cut,
The long, wildly curling lion's mane
The Anadyomene blazed around.
We see the icon on the cards,
Which shall tell us fortune in the future,
The ladies like to play the game, the tender ones,
Do a curious glance into the future,
And so the ladies, the delicate ones,
Have turned their gaze forwards and not backwards,
What tells them the sun of the future
Is lust, is wild voluptuousness‘ hot delight.
O Babel, queen of wild delights,
I too was once in thy lion's gate,
Thou shook'st thy mighty breasts,
The long lion's mane's thick pile,
Queen of love's delightful shore,
I praised thee also in thy servants' choir
As the most beautiful queen of lust, as pure
Desire and as a whore known to the city.
What do we know of female natures
Than of the saints of holiness
And on the other hand the dissolute whores,
The town-worn harlots, famous far and wide,
Famous throughout the land are
These pure concubines in the dress of Eve,
The queen of Babel, white as butter,
Is all whores' goddess, the Great Mother.
In France I saw at the cathedrals
The goddess Luxuria, goddess Lust,
As the pious monks paint her for us,
Who, unconscious of their own impulses.
Painting lust all in rays of glory
And majestically her naked breasts
And paint for edification without doubt
The goddess Luxuria with the devil.
Deadly sin Luxuria, wild harlot,
Sexual symbol at the pious cathedral,
Thou wilt not be ashamed, thou whore,
You still spew out the stream of sin,
You climb the white firn of the virgin's peak
And come to the great Babylon of Rome
And set up brothels in front of St. Peter's Cathedral,
With courtesans mixed the fathers there.
O goddess Luxuria, in the name of fornication,
You lure fornication into the den of iniquity,
To concubines become noble ladies
And witches fornicate with the Beelzebul,
In bitches men scatter their semen
And celibate priests turn gay
And stags jump on the young bucks
And billy goats climb on the bitches.
He who cultivates himself as a religious man
And eagerly strives for his salvation,
Who turns to Christ the Redeemer,
Who flees the goddess Luxuria, horny
Is Luxuria, Satan is an evil one,
He chases you into the lap of the whore, because
He wants to corrupt thee in chaos-lust,
Thou shalt die at last the second death.
O goddess Luxuria, blessed are they,
Who die free from thy lust. Write,
O son of man, the lion's mane of the goddess
Does not fit the pious brother ass, the body.
He who tragically departs from the earthly scene,
Greet sister death, that woman,
Without any influence of Luxuria,
For sister death resembles to Saint Mary!
The whore of Babel also has a husband,
That is Satanas as a man-god,
The whore of Babel is willing to be married
To the Antichrist and his scorn and mockery,
The Christians she then sent to the shadows.
Who themselves have breath only in the dust,
They playing to be the world's saviour,
And though godless, yet as gods of salvation.
The whore of Babylon always wants to whore,
The concubine, with the Antichrist.
Whether they too are but human natures,
The Antichrist thinks he is divine.
They oppress all creatures,
Who faithfully hold to the Lord and Christ.
The whore of Babel, like skeletons gaunt,
She holds the Christians in the camp of death.
The whore of Babel and the communists
Always whore so in the horny bed,
Likewise national socialists
Consecrate a concentration camp to the whore Babel,
Finally, the whore and the terrorists
Then complete the chaos quite coquettishly,
Such are they, the demonic archons,
Who could have all this whore.
Accustomed to whore from their youth,
In Egypt and Babylon
She let creatures grope her,
Groping her teats even then,
The sons of men went to the pure
Hætaera, son of man after son of man,
She who was not the true God's wife,
She was the whore goddess of the sons of whores.
She drinks the blood of the proud martyrs,
Her cup overflows with Christian blood,
If Christians do not conceal their Christ,
The whore of Babylon is enraged,
The Christians then climb into furnaces of death
And praise Jesus Christ in the fires
And the third heaven is open to them,
Because the whore is drunk with blood!
But the angels proclaim to all, to all:
The whore of Babylon is fallen,
The whore-goddess Babel is fallen!
So triumph, Lord and Son of Man,
The angels all sing songs of jubilation
And rejoicing triumph to God's throne:
Jerusalem, the pure, is triumphant!
Babylon, the great whore, is overthrown!
And all the captains and sailors
Drowned in her flood of sin,
The concubines too, the scarlet roses,
Burned in the fires of the Last Judgment,
The money-worshippers too, the faithless,
Lost are their goods and chattels,
The poets who wrote of fornication,
Are all judged with Babylon.
A fire has fallen from heaven,
The earth has shaken like a volcano.
The merchants all in the world's tumult
To the abyssal chaos have striven.
Who then in the tumult and tumultuousness
Has survived as a last one,
Who wishes that the mountains break over him
And weaken his last strength to live.
The kings of the earth, world tyrants,
They tremble on thrones of dull gold.
The warriors, all warlike men,
The army like a great deluge rolls.
Chaos breaks in, from great jars
It rains brimstone. Everything as you wish.
It rains pitch and brimstone, rains fire,
The whore's adventure is over.
The whore breaks and all her idols,
The heathen gods all of gold and stone.
The harlots flee naked, all the butchers,
From the brothel in the glare of fire.
The breakers of the divine laws
Sink into the pool of great torment.
The angels triumphantly proclaim to all:
The great whore of Babel has fallen!
DAME FOLLY
Dame Folly I saw, she was without veil,
Her head was hairless, bald as a vulture,
Vultures of death hovered over her,
Narcissus was she in the valley of the earth,
She invited many friends to a party
And feasted with Beelzebub and Baal
And wanted to party with the fools en masse
And with the young, impudent fools.
Yes, come all to the great feast,
We'll all eat our neighbour's cabbage
And drink tea from our neighbour's bowl
And drink Babel's beer of the gods to our health
And dance the belly dance in the banquet hall
Like stars dancing around the north pole
And when we belly dance, we sway our hips,
Then fools shall think of lust.
Let us entice the young fools
And ask them to fall away from God.
How beautiful when a soul is lost
And goes to the grave as an enemy of the cross.
For we plug our shell ears
And follow not the Good Shepherd's rod.
We do not believe in the One, the Great Whole,
We only want to laugh, we want to dance.
We want to swarm merrily on the earth,
We're only annoyed by the Pope's holiness.
We want to warm ourselves at bonfires
And have no time for the Godhead.
We let ourselves be massaged in the thermal baths
And pick roses in the meadows
And are dazed by intoxication and dance
And are annoyed by the deep seriousness of the pious.
We want to dance, live, love, laugh
And listen to no words of wisdom.
We love beautiful things, beautiful things
And say hello to the devil's bride.
We only want to set off fireworks
And have not rest and peace of mind.
Let pious men despair of the world of sin,
We dance with the witches and the devils.
Dame Folly was so fond of stealing her stuff,
As they say of the gypsies.
She was once with the gypsies in Poland,
When she stole from the gypsy maid.
What there was to get and to take,
That she was well pleased to have.
Hermes was her god, the god of thieves,
Greed of possession was the first of her impulses.
Dame Folly always went to the treasury of the state
And took what she could get.
Pluto is not so rich even in Hades,
She even emptied the state's coffers.
So she also went the way of the communists:
She expropriated all the rich people,
For this she used the best lists,
To steal from fat capitalists.
If she wanted a book from the libraries,
She simply stole from the university.
And if a department store lay in her path,
She pocketed all in the merchant's hall.
Whenever she was thirsty and hungry,
So she took a neighbour's roll once in a while.
Stolen tastes sweet waters
But simply better, simply much better.
If she wanted to gain an advantage,
She was ready to quarrel in the worst way.
If Caritas should give her something,
She said please, but never thanks.
And if she did not get something, then she pouted,
She was grievously sad, as if her heart were sick.
If she did not get the will, so many
Fake tears she cried like crocodiles.
In the legal deceptions
She entangled the great circle of friends,
As if the friends themselves were cheats.
But if one of them said no to the fraud,
Because he wanted to free himself from deceit,
This caused her soul great anguish,
And she adjured him by the god of thieves:
Oh, do Dame Folly this love!
When I studied the Greek philosophers,
She asked me about the nature of God.
But she was no wiser than the maids.
I said, Epicurus' swinishness,
Epicurus still heats the furnace.
But she said, the stupid creature,
Pleasure the highest good? I think a seer
Was Epicurus! I too am an Epicurean!
And when I spoke, how beautiful God's creation,
One could infer the creator, after all,
So she spoke with the cunning of mockery,
The beginning of the universe was a black hole,
There was a primordial clay, fullness of fireclay,
Nature created itself there,
I believe in nature, the Great Mother,
She gives coconut food to the little monkeys.
And when once I read from the Bible,
So she said, Don't exaggerate,
The Bible is outdated, it's an evil,
That first man was created, then woman,
Paradise forfeited for an onion,
No, from the apes we have the body
And therefore, like the mothers of monkeys
Feeding monkey cubs at monkey teats.
And when I spoke of prayer, of contemplation,
She said, You speak to your wall.
