- nice obelisk idiot
- May 18, 2023
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funerary linens looking like dishrags
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Cyprian Norwid in translation
quote:
The Small Circle
How few people there are and even fewer
Longing to reveal themselves!… They pass, they pass
They push each other away while dancing,
Intimate at play, smoothly they cheat, heartily deceive;
Not contemporaries, not close, not even friends,
Grasping hands, slobbering in tight embrace.
The depth between them boils, grows oceanic
And on its foam - they, close now - nominally!
While the world says: "They are intimates - a family circle,
Our very own!" the blue heaven binds more truly
A thousand tribes in centuries of common slaughter,
Where at least one in each honestly believes in
A common Heaven. Meanwhile they dance : bosom against bosom,
Polar-like unconscious of each other and distinct;
It's enough one lamp shines over them all
And one fashion makes them all alike.
"Our very own!" - what if someone were tracing
From on high a life-map like a map of the globe ?
Mountains and deserts would become a twinkling of an eye,
And the ocean disappear where a tiny tear-drop flows !
quote:
The Source
When I wandered in Hell of which I do not sing
Because curses have first glued my lips
Like ugly flies mad from the heat
And also because each time I try - I yawn;
When wandering I passed a colonnade of boredom
Long and straight - also hallways of whims
And a sandy cemetery of glimmering giants
Moving drowsily beneath cobbled stones;
When my footsteps measured ante-chambers
Of silly-nerves which constantly try on clothes
And at wedding-time are never ready ! . . .
When I crossed thresholds of misery and portals of deceit
And was now passing insolent labyrinths of crime
Plastered everywhere with sentences of the Court,
I found myself on a spot where beneath my foot the lava
Cooled - so now I walked in air
And season and light that were truly Godless ! ...
- Like wheatfields charred by volcanoes
Or seas arrested and stinking,
Sea waves standing, gazing at each other, Sphinx-like,
Amazed at the strange habit of the deep,
- While above, penguins
With open throats, parching of thirst,
And a couple of red stars which waning
Rush into the void...
...there I went (unbelievably - without rest!...,
I went there - where ?... doubting... when a tiny plant
Pale and like one clumsily embroidered
Whispered to me: "...There is a spring..." - and further in a ravine
I felt something like dampness.
From that side too
A bitter laugh and a stifled rustle reached me
And I perceived a Man with hands on his head
As when one shifts all strength
Into one's feet - he was stamping on the spring's blue vein,
As though a ribbon which had entwined his sandal
Lay soiled in the dust where his foot had pressed it.
The man's laugh was wild - his accent strange :
Resembling the drum-beat following a coffin,
Echoing with sarcasm, hoarse with hate :
"See how the Creation-Spirit cleans my shoes!..."
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Nov 25, 2023 18:07
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