Questions
By the sea, the desolate night-time sea
Stands someone, nearing manhood;
His mind is full of doubts, his heart of melancholy;
His lips ask the waves, in the sadest mood:
'' Oh, solve me the mystery of life, its riddle,
This eternal and agonising puzzle,
Over which so many heads have brooded,
Heads with caps, heads that were hooded,
Heads in turbans, in black birettas, periwigged
And many a thousand, sweating human head.
Tell me, what is the meaning of humanity?
Where did man come from? Was is his destiny?
And who lives in the golden stars in the sky?"
The waves murmur with an eternal sigh,
The wind blows, the clouds continue to flee,
The stars twinkle, cold, indifferently,
And a fool waits for an answer….
Translated by Joseph Massaad
I Love this white
and slender body
I LOVE this white and slender body,
These limbs that answer Love's caresses,
Passionate eyes, and forehead covered
With heavy waves of thick, black tresses.
You are the very one I've searched for
In many lands, in every weather.
You are my sort; you understand me;
As equals we can talk together.
In me you've found the man you care for.
And, for a while, you'll richly pay me
With kindness, kisses and endearments--
And then, as usual, you'll betray me.
Translated by Louis Untermeyer
Ich Glaub Nicht An Den
I don’t believe in Heaven,
Whose peace the preacher cites:
I only trust your eyes now,
They’re my heavenly lights.
I don’t believe in God above,
Who gets the preacher’s nod:
I only trust your heart now,
And have no other god.
I don’t believe in Devils,
In hell or hell’s black art:
I only trust your eyes now,
And your devil’s heart.
Morphine
There’s a mirror likeness between the two
Bright, youthfully-shaped figures, though
One’s paler than the other and more austere,
I might even say more perfect, more distinguished,
Than the one who’d take me confidingly in his arms –
How soft then, loving, his smile, how blessed his glance!
Then it might well have been, that his wreath
Of white poppies touched my forehead, at times,
Drove the pain from my mind with its strange scent.
But all that’s transient. I can only, now, be well,
When the other one, so serious and pale,
The older brother, lowers his dark torch. –
Sleep is good: and Death is better, yet
Surely never to have been born is best.
No comments:
Post a Comment