And spoke I of Mary's meditating,
She said, The rosary is but a trifle.
She wanted to regulate her breath,
Till she found the dragon and the phoenix
And until the chi in her womb was harmonious,
But of the Church she always spoke ironically.
Dame Folly was on Sylt, the North Sea waves
Rushed beautifully against the green-grown dike.
I saw: Folly has always lied,
A wild woman she is, rich in stupidity
And gossipy till the beams were bent,
She was like a lie and a mistake,
Poor was Dame Folly from the crown of her head
Down to her cold little feet.
Dame Folly dwells in the house in the country,
But who dwells with her in the same house?
A demon of satanic mind,
He loves not beauty, he loves only horror.
He lives with her in an irregular bond
And yet only wants out of the bond
And must despair of his mad delusion
And wishes himself into hell with the devils.
Dame Folly loves bedtime stories
Of the black magician and the vampire,
As told by such poor women of England,
Of antichrist, prophet and evil beast,
The poor children can't do without,
The wicked uncle drinks another ale,
Then from his mouth he wipes the white froth,
The children at night dream of bats.
The Satanic alphabet, Abraxas arts,
The school of Lucifer and his bride,
That's what they like to read, like sulphurous vapours
Rise from the grave at midnight,
How men love beasts with hot breasts
And how a frog confides in a rabbi
And how the magician with his lizard
Speaks at midnight, then the witch rides too.
O Lucifer and his bride! The witches
Now write a thick trashy novel.
One hears also of carnivorous plants
And how Satan drifts into mad frenzy.
The children flirt with the lizards,
A large iguana serves as a pet.
Black cats play with white mice.
The children dream at night of monster claws.
I wonder if the dead live in this house.
Is it haunted in the deep of midnight?
The nightmares are here, Satan's messengers,
The king of rats rules here.
The dead are drawn at night to mouldy bread
And Lilith at the children's bedside keeps watch.
O curse thee, Lilith, thee and thy Satan!
Sink, pack of Abiram and Dathan!
THE MOTHER OF GOD
I lay bleeding on the black earth
And over me the curtain went up green,
As if the Lord said once more, Let there be!
I saw the stars bloom white as flowers,
The clouds I saw, a flock of lambs,
And above those clouds, I say boldly,
I saw, clothed in the light of the sun,
The beautiful, slender, tender Madonna.
Madonna stood in a red dress
Before me, in a sea-blue skirt.
Her face was a feast for the eyes,
I looked at her in near death shock,
Her fine hair was brown and smooth as silk,
In her arms lay the scapegoat,
In her arms lay the naked boy Jesus,
Whom I looked deep into the eye.
Madonna stood with her bare feet
On white clouds as on sea foam,
Her eyes sparkled with the sweetness of honey,
World-soul she shone in the world-space.
I wanted to atone for my death instinct,
The New Eve under the tree of life,
Then I lay in the deadly ruin,
Her boy Jesus said, Thou shalt not die!
I saw the Father Sixtus kneel before her
And kneeling before her the Virgin Barbara.
As white coals glow beneath the incense,
The prayer rose to Saint Urania.
Madonna smiled like roses blooming
And looked full of grace on those who prayed,
In the sunlight from crown to feet,
She poured out rays of light-filled grace on me.
At her feet I saw little angels,
Loving as fiery as the seraphim,
Like naked cherubs, naked angels of the gods,
At the same time as wise as wise cherubim,
Such little Amoretti without blemish,
Who were intimate with Madonna,
Who from heaven blessed
The girlfriend of mine and her little boys.
O Notre Dame de Vie, protect the life
Of the unborn dear embryos!
God has given the mother her fruit,
But now the devil is loose at the same time!
The embryos are already striving for the light,
The little children grow up slowly,
They already hear welcome with their ears,
Then they are born from the womb.
But the poor mother plans to have an abortion
And murder her foetus,
Then she needs a cold letter from the state,
That she has sought counsel from the state,
Then she need no longer remain a mother,
The devil has already cursed the children,
They are already planning to murder the children,
Here comes the prayer of the Order of Mary.
O Notre Dame de Vie, the little children
In their mother's womb I consecrate to your bosom.
They are human beings, no less,
You bring the embryos into life.
Nothing sweeter than babies and nothing softer,
And oh, how hurriedly they grow up.
O hail, Queen of Victory!
I beseech thee by thy rosary!
Send the uncle to the little ones,
He lays his hand on the mother's belly.
The children unite with the uncle,
The mother again loves the children too.
Let the graces shine into the mother's womb
And the breath of your great mother's love
And let the sons be Mary's sons,
Mother of all men, O beautiful one!
Let the children be born healthy
And bless even the mother caesarean.
The flood of rain breaks from the gates of the clouds,
The stork comes with his lofty step.
The ducklings rustle in the pipes,
The eagle takes the eaglets with him.
The devil's contribution this time was in vain!
Triumph, triumph, O Queen of Life!
I saw Madonna lying in the bed
And milk her great breast by myself,
I saw the infant Jesus nestle tenderly
To his mother with the boy's delight,
As his lips yielded to the tips,
The tips of her breasts unconscious,
And under the light of the grace of her eyes
He could suck blissfully at the bosom.
I saw Madonna lying on the bed,
Milking the milk from her bosom.
I saw the young, the cute and the nice,
The ideal of all God's people,
I saw her resting on her couch
As the swan rested on the col
And I wished that she would save me
And bed me in the valley of her breasts!
I saw the beautiful little boy Jesus,
I saw the head's curls flowing gold,
I saw the queen bee of the honeycomb,
As she curled in the honeycomb,
The boy Jesus wanted honey,
The young maiden smiled most sweetly,
The boy lifted the mantle of the queen of the muses
And refreshed himself at her bosom!
Madonna wanted to nurse her boy
And gave the milk of the word to the child Jesus,
To tenderly satisfy his desire,
As tenderly as a soft spring wind,
She did her will for the boy Jesus,
Humble as the disciples are.
It was in Nazareth, the little green town,
There I saw the divinely beautiful girl.
Madonna, my most holy icon,
Thy bosom like foam, like butter white,
I saw you smiling at your son,
You supreme queen in paradise.
On thy bosom's gracious throne
I saw the Cupid of God, for I know,
Madonna, that thy bosom is white as marble,
And that the Child Jesus is God's Cupid.
I saw the little boys with the fever,
They lay on the sopha in the night.
The one boy, a particularly dear one,
Lying with the godfather who watched over him.
Dusk was already past
And Luna was already smiling in the sky,
Then in a majestic walk
Madonna approached with her mantle of stars.
Madonna was of brown face,
Of wrinkleless, spotless skin.
She smiled so gently in the moonlight,
The purest image, the bride of God.
The sick boy nestled close, close
To his godfather, whom he trusted deeply,
The godfather still teased the sweet darling,
Madonna covered him with her mantle.
The meadows were full of snow, in the shine
The white splendour was shimmering in the night.
Madonna came as if in a beautiful dance,
She herself as shimmering as the winter splendour.
In her black hair the shine of the starry wreath,
So she came, smiling sweetly, mild and gentle,
Wrapped the sick boy in her cloak
And nursed him at Our Lady's bosom.
Madonna blessed the pious godfather
And laid his head softly on the pillow.
The stars like a thousand flower seeds
Proclaimed the heavenly kingdom of spring.
Guardian angels also approached like white flakes
And stood over the clear frozen pond.
All my ducklings were sitting by the pond.
The godfather held the sick child's hand.
In the morning came to wake them up,
Our Lady came gently and quietly.
The two of them hid with the Mother,
By Our Lady's bosom butter-white.
The godfather and the sick child tease each other,
Madonna sings a song of paradise,
On big eyes long lashes fan,
Madonna gives her enchanting smile.
THE DIVINE CARITAS
I saw Caritas in her garden,
There was infinite green the meadow,
I saw her walking on the grass, the tender,
Free from all care, suffering, toil,
I saw the colourful flowers of all kinds,
All blooming in their own way.
The green strength of Caritas in every shoot
Was the fruitfulness of the Great Mother's love.
I saw the chestnuts blossom in spring,
The blossoms like eastern pagodas.
I saw on the border mountains to hot Spain
Thunder thistles in the kingdom of heights.
I also saw vineyards in the empire of Germany,
In France thyme blossomed so soft,
The green apples grew among the Teutons,
In the Canary Islands bananas grew.
I saw Caritas walking by the sea,
Beach oats grew there on the white beach.
I saw Caritas standing on peaks
And looking into the green meadowland,
I saw Caritas twirl in the belly dance,
The red woman's carnation in her hand.
I saw, wounded as by a boar,
The tulips fall in the dark graves.
I saw Caritas and her cherubs
In Friesia‘s Sylt rolling before the dyke,
I saw rose-hips of grapes too
And boys make laughing pranks,
I saw in Hamburg's gutters old whores,
The servants in the kingdom of Venus,
They were all faded roses
Who lasciviously caress with the lecherous drones.
I saw the wind blow in the leaves,
As if Caritas were reading a book.
The lime trees fell from the thunderstorms,
As if God's curse were on the wicked.
And with the nakedness of the heathen gods
Caritas lay in fragrance and perfume,
As naked and beautiful as never to wither,
I loved to give her red carnations.
I saw Caritas in the park of animals,
Close beside me stood the slender deer,
The little roebuck already wore the horns,
I almost thought I saw the little goat,
The little billy-goat, and still
I do not lose heart, though I stand trembling
And only pretend to be a hero,
I'd rather caress this doe with tenderness.
I looked at the herd of antelopes
Caritas, which was beautiful and splendid,
Yes, as the antelope on the ground
Thundered the approaching danger,
Whether death would be brought to her as a message
From this strong slender jaguar.
I praised in the Song of Songs pericopes
The beautiful women like antelopes.
But the girls were like gazelles,
Their long legs were white and slender.
But of my beloved's high bosom
I think with joy and thanksgiving,
Of the gazelle twin fawns, swelling
Her breasts are full, I am sick with love
And think of the bosom's sweet lace
Of leaping twin gazelle fawns.
I heard Caritas and her language,
I saw the writing and saw the flock of cranes,
In formations they hastened to revenge,
Whether sacrilegious men mock the German poet,
The sacrilege, the red dragon,
Touched the child of the goddess, that's true,
I am a singing swan, I am a mourning swan,
But Ibycus, my brother, is a crane.
But what has Caritas created
For monstrous ugliness?
Man is said to be descended from the insolent ape?
The ape became a man in time?
I'd rather stick with the priest,
Who spoke of divine reasonableness
And that man was created good and mild
In the image of the highest Caritas!
I saw Caritas with her son,
The boy Cupid, just twelve years old.
Caritas, the divine icon,
Embraced the son with tempestuous force.
She sat on her white throne of grace
And was primeval divinity, eternal and ancient,
And Cupid was the supreme gift of grace,
The word of fair love was the boy.
I saw the Cupid boy walking merrily
And cheerful on the long pilgrimage.
He seemed to act happily wise in all things
And did what his mother revealed.
Caritas with her eyed almonds
Looked tenderly on the golden Cupid boy.
The great mother's breasts were like bells,
In them the child hid his golden locks.
And when someone asked the Cupid boy,
Why he was in the house of Caritas,
Immediately the clever Cupid said,
Yes, do you fools not know the fact that
I must be in the house of the Mother?
There he met the dawn in bright clarity,
The pistils looked up to the sun,
The boy was in his mother's temple.
The Cupid child consulted with the wise men
And sounded out all the scribes.
The choir of old men seemed obdurate to him,
The old wicked in the house of love.
The boy rather went with a quiet
Prophet through the splendour of God's building,
The boy laughed, the prophet was silent,
An incense went through all the houses of God.
The boy Cupid returned home to his mother
And buried himself deep in her grape breast.
The angels' bread was the boy's food
And wine he drank with blissful drunkenness.
The mother's bosom was as white as milk
And honey-sweet the boy unconscious.
And happily lived the Cupid boy
In his mother's womb as in a honeycomb.
Caritas in God's marriage bed
Lying there with naked beautiful breasts,
She was so chaste and a little coquettish,
Conceived so completely God's highest pleasures,
She was so sweet and so politely kind,
Not even Christians are that loving,
As Caritas in the marriage bed of the Lord,
The queen of heaven from the morning star.
I saw her lying on the double bed
And waiting for the divine spouse,
That he from the abundance of pleasure might save her,
Her heart in her white bosom's valley
Was blissfully happy in God's beautiful place,
The double bed in God's golden hall
Was made for the mistress's lust,
Her heart's throbbing in her naked breast.
There were shimmers, no shadows,
There was sheer beauty revealed.
God and the consort mated,
God mated beautifully with Caritas.
The double bed's strong cedar slats
Gladly bore the mere presence
Of Caritas with her Lord of marriage,
God was intimate in close, close proximity.
Here love is not a torment,
Here love is nothing but pure delight!
Here love is not a pain and a cleansing,
Here shines the bright sun of beauty!
Here love is a uniting,
The bucket of God in love's bronze
Can bathe here in the lusts of love
And pour on the people pure graces!
Here love is divine ecstasy,
The communion of God-union!
Here is the lily in a crystal vase,
Here is the fieriest enthusiasm!
God snorts from his noble eagle nose
And Caritas makes Jehovah young again!
And like the foam of the sea around the rock
God and the beautiful Caritas merge!