BY TORSTEN SCHWANKE
1
In all the ills that love's fierce storm hath wrought,
A rain upon my head, I seek for light anew;
Brighten my brow, let sorrow's weight be naught,
Let joy within my soul reflect my view.
The Daughter of God in beauty young and fair,
She feeds with sweetness, silent waits her fate,
No bitter visage, nor a sullen air,
In grace she stands, her spirit never late.
She stretches forth her neck, her tresses twine,
When soft she feels her breast with tender touch,
Then games she plays, and I am drawn to crime.
All gestures rhyme, the loins shall soon engage,
Not rude am I, I kiss her hands with care;
Such kisses bring me peace, I find my stage.
2
The lance of death brings forth this heated plight,
Close now the openings, my sweet springtime's breath,
I shall adorn the strands with beauty bright,
The fair, with golden grace, defying death.
And though the winds do stir with restless force,
Bound to their might, the olden powers reign,
Beneath the vault of night, my child, of course,
The honor guard stands firm against the bane.
Await the blow, the thrust, yet be thou blessed,
For senses whirl, indeed, they are undone,
I fill with coral and with ivory pressed.
O this small hole, this rose-red gap divine,
To thee I yield my toil, my dear old crone,
Then under monarch's rule, thou shalt entwine.
3
O shameless is the harlot, this fair angel,
I long to catch her gaze of love's sweet woe.
One bronzed thigh, I seek to engage her tangle,
That she may give to me a morsel's show.
The hunger of the young, not yet grown old,
For nature’s act is writ in every land,
The pulse of life doth tremble, ever bold,
And joy she brings with artful, cunning hand.
Though glory wanes, and honor doth elude,
Yet she is hot, lascivious, and crude,
The harlot in the brothel beckons all!
Thus nature is, she offers without shame
Her rear to young Sodomites, but I proclaim,
The act itself is not a thing so small.
4
Fresh is the lancet, in vermilion hue,
It works with swiftness, shimmering with might,
Whoever grasps the blaze of love's sweet due,
For life is truly narcotic, endless night.
Who loves the play with thy warm slit so fine,
In liquor's depth, the pulses race and thrum,
Refreshing is this burning heat, divine,
The sultry warmth doth bring the blood to come.
Thou ticklest my form, I lie in half-sweet sleep,
Then thou withdrawest, leaving me to reap
The bombshell in the bed, explosion, bliss!
I grant thee equal joy through my tongue's kiss.
Who longs for yet more daring excess,
The quiet hours, till he stumbles to war's hiss?
5
O ladies, I lament, I do you honor,
I find the narrow way, 'tis yours by right,
And know you should, where I would fain be yonder,
Yet loyal still, a servant in your sight.
Great love is at its peak, in perfect bloom!
It grows not more from new pains of the heart.
The mother birthed it, the daughter's soul in loom,
Desire I bear as ink within my art.
Lust hath begot the wish, O mistress fair,
She hath surrendered, seized my very soul,
Beauty appeared to me, as wife with care!
Without a thought, she entered my heart's fold,
Through eye to heart, she came with speed untold,
And henceforth I shall pray to Beauty's goal!
6
O ladies, you deserve to hear this tone,
To you I dedicate my soul and lyre,
To whom do I belong? To love's sweet throne,
Which inspires me, and many a heart's desire!
She read but one man's name, my heart ignites,
How her loving gaze did set my breast aflame.
Behold, dear women, another's name ignites,
And her beauty's jewels, her sweet charms proclaim.
What if my lust still paints you with delight,
When beauty you behold, when my art takes flight?
For love is never hard when passion's rife!
Turn to me, dear heart, so worthy of my song,
For, O beloved, full of love is your throng,
Of beauty sings alone, and sweet love's life!
7
On this day, the woods and meadows green and free,
The green youth's wish, a sign of his desire,
I bore the heated wish, thy lover was the May,
Thus blooms the ecology of love's fierce fire.
The heavens sent me not thy heart so young,
But all the marketplace of flowers fair.
No root to hold, too long the wait was strung,
Yet joy and lust, a sweet result laid bare.
In love's embrace, not cold, frigid dames
Did winter's wares inflate in value's claim,
The nonchalant goods flee upon the wheels of fate.
The rose and heart, they ripen well in time,
And when thy heart sinks low, devoid of prime,
Through hope and love, it shall grow ever great.
8
Three types of love there be. The first is light,
Where instinct reigns, and Eros doth take flight,
To boy from man, and honor, fame, and duty
Are valued more than life’s own sacred beauty.
The second type is frail, yet strong its grace,
The man’s desire, he seeks the woman’s face.
The third love is of vast, tremendous power:
Religion’s heart, the highest woman’s tower!
Two souls entwined, and bonds are thus defined,
Though we may yield, our lights are still enshrined,
For Eros is the lord, the genius bright!
Altar of death, thou bearest witness true,
That goddess Venus is my friend, my due,
And my beloved is, my love, sweet Venus!
9
The Grecian Sappho sang for Phaon fair,
The muse did sing his light, his name shall not fade.
Corinna chose the Roman, famed with flair,
Ovid praised her beauty, her portrait made.
Petrarch in Florence, like Apollo's grace,
The laurel was his fame, for Laura's love.
Yet Frenchmen sing as Ronsard did embrace,
While Kassandra's heart was not in love.
If thou, my love, dost hold me with desire,
Then sing my love’s sweet song, and learn from me,
I’ll sing thy praise in highest love's own fire.
I was Ovid, Petrarch, and Ronsard too,
Corinna, Laura, Kassandra was my muse,
The essence of my lust, my art, my view.
10
God Eros casts his wrath and wild disdain,
On a day I break from his binding chain.
He saw I would not yield without my might,
That I had not yet bowed beneath his sight.
He lifted me upon the love of mine,
Held fast my hands and feet, in sweet embrace.
The black of my beloved's hair entwined,
Did serve as Eros’ snare, a binding grace.
Connection was her hair, a link to all
The charms of loving women, heed my call!
If you would not that I should die today—Hail!
Here’s an armlet, dear, to bind you near,
All in the land of thorns and nettles dear:
My life forever is my beloved’s thrall!
11
On which hot night did my spear of ivory
Cause coral's rosy foam to blush and glow?
I pine for her, I long for her solely,
Now is the time for her, in beauty's show.
As I lay poured out, in soft defeat from strife,
In blossom's heart of crystal light so bright,
It colored my pale cheeks, once void of life,
With pleasure's joy, oh yes, a memory's light.
Perhaps it came to me too soon, I find,
Etch happiness in me, a memory's kind,
Delays of ordinary sort abound.
She wishes for the shadow, a faithful hound,
By sweet night's grace, I do it in the day,
And in her presence, at night, I find my way.
12
If I would praise thee, O goddess of France,
A Frenchwoman of renown, I can portray,
In thy beauty come, yet love’s fierce glance
Is not like Venus' glow, nor her array.
Minerva graces thee, thy voice proclaims
The goddess' glory, armoured in fine bronze,
Thy blue-eyed beam is pure, igniting flames
In my bewildered mind, descending strong.
Thou art Diana, paradise of peace,
Thus do I call to thee, thy charm bittersweet.
In Hymen's yoke, I have served thee long, dear Diana.
The goddess Venus is my love eternal,
Minerva is my love, forever loyal,
And Diana, too, is my heart's sweet maternal.
13
I knew thou wert a rear of noble grace!
O harlot, yes, I saw, my staff would not fear
To break apart within thy sacred place!
In thy vulva, still the binding glue is near,
That thou dost use to glide with playful ease,
With just a nod and sigh of pleasure's woe.
All this I saw, O beloved, my heart sees,
I live upon the canal, like a boat aglow.
This is the stall, the straw that pricks the skin.
I saw the guests arrive, a grand array,
And he who bears no baggage shall not win.
Who speaks the true renown of goddess Vulva's name?
Alas, no one lives with me in my domain!
Thou blind one dost seduce; who stayed not by thy flame?
14
If one should ask, what binds me in these chains?
The goddess Freedom is my mother’s kin,
Yet I am slave! It is beauty that reigns,
By day and night, I seek my rightful win.
In chains, my soul cries out in deep despair,
How prickly is my heart, I am a hedge,
Upon her farm, yet loyal I remain,
The poet loves her, and another, I allege.
The fire’s glow of bonds that pierce within,
That is what forces me to love's sweet sin,
To her, I swore my friendship, loyalty too.
No time nor death can break our close embrace,
Firm are the sacred unions we do trace,
The joy of communion in our love so true!
15
Rise now, dear one! Thou art so very slow!
The lark sings cheerfully to morning's star,
The nightingale sings sweetly, a wedding vow,
And sitting on thy rear, I sing this car.
So let it be, I wish to see, thy pearls and herbs,
The lovely rose so red, the buds so pure and chaste,
The red carnation and the cow's full curbs,
The water from last night, thy gentle hand, embraced.
You went to bed, you made a promise clear:
In morn, I wake, to break my body near!
Yet sleep doth bind thee, turning thee about.
I shall chastise the sloth of my dear maid,
I kiss a thousand times the peaks displayed,
For I would teach thee, to love and not to doubt!
16
Yes, I remembered my sweet friend so fine:
Today we drink! Ha, a mountain of wine!
So buy me bottles of that bitter Franken,
And let it suffice for this great task of mine.
If thou dost not, I love thee, dear Maria,
Nay, I drink deep, I drink without a care!
And if thou art young and fair, my Magdalena,
Thou lovest pleasure, let not that be rare!
Let me be ivy's god, the drunken wine god,
Then I shall break thy maiden's hymen fine,
I scatter roses and lilies in the morn.
I shame not milk, nor strawberries, my love.
Is it not good? Then, sweetest lady, prove,
Then from us shall depart all sorrow's thorn!
17
O little love, think that my navel saw
And not mine eye, think that my navel gazes,
We stand both bare, together in one law,
And in the city of Paris, still it raises.
To love, I belong, to love's own fame and honor,
The androgynous is what we both do crave,
How much I honor thee, my precious donor,
And thy bare legs, twin pillars that I crave.
The mastery of legs is not thine eyes,
Nor laughter's sound, nor hands that do not rise,
But the fountain of my heart, tears from my chest.
For well I weep, to cool my longing's fire.
And without hope, I sometimes feel desire
Of paradise, when I think of thy zest.
18
Upon my return—oh, that I must despair!—
I gave thee a kiss, yet thou wert icy cold,
Thou kissed me frostily with lips laid bare,
As Diana once kissed Apollo, pure and bold.
Grandmother's cheek, thus the young maid doth press, So kisses the bride before the vows are sworn,
Not sweet nor tasty is the kiss, no less,
What bitterness in lips, how sore and worn!
Do imitate the pair of turtle doves,
In the fir tree's crown, stealing kisses with love,
They spread their wings and peck with eager beak!
Beloved, all we must do from now on,
Is kiss each other hotly, like the dawn!
We shall in mouth engage in love's sweet peak!
19
Madonna, my desire, thy cheeks blush red,
The rose of May is in thy flowing hair,
Styled by the master, who with all skill led,
It gently frames thine ear, a shell so rare.
When thou wert small, a bee did come to glean
With sweet mouth, the nectar's dew so fine.
God Eros came to witness thy joys keen,
Thy voice is sweet as none other's sign.
Two mountains of white milk are thy full breasts,
Thy slender form is lust's most purest quest,
A young maiden in July's naked charm.
Juno's arm of lilies, the grace of all breasts,
The morning's scarlet mouth, thy lips, redressed,
And a lion's heart, so proud and so warm!
20
The white lance stands in golden morning's light,
The lance is anointed, stiff with standard’s pride,
In the army's camp, in war's dire plight,
I need it in battle, with hero's stride.
The lance was ready for the last great thrust,
Thy first assault it was, I must now speak,
The end of attack lingered, as is just,
The lance was poised, to pierce and to break.
Ah, without thee, the world would be a waste,
Divine nature would vanish into empty space,
If thou dost not fight, obedient to the cause.
Thou hast the instrument of fortune's sweet delight,
With which we live, and must also honor right.
How oft we sacrifice upon the altar's laws!
21
I would lament if thou hadst given me cause
For jealousy, shouldst thou take a lover's hand!
My blood boils hot, whenever thou dost pause,
I yield to thee alone, in passion's stand.
Now my hair turns grey, as age doth rob my strength,
I think not on how time slips from my grasp,
In life, I was strong, allowed to rest at length,
To lie upon my right side in my past.
An old, foul carcass, I use it with charm,
A dry skeleton, its skull no longer bright,
I relish the sick in my mental disarm!
The law of Venus bids us praise the maid,
In wedding's bed, the maiden's hymen fades.
And thus, I long in fervor, so dismayed!
22
Hail to thee, O empty furrow wide,
Strong and fertile, now receptive, I see!
Hail to thee, O opening, blessed with pride,
Thou makest life so fair, thou dost please me!
Thou art the one who torments, yet not as much
As the boy with arrows, who brings me strife.
My strength is dwindling at thy swan-like touch,
Four nights, thou comest not; but one, my life.
O little hole, O tight, delicate space,
On soft skin, the hair curls, ever so sweet,
Who reigns like thee, O hole, with a proud grace?
The cavaliers all bow down to thee!
Before the vulva, they bend the knee!
The men approach, with candles in their hands!
23
Out from the mouth, the rear, and away with thy hand! Give me sweet pleasure, the delights of Venus!
O Lady Freedom, grant thy bread in this land!
Such is the law in matters of the state.
A fridge without blood, so is thy cold life.
The lust desires to pasture roses in thee.
Thou wear'st the crown upon thy head, and strife
Will give what long tradition holds in glee.
Thou mayest say that in the heavens high,
Zeus does no good deed without some trickery,
I know that only the crown is not marred by him!
He is stronger there than thou art here below!
Also, he has a son! So, dearest, grant me peace!
Lest my seed, alas, falls upon the earth.
24
O luscious vulva, O coral dimple sweet,
O goddess of nature, of all worlds made,
O cave beneath the hair, O paradise neat,
O source of nectar, O vulva, all displayed!
Now between thy two bones rests all my hope,
The flesh so white, the hair so dark, I long to dance,
The vulva stands now more open than the slope,
The court's minions raise their lances at a glance.
The chancellor loves me not, for I wear a beard,
He loves the meadow, neatly trimmed and cleared,
Upon the back he rides like a tomcat wild.
When once the shell's distress is eased, then see,
The chancellor comes to Venus of Medici,
Then at the front, he mimics his father’s style.
25
That many wicks are new, I must lament,
Extinguish the torch, alas, of love's true nature!
It makes me sad, what the court seems to lament,
O boredom, my face grows sick with such a feature!
The king, it is said, desires kiss and communion,
His girl, plump and sweet, by day and night,
Whose rear she lends for silver’s compensation,
Endures the breach and the lance's might.
The rear devours the wealth of ancient kin,
Lady Scylla, she doth fiercely hate the old men,
It would be better for France's honored name,
Which was given to me, Saint Louis' other name,
For it pleased the Lord, my lady's name the same,
Than that name from the ancient Nero's claim.
26
And recently, I stood on high peaks above,
I turned from thee and averted my gaze,
Thy eye was blinded, my soul in dislove,
And I began again, returning through haze.
Thy glance shot to my heart, dearer than my blood,
Lightning cleaved the sky, as it roared with might,
And I sweat hot, with cold fever I stood,
From thine eye’s grip, I was nearly in fright!
If thy fair hand gave no sign, no grand illusion,
That snowy white hand, daughter of the swan,
I would have died, dear lady, from thy bright gaze!
Thy shield nearly caught my soul in blissful flight,
Thy eye was satisfied, victorious in light,
Thy hand was pleased to draw my heart away!
27
Like a flower, she sat amongst flowers fair,
She grazed in the grass, plucking blossoms bright,
She sent me the bouquet, I placed it with care,
I learned the names, the class, and the type right.
Should I not delight in the pain of love's wane?
The love I sang, with ink spilling in haste!
Thou mayest have seen a charm in my pain,
Enchanting me with lust, in longing embraced!
I think not further, the grass is no master
Of sweet love's play, my spirits once did gather,
From youth we live and naked evidence!
In my hobby, should I collect the butterflies?
We follow step by step, bold age that defies!
And love, like flowers, blooms from the past tense!
28
I often complain to Eros of my dear’s disdain,
How her cruelty robs me of all peace,
And how she leaves me to languish in pain,
I tell it to his hand, and to his fleece.
An instrument remains until the end,
His head has darkened the night for the sad.
Yet his head teaches to love with finesse,
And to deceive the many whom I’ve had.
If thou dost smell the rotten breath of home,
The lung is sticky from the thickened slime,
The gaze is starved, the lip laughs cynically,
So dost thou show Eros’ power on life’s stage.
Ah, better to love Thais or Phryne’s page,
Than this harlot with her overwhelming crime!
29
For thy beauty, O beloved, I would die,
For thine eyes so fair, my soul’s companion,
And for thy smile and kiss, my heart's sweet sigh,
For thy musk-kiss and amber kiss, O goddess!
I long to die for thy long, flowing hair,
For this woman’s form, which I love to see,
And for the strictness of those hands so fair,
That oft have healed me, yet have wounded me.
I long to die for thy beautiful face,
And for the voice that speaks like flutes in grace,
For that red mouth, O giver of delights.
I fight and die for my king Eros’ reign,
I spill my blood in battle for his gain!
O sweet heavenly night in the bed of thy sights!
30
There is the rubber band in thy hair, O goddess,
How I am surprised by my freedom, dear wife,
The flame I love, O my heart’s true solace,
And how my heart is enthralled by thine eyes so bright.
O fierce, alive, sharp are the flames of love,
The brush I paint with, flawless in its art,
I love, I love so much, above and below,
It grips me, I burn, and it breaks my heart!
I am shattered, and in nothingness lost,
O firm bond of love, O lust that doth exhaust,
Now only alcohol and medicine can save.
O joy and bliss, that I may die once more!
So works the hand; I seek for what I adore,
The deadly sharp sword, still cold, still soft!
31
Already in the dark grove appears the great herd
Of wandering stars, shining high in the sky,
Into deep caves flees the black mother Earth’s word,
The day, and on the path, the black horses cry.
Already in the sky, red is Mother India,
The dawn’s breeze carries the waves of her hair,
The hail covers the wide miles of this area,
And gods pray aloud, their blessing laid bare.
The west sinks like a star with its crown,
I see the Ardeche, the Rhône's side stream down,
I see the nymph laugh, the dawn’s fire burns bright,
Thus do I see the new dawn aglow,
Thus do I see it glow in white shame’s light,
And my beloved points towards the Orient’s sight.
32
O beautiful black hair in a high knot bound!
O joyful silk! O face of golden hue!
O eyes of crystal! O great red mouth renowned!
O tear-drop dew! O soul so pure and true!
O ivory teeth! O treasure, never old!
O sweet smile that makes me fall for the fair maid!
O silk that falls in hundred folds, behold!
O breasts so lovely and grand! O body swayed!
O silver nails! O snowy hand! O herb!
O tender thighs! O skin of long legs’ curve!
Who could ever describe the glory of a woman?
O transparent body! O limbs as pure as ice!
O heavenly beauty! O forgive me, for I know,
It would bring me death, should I love thee, my vice.
33
O Jesus! Sometimes when I see young girls near,
The devil claims them in their youthful days.
How beautifully they move their heads, my dear,
And do the same as the Sibyls say in praise.
When I see this, alas, the strongest is torn!
I wished I had them, already in my grasp!
And they lose all their innocence, forlorn.
Who matches my skill? Who is like me, so fast?
I weep terribly in yearning sympathy,
They turn their heads, and I see them, oh me!
My hair stands on end, tell me, what should I do?
Yet when a priest with the Bible, in black,
Invites them to his house, touching their breasts with tact,
My fear is gone, and I must laugh in view!
34
She danced in the shoes of goddess Venus' praise,
Brunette, who entrapped me with her lovely legs,
The amber bracelet on her wrist was a gaze,
And pearls on a string, like snakes, the beauty begs.
Her hair shone around her soft, gentle face,
Her skirt was quite short, a hint of sensual grace,
Thanks to goddess Venus for this lovely light,
O youthful time! It was once long ago, in flight.
Princess, she was of the fairest sort!
And her godmother was none other than Death’s court!
With memory, she shook her locks of gold,
Then my heart blazed with joyful lust! I am
Ready to kiss the beauty’s queen, my jam!
Yet she mocked my pink socks, a jest so bold.
35
Love makes us tender as spring’s young shoot,
Yet still, we fear upon life’s journey wide.
Beloved woman, thou sayest: “My friend, I love!”
O close thine eyes, dear, and speak not a word, abide!
I sense the fire near, it shines in thy face,
My fever longs to flow in thy heart’s embrace.
I feel thy neck in my arm, a shiver near,
And oh, thy naked neck, fresh as ocean’s cheer!
In the wisteria, hear the breezes sigh,
Beloved, it is night, sweet to be alone nigh,
Courage and desire, thou dost fan my soul’s flame.
With a gentle kiss, open my eyelid wide,
I see thee, and I’m confused, sighing inside,
I see thy smiling face, the mystery’s claim.
36
O twenty years young, love is new to thee,
Thy belly moves so fair, thou art fit for love.
Thou seemest a child in the hay’s cradled glee,
What sweet melting lies in thy Persian eyes, my dove!
The apples on the tree, the branches bend not low,
Thou art not spoiled, my girl, and I do sense,
That in no breastcloth do thy firm breasts stow.
Thou art my geisha, my little courtesan intense!
The girls’ jump rope play is not yet out of style?
How beautifully and fully thy breasts do beguile!
Yet thou dost keep thy secret with modesty true.
I often think of thy mother as a pious thinker.
With thy cheek’s warmth, thou dost call me as the slayer,
Thou givest me the feeling, I am a wild bull!
37
O sickness of the flesh, where men drink so fast,
A crackling of porphyry, a frieze like brown grass,
The sleeping bag is ready, a fleece of warm cast,
Drunken from the bath of cattle scent, what a blast!
And when a man is dipped in thy baptismal bath,
Satisfy his wish, that exceeds all reason,
He took thirst for poison, from thy kiss he hath,
The sparkling wine of thy skin, drank with heated season.
O youth, fountain of fun and of lust,
Where the herd wishes to drink from thy breast,
To tank love and perfumes and ecstasy!
From all sides flows the nectar of magic’s reign,
The elixir of life and cream like never seen,
And kisses gather in chalices, and I rage!
38
O gummy tears, flow and shine, cherry, red!
The day is tropical, O my love, so pure.
Go to the garden where cicadas sleep dead,
So I called to the heart of the old, fat rose, sure.
In the room we spoke, where we met yesterday,
Bengal’s rose, oh how we must love each other!
Now tenderly in the grove, in the garden lay,
In thy light dress, sleep beneath my kisses’ cover.
It is so hot, one believes to hear the bees’ flight,
Go to sleep, heart, and float to spheres of light,
By weeping willows, the brook flows with foam crowns.
Kingfishers resting by the hazel bushes wave,
So go to sleep now, I know not if it’s your smile?
Is it water in the brook that makes the stones shine?
39
Kiss politely, for thus the code makes good paths,
Yet he who has left the cloister follows his drive,
The flesh needs the master’s great grace, it hath,
Else is the marital love but a farce alive.
The first is appointed, the elder in the world,
Who lies on the pillow and on the sofa’s throne,
His horse holds steady in every storm hurled,
So check his pipe, his crown, before it’s blown.
We will copulate blind, and none will disturb,
And sometimes we may hear the loud rattle’s curbs,
The master exposed, teaches us diverse ways.
Yet this is awkward. The perversion will grow.
Then creak the vehicle’s axles, so slow.
Prejudice is foolish, the lie is old in days.
40
Ah, a thousand lovely women, to praise their great number,
The lovely longing and pride they all display,
And every night is not postponed at the door’s lumber, And farewell or greeting rises from the bay.
The young girl, brown, with her eyes that do glimmer, The widow, who vibrates in her veil so tight,
The naked courtesan with long lashes that shimmer,
The virgin like a dream, like the moon’s soft light.
That is the flight of the lord of sweet flesh’s delight.
The fevered drew the sack from his breast’s height,
Now Don Juan offers vows yet unfulfilled.
They come and they go, drunken, pale, the same,
He calls the devil himself in sacred domain
And ignores the women and Donna Anna’s frame.
41
How beautiful and cruel is the Sultan each day,
Drunk on blood, roses, and fragrant cinnamon,
He draws on his pipe with lips that decay,
Dream flowers in hand, he takes love and murder on.
He thinks of a body, of curves and contour,
Desire ignites for women, lovely and fair,
In the harem he enters, where his wives endure
With sighs of longing, sweet love fills the air.
He passes the hideous eunuch with dread,
A chill runs through him, and onward he seeks
The favorite for night, to heal his heart's thread.
He who brought the handkerchief, so he knows her well,
She flies full of hope, and dizziness does swell,
Yet not in love, out of pure boredom, it speaks.
42
The earth is burning, the harvest everywhere,
The farmer holds the scythe, his toil in hand,
The maid softly laments, and the pumpkin is fair,
The sun at its zenith, the birds’ songs are banned.
Desire for flames and games for the young,
The barn is good, the mill and the glade,
Nature in freedom! She is filled with love’s song!
She sheds her shudder and gazes his way.
In the biting scent, the belly fat, firm breasts,
O virgin or wife, O harlot of hot lust,
More brutal than the bull upon the farmer’s land.
The man gives himself to her, and in pleasure sinks,
She turns and swiftly yields to her instincts,
And oh delirium, where seed springs abound!
43
The sewing, the meal, the washing, the dishes,
The sweating by the hearth, the housewife’s endless toil,
To the citizen, she is too poor for his wishes,
Daily tired flesh, in armpits, sweat and soil.
She can do no more, her body exhausts the poor wife, A sacrificial beast, with hair like animals brown,
Who opens her shoe, needing distraction in life?
Where is the love’s warmth in the home of these women?
Yet there is free labor, which one loves to do,
The work does not last until deep in the night.
And in the worst case, she must return to the cell.
A step in the stairwell, oh, gruesome sight,
Her employer has such a coarse son in his flight,
He still bears the scent of wool and fleece’s might.
44
Create feverish warmth with nothing but fourteen lines,
O tender, shy, and blissfully sweet emergence,
Gift a bouquet, give red roses from the heart,
Rhetoric wise, ancient, and the young meadows’ dance.
Behold the secret of the heart and the aura,
The words sweetly lovely, love shall be celebrated,
Say, is she Helena? Say, is she Donna Laura?
Speak of love beautifully, mysteriously shaded.
She would not read like one who knows all things,
Nay, lovingly for thee, intimate, quiet, and bright,
Then would thy sonnet be a brotherly kiss.
Then she would press the sheet to her red mouth tight, She would softly ask, thou wouldst give answer right, And silently enjoy the triumph and delight.
45
If I have taken the wrong way, then say,
Do you remember, O beloved, the small town?
It was afternoon, a hot summer day,
For five hours I walked with the fairest girl around.
It cannot be so, yet it must be this way,
The soul lives, we see bliss in this togetherness.
And de la Rochefoucauld, and de la Rochefoucauld?
There was an ocean of white love flames!
The green park was like a closed scissor's embrace,
And mighty was the charm of cheerful birds’ grace,
And in thy friend's arm, you enjoyed so bright.
Now let us wait for the rainbow to start.
Essentially it was pleasure in love’s garden,
Essentially pleasure and oh, fellatio!
46
The travels had made his hair thin and sparse,
His limbs were pale, the burden of age had its sway,
He wished to fulfill his desire in the dark,
Every Sunday he was timid, he was afraid.
In his nightgown, once he lay in the bed,
With heated longing fighting in his mind,
And the matron was already fat yet kind,
A lazy servant offered him his young daughter instead.
The offering was ready, the girl’s hand to take,
The offering became a splendid prelude,
The swing was not missing, nor the butter, oh no,
Yet the little fruit mocked the ripe man’s plea,
As he sought to win her, she laughed with glee,
Ironically she said: “You shall be my brother.”
47
His mouth was like a spring, dried and burning,
The foam before his lips was natural and dim.
He moistened his mouth, his blooming lips yearning,
To quench his thirst, yet his soul was not full.
On a pole steep, he gently sucked the coral fair,
Absorbing the thrill, the beauty’s shy care.
He dedicates himself to desire, his mind unhinged,
A rush of the moment, the soul loses its way.
Pressured silence laments minutes in the bright,
And our bodies often poured waterfalls in sight,
Into this abyss, where innocence was lost.
The shadow banishes the light that has blinded,
In the same spirit blooms the flower’s ending,
The spring poured the dew, the source flowed brave.
48
In this empty room, the fire’s blaze is quenched,
The air is still, leaving me unprotected,
Thoughts I read from trance in distant lands drenched, I am carried by the beautiful letter, the morning reflected.
The boundary is of the land, far in space and time,
What do time, space, and distance give to me?
The paper speaks, it laughs, sighs, and cries,
A ghost in the mirror speaks; I think of her dance.
Miracle! It is embers rekindled from ash,
I am reborn, and the flame is awash,
I see you again and hear your word, your kindness.
My heart is filled with a great wonder’s light,
And your letter reminds me of the oracle’s insight,
Of your voice’s brilliance, the echo of your image.
49
Take this dialogue, soft, gentle, and smooth,
Paper of the finest kind, the sheets white as snow,
The first page is the lovely title’s groove,
Dolphins playing around the anchor in the flow.
You write your letter on ancient parchment’s grace,
And wrap it in velvet, beauty so bold,
And its lines in black, a black fire does trace,
The edges of the sheets adorned with pure gold.
In its sober and dark clothing, beautiful too,
I long for Venice’s gondola, filled with a groan,
So golden and so black, elegant and fine.
It is Venice’s lord in gracious bestowal,
I am bound to him, yet not by cash and toll,
This book delighted only with love’s heart and bone.
50
Upon fresh pillow lies the marble, carved so fair,
Corals fade away, as learning blushes deep,
Suitors are scourged by friends with fierce despair,
Yet cursed words condemned by courts bring death to reap.
The old men's greed, you almost envy so,
Ecstasies slip quietly through heaven's dome,
All fleeting moments from the lands do flow,
Thus princely is the world, as fate does roam.
By night, unloved, he lies within the bloom,
A thumb immense, in gentle, mighty grace,
His rolling eyes unlock the dreaming gloom,
And open wide the chest’s mysterious place.
So far blessed in the land, sweet cry,
Of violins in far Mongolia,
Tenderness reigns, old god of peace is nigh.
51
I, Sappho, gaze into the mirror’s face,
At evening slim and naked, there behold,
Flexible curves and hips that softly grace,
With lustful hands my own sweet self I hold.
Psyche pale, blond, fearless and consecrate,
A goddess standing in Aphrodite’s shrine,
Eros androgynous crowns love’s state,
I take her solitude, her love, as mine.
Dead flowers in the vase, their scent morbid,
Despair and rapture rise in mingled flame,
My senses blaze, burning with lusts frigid.
Twice I see, and love mine own bright eyes,
With mouth I suck myself, release the stream,
And fourfold sight reveals white breasts’ bright skies.
52
With thy hand lead forth the fairest staff,
Into that sacred brothel twixt thy thighs,
I say with pope’s grace, thy love is chaste,
Gives me delights as angels in the skies.
Like squirrel’s mouth my lips do suck thy breast,
No bitter venom here but mother’s milk,
The sheath and shaft with passion blessed,
The gates unlock, and golden seed does spill.
O tender harlot, I strike thy rounded cheek,
O honeyed fruit, gate of secret bliss,
Mother Earth full, humble sex doth speak.
Each month the moon reveals thy shape anew,
Thy eye o’erflows, thou soar’st with joy on high,
From starlit heaven falls the shining dew.
53
Summer now fades, the earth grows bare and cold,
The light gilds still the horizon’s glowing flame,
The plain extends in silence, heaven’s fold,
A view like painting, harmonious frame.
The day sinks solemn, filled with wonder’s fire,
The peasants hear the evening bells’ sweet chime,
I’m held, defeated, love’s sweet mastery dire,
Abstaining wine, struck deeply by time.
O human nature, gentle martyr’s cause,
If work be not yet weak and hopes still speak,
Fate wills it so, accept thy soul’s laws!
The wicked cursed, Satan’s kiss denied!
Each night we pray and sing an Angelus,
Holy water flows, bittersweet and wide.
54
Within her boudoir floats a red-winged moth,
In laundry basket lies red silk aglow,
Harmonium hums, the psaltery’s soft cloth,
A monk turns pages slow to feed his soul.
All furniture of bare, rose-colored wood,
Before dim glass the robin hops in cheer,
A shirt in faded red, no harm it could,
From laced panties blushing, she slips clear.
The monk is almost fair, no priest to guide,
He turns the page distracted, lost in thought,
Love’s dawn begins when daily prosaic hides.
Woman and monk, a thousand things ignite,
Rose on the bed, paintings of red lights,
And Eros’ roses in pink heavens alight.
55
A pagan temple once in Attica’s land,
Formed thee, faithful soul’s consort divine,
As dream beheld thee, as genius planned,
Thy body bears the ancient goddess’ sign.
Hard marble stands, yet soft humility,
That burns me silent with its quiet glow,
Leaves me longing, yearning painfully,
I fondle tenderly thy bare flesh’s flow.
O Primavera, with thee I would lie,
Virgin, marble form, courtesan of port,
Belly adorned with tender hairs, bride nigh!
Beautiful temples stand for thy sweet kiss,
Ripened wheat, straw, wild nuts of madness,
And birds have built their nests within thy bliss.
56
Morning sun’s light draws gold in rounded gleam,
Silken folds, daffodils from dark arise,
It glows within the tired maiden’s dream,
Emphasizing diamonds in her eyes.
She opens eyes, to chaos couch she clings,
Overturned in bed, embraced by night’s long reach,
Glad to be alone, on back she sings,
Speaking her dream, bed’s splendor she does teach.
Her breasts sway tenderly, hands softly roam,
Fingers caress their peaks with gentle art,
Sees peaceful pleasures, leisure’s sweet home.
Enjoys the bliss with angel’s grace so bright,
Stretches arms, spreads thighs firm with delight,
Falls without a client, bored in lonely night.
57
Beneath brown fleece, so gently drawn and kind,
At belly’s base a low obscene delight,
There Venus’ hill and front a child enshrined,
French wife shining bright in peaceful light.
I hardly dare to touch with reverent hand,
Soft flesh, eyes lowered in chaste, modest grace,
My thoughts so holy stretch to wisdom’s land,
My heart made sacred, flesh in blissful place.
Be not surprised, my modesty restrains,
The fishers’ catch is dim, in sadness still,
I fear the wild love’s extravagant gains!
When thighs you spread, my spirit understands,
This is Venus’ mount, marriage’s rite,
Tannhäuser grasped such juicy, lustful bands.
58
Bedded in fire, nymphs’ bright playful jest,
The stamp of flesh, pain-giving lilies’ bloom,
Woman’s coral shame, heart of love’s unrest,
Burning from memories in past night’s gloom.
Feminine moans and focused vibrating,
Furrow spring from fingers bearing birth,
The center ever longing, wishing, craving,
Paradise in anguish, consuming earth.
She whispers soft, I listen to her hush,
Breasts heavy, bowed by shivering embrace,
A rhythm sets aflame the body’s crush.
Like gods’ images adorned with gems,
O black blood rise before red lips’ soul,
Hail to thee, O goddess Clitoris!