It was the prime of spring, and through the sunny
meadows a flower girl was walking by,
the starlings sang, the bees all gathered honey,
and from afar she heard the heron's cry.
She rested at the bottom of a willow
and listened to the blackbird's lullabies;
she fell asleep upon her grassy pillow,
her flower-baskets heaving with her sighs.
She found the garden and she smelt its sweetness
and touched the tree and tasted fruits of life
and saw her nakedness, the world's completeness,
and watched goat-footed gods who played the fife.
The fountain swelled, the river's banks were flooded,
a gentle breeze across the forest blew,
the roses in her flower-baskets budded,
the orchid's petals gleamed with morning dew.
She oped her eyes and yearned and baulked and pondered -
as dreams turned into semi-certain things
of scary beauty to the heart, she wondered:
'How sweet, how bitter are awakenings!'
When the silence takes the meadows as the sparrows cease their twitter
while the sunset casts the shadows of our bodies in the sand,
when you walk amongst the shady birches where the crows still flitter,
you may see a naked lady who will take you by the hand.
Then your heart will play a forte with a beat that makes you fly:
every man must meet Amorte, and who meets her has to die.
Hades' task and Eros' unction made her what she is. On Venus
- Mars and Saturn in conjunction - she was born when Time began;
now the mistress of seduction roams the planet of our genus,
brings fulfilment and destruction to the soul of every man.
Where she walks the air grows colder, Life stands still where'er she rests
with the Raven on her shoulder and the Rose between her breasts.
She will find you in the badlands, she will find you in the mountains,
she will find you in the wetlands and wherever you may hide;
but, when bringing your oblation at the Phlegethontic fountains,
you'll forget your trepidation, and you'll never leave her side.
She will take you to the far land of whose shores you never knew
and adorn you with a garland wound of myrtle and of yew.
Hold your breath! Your Queen is coming, striding like the vain flamingo,
thirsty like the fickle hummingbird, and full of pride and grace;
she will touch you with the magic of her fingers and her jingo
tenderness. You're blessed and tragic: Love and Death have found your trace!
Paralysed you're staring at her form; whate'er you chanced to see,
think or feel before you met her will escape your memory.
Say adieu to prudent Pallas, say goodnight to shining Phoebus -
welcome two-faced Ate's malice, Cytherea's tyranny:
Gloominess will be your lover, Goat and Song will be your rebus,
and enraptured you'll discover Dionysian ecstasy.
Like the butterfly you'll cherish every moment of the game,
like the butterfly you'll perish once you touched the naked flame.
On the wall her shadow dances like a doomed celestial creature,
all of your admiring glances are returned with mutual lust.
Seize the night, then woe betide you; lewdness is her only feature
as she's lying down beside you with your arm around her bust.
No more sunbeams, no more skylight will you see, no morning dew:
you have met your swan of twilight, and you've met your swansong, too.
You're enthralled by the coherence of her actions, you're enchanted
by her aquiline appearance as she'll focus on her prey.
Nightly gore sustains her power; when your last request was granted,
you'll be fading like the flower that but once has hailed the day.
Look into her orbs, reflecting naught like the Arabian bird;
still you know what she's expecting, though she'll never say a word.
She will kiss you as she grapples you; so sweet's her kiss and bitter,
like an orchard full of apples, like a pomegranate tree -
petrified you'll watch her sable hair that makes her bosom glitter
and her sanguine face, unable from her mystic traits to flee.
She's the Queen of false pretences you refuse to fly or doubt,
she's the hourglass of your senses when your time is running out.
Captured by her solemn beauty, you will leave the world behind you,
poisoned by the rich and fruity draught you tasted when you kissed,
you will nevermore go back and gaze at her while she will blind you
with the rubies round her neck and with the diamonds round her wrist.
Softly she will come and see and win and make you pine a while
with her eyes of ebony and cherry lips that never smile.
She will be your heart's disaster, she will be your life's completion,
you will be her pet and master, meet her blessing and her curse:
her entrancing touch will thrill you, you'll caress her breast's accretion,
and her toxic look will kill you as your pupils melt in hers.
She is a malefic demon in angelic camouflage;
you're her unsuspicious leman, ever chasing the mirage.
You will render on your lyre merry airs, divine and fervent,
with the spout of your desire you will raise the Stygian flood;
in the shade of Darkness' pinion you will be her will-less servant,
for the night is her dominion, and her nourishment your blood.
She will be your last decision, and your destiny you'll find
in the beauty of the vision and the sadness of your mind.
With the tang of belladonna on your tongue, you'll moan and shiver,
lying at her feet, you'll honour her amazing pulchritude;
Acheron will soothe your troubled heart before you cross the river,
and your vigour will be doubled, and your strength will be renewed
for the final chord. Your flora will be covered by her locks,
and the presents of Pandora will escape the opened box.
No man lived unless he relished every drop from Passion's chalice;
while her breasts like two embellished Trojan bucklers stand erect,
their embossed vermilion centres will invite you to the palace
whence there's no return. Who enters has to treat her with respect -
then Life's stream becomes a wadi as she'll drain her victim's soul;
she'll consume your mind and body like the fire consumes the coal.
One fine day I know she'll call me when I least expect her coming;
glee and terror will befall me when at last I meet my date.
I can feel her coming nearer, hear the distant thunder drumming,
see her image getting clearer as the herald of my fate.
She's the first of Charon's daughters, she is Himeros' fair bride;
at the dark Cocytus' waters all her gallants loved and died.
O'er my head the pipistrelli and the robins sail the aether,
and I'll board her father's galley with my empress hand in hand.
I won't hurry, I won't tarry when my lifeblood I'll bequeath her,
for the swift nocturnal ferry brings me to my native land.
Pull the oars, you ancient bencher, let us leave this mundane shore:
I'll set out for the adventure that this life prepared me for!
And she'll mutely give her orders as I watch her flow'rs exposure,
and she'll take me past the borders of what's known to mortal eyes.
With her gracile hand she fettles my existence at its closure,
and I spread the damask petals at the gates of Paradise.
Dour and stern is her expression, Hell and Heaven are in reach:
I will taste the fruit of passion, I will split the firmest peach.
And I will not mind her bossy manner as I grasp with pleasure
six foot something of most glossy depilated hazel skin -
she will take me, she will love me with Philotes' fullest measure;
her retrorse physique above me, I will taste the wine of sin.
My destroyer and protector comes to show me Lust's abyss:
she will drink Elysian nectar, and I'll give her Lethe's kiss.
Loving me in every fashion, she'll discover and unfold me;
whisp'ring in the dead of passion, I will kiss her silky face
and her tresses and her glowing rosy cheeks. I'll let her hold me
tight and ever tighter, knowing she won't loosen her embrace.
Paramour of pains and gladness, Queen of sorrows and delight,
Goddess of all joy and sadness, take me in your arms tonight!
Meet me at the hidden quay, and there we'll hold our rendezvous:
you shall give your love to me, and I will give my life to you.
A lass is every temple's sootress
and feeds all masterpieces' roots,
like this flamingoesque sixfootress
in mini skirt and leather boots.
Her form is lithe just like a willow,
Her hair as silky as a fawn:
I want to see them on my pillow
at twilight and at break of dawn.
She makes Her subjects feel like midgets;
a beech amongst the rampant grass
She watches, and with gracile digits
She gingerly holds up Her glass.
As I look up, Her china shoulders
nobly surmount Her svelte physique;
this bracing nymph keeps Her beholders
enthralled by Cynthian mystique.
As She looks down on Her dominions,
She wafts Her scapulas with ease,
portentously like copper pinions
of loitering Stymphalides.
Her movements are of most exciting
slightness; an aspen to my taste,
She sways Her back and those inviting
firm nates beneath Her lofty waist.
Infinite legs that cause the leaven
of wits sealed many early fates:
white birches with their tops in heaven,
grand columns at the pearly gates.
To sing is my eternal duty,
to want Her is my arrogance -
I'm captured by Her vernal beauty
and Her mischievous innocence.
She is the oracle's connection,
for beauty, as we know, is truth;
over Her juvenile perfection
I quicken my azoic youth.
And as I stare at this beguiling
enchantress with the marble hips,
She looks at me, and She is smiling
with amber eyes and scarlet lips.
Her velvet voice is mere temptation,
She says Hello, She says Goodbye;
pray tell if this is admiration
or mockery that's in Her eye.
I quiver as Her pupil glisters;
in pining songs I still recall
I've praised so many of Her sisters,
but She's the Lady of Them All.
My lyre sounds as if strung by fairies,
and Pegasus on satin wings
takes me away from Her and carries
me to Her image at the springs.
Since satyrs on the fife are playing,
since Aphrodite's maiden splash,
Himeros' votary was praying
to see the Goddess in Her flesh.
And here She stands, Her arms akimbo,
in splendour too divine to tell -
to watch Her artless grace is Limbo,
not to make love to Her is Hell.
For countless aeons I awaited
the coming of a deity -
now this Olympian caryatid
descended to unsettle me.
If I could read your mind - or write it,
if I could make my feelings heard,
if I could calm my urge or fight it -
if you would only say the word!
I'd bring you where the night discloses
the starlit welkin for a few,
I'd lay you in a bed of roses
and lap the trembling petals' dew.
I should walk over and beseech you
to dance with me, but I'm too weak:
I wish I had a hand to reach you,
I wish I had a mouth to speak!
My brains stand still, my heart beats faster,
and something tells me that I must
explore your skin of alabaster
and fill you with bohemian lust.
You dance in front of me, pretending
you're unaware of what you do
to me, that you've no understanding:
my mind and soul devolve on you!
Don't heed the other dance floor creatures,
their skinny legs, their wobbly chests;
just turn around and press my features
with force against your planar breasts.
Then kiss me with the kiss of fashion
and let our lips and bodies burn,
and open your abyss of passion
to one who never will return.
I gawp at Her, a sensual gaby
who fears and seeks Her magic spell,
but She can't read my thoughts - or maybe
She can, and reads them far too well.
When you look at me,
like a crimson butterfly
flies your smile across.
Starlings cease their song,
for this perfect human shape
ought to be divine.
When the day is dim
and the city hangs her head,
you're the light of day.
When I glance at you,
you return my smile, and I'm
merely eyes and heart.
When, with swanlike grace,
you are dancing in the crowd,
everything stands still.
Ere you danced like this,
I had dreamt Perfection's looks,
but not its extent.
Slim gazelle who stands
right before me, you must know
what you do to me.
Hazel stars that shine
with the force of thousand suns
rule my planet soul.
When you walk the streets,
bronze colleen of Sligo town,
craving walks with you.
I have seen the rugged mountains,
fountains in the blooming meadows,
shadows of the nymphs and fairies,
berries of the quicken-tree.
I have seen the crystal ocean,
motionlessly watched his magic
tragic silence as he's bringing
swinging life and singing death.
I have seen the tiger lily,
stilly woods and lively alleys,
valleys where the poppy quivers,
rivers where the swans will die.
I have seen the crowded city,
witty priests and earnest peasants,
pheasants hiding in the flowers,
towers that no man will climb.
I have seen the heights and hollows,
swallows in their flight and egrets,
secrets that the sun uncovers,
lovers for a single day.
I have seen the Field of Mourning,
dawning spirits of the Highland,
island winters, hostile waters,
daughters of the King of Waves.
I have seen the Goddess' faces,
places that I wandered sadly,
gladly grazed the realms of Beauty,
fruity pastures of the past.
I have seen the gods in stitches,
witches hasten, angels tarry,
merry hells, deserted havens,
ravens croaking o'er their prey.
I have seen the heavens wasted,
tasted from the fruit of Hades,
laid as Food of Gods before me,
stormy darkness all around.
I have seen this world and many,
many more, but still I wander
yonder, wond'ring why I never
ever see you.
Somebody grabs you by the hand.
She's whirling around, and her sunset hair
looks like leaves of the rose when in autumn they fall,
providing your heart with fulfilling despair
and a conscious desire, and you think you recall:
you've seen her as a Celtic queen,
as a goddess with staff and tiara,
and hold on tight to what you've seen;
you're dancing with Tamara.
Her beauteous freckles on your mind,
her shapely body which denies
the imperfections of mankind,
the knowing smile in her vibrant blue eyes,
her vibrant blue eyes so intense and so bright,
underlined by her decent mascara,
you'll never take one step aright;
you're dancing with Tamara.
Her luring perfume in your nose,
her breast on your shoulder, your hand on her waist,
you step - and step right on her toes,
and feel as utterly misplaced
as a hippo in a filly pen,
still you feel like the High King of Tara
and never want to leave again;
you're dancing with Tamara.
She speaks. To watch her standing there
as temptingly her pint she sips
and looks at me, it drives me insane
to think of the things she could do with those lips.
She smokes. To watch the flame she holds
as she lights the cigarettes of her friends
and looks at me, it drives me insane
to think of the things she could do with those hands.
She walks. To watch those splendid legs
that from her well-shaped mounds arise -
she looks at me, it drives me insane
to think of the things she could do with those thighs.
She smiles. To watch her vibrant eyes,
her body, each and every part;
she talks to me, it drives me insane
to think of the things she could do to this heart.
Old Saying
The gods destroy the wicked world
in an eclipse, it's said,
and if they're clement, they'll create
a New World after that.
The sun may never hide the moon
and take its light away;
Love's triumph over Reason shows
in heavenly display.
We stand in darkness as the sun
is covered by the moon,
but as you touch my hand, I know
there'll be a New World soon.
She sits on top of me and sings
so softly that my soul grows wings,
a song that I have never heard,
and she translates it word for word.
She lies beside me in my bed
and lights another cigarette
and keeps on singing bout the lad
who was in love and poor and sad.
He killed the monarch's stately stags.
His girl goes to the King and begs
to spare his life; I think she failed
and nothing, nothing was availed.
A smile, a kiss - she holds me tight
and loves me in the candlelight,
and in my dreams I'll always see
the night she sang on top of me.
I saw a garden of roses
behind a withered wall
where Heaven's light discloses
the most beautiful of all.
So I bent down to kiss her,
I think I heard her sigh,
no god knows how I miss her
since we have said goodbye.
Her pinions wrapped around me
she rendered honeyed things,
and after she has found me
she spread her lily wings.
She only left the message
that she is southwards gone,
my gracile bird of passage,
my silver-breasted swan.
'tis true, the air is sweeter,
the spirit wanders free,
the summer is completer
in dreaming Italy.
So soon her mate will follow
to quench his lover's drouth,
and we'll, like swift and swallow,
be happy in the South.
These pleasing charms, this beauteous face,
these rose-red lips, their sensual smile,
these gentle hands, this warm embrace
are out of reach for quite a while.
This velvet hair, these mystic eyes,
this longing touch, this forceful kiss,
these snow-white breasts, these tender thighs
and hips are things I sadly miss.
And while these sources of delight
are many thousand miles away,
they're in my dreams throughout the night
and in my thoughts throughout the day.
If I can't hold you in my arm,
which often has occurred,
I'll let you have my lucky charm:
I'll send the ladybird.
He flies to you as I would do
if only I had wings;
if he could talk as I can do,
he'd say the sweetest things.
And he would hear the sweetest things
that I have ever heard;
alas! At least my soul has wings
and is the ladybird.
But maybe if you meet again
you shouldn't say a word:
kiss him as softly as you can,
cause I'm the ladybird.
In darkest midnight, singing
the songs of love, she flared,
the bells of Eros ringing
within my mind, I stared.
The Land of Heart's Disaster
I saw and sought to gain:
two knolls of alabaster
amidst a sun-tanned plain.
And now, wherever I go,
I hear the southern bells;
my body walks in Sligo,
my heart beats somewhere else.
Who tasted nectar shuns the wine;
I thought I was in love before,
but since I felt your lips on mine
I do not think so anymore.
There's one for each amongst mankind
whom only lucky ones can find.
What came before was not like this;
some warm and gentle summer rains,
some pools to bathe in shallow bliss,
some runnels in the nymphs' domains.
They have refreshed my vision's hue
but failed to move me as you do.
Yet since we met that fateful night,
Love's torrents have surrounded me;
without a boat or plank in sight
its currents pull me out to sea.
Not even in my wildest dreams
did I create such furious streams!
I lived amongst the hills and mountains,
I lived beside the two-faced sea,
I lived in villages and cities,
but never found my destiny.
Each of these places have been home
until I panted to depart,
but now I know the only place
I want to live in is your heart.
A rose stood in a garden who discreetly
kept votaries at bay, till suddenly
a butterfly passed by, and she said sweetly:
Come, come to me!
Attracted by her tender voice and features
the butterfly approached the rose,
but then she told him like all other creatures:
Don't come too close!
He sadly thought she might have had restored him
and turned around to join his friends at play,
but then, in gentle tones, the rose implored him:
Don't fly away!
He wished to spend his life with this fair flower,
but then he felt that it could never be
as she upheld her blossom's iv'ry tower:
Don't land on me!
He hung his head, and not a comfort reached him;
he deemed his heart would soon turn into stone,
when with a mournful sigh the rose beseeched him:
Don't leave me alone!
Soaring above the rose while the sun adorned him,
he hovered over her for quite a while,
slowly descending, but at last she warned him:
Don't touch my style!
True lovers won't give up, nor will they harden:
come rain or shine, all visitors behold
the butterfly suspended o'er the garden
as he grows old!
The rose knows well her mind will never settle,
but still she lets her suitor spin around
until the butterfly and her last petal
fall to the ground.
God took me to his bounteous pastures
last night at half past ten,
because he thought that after seeing
I might believe again.
There was a garden full of roses
that never lose their hue,
and on their petals, softly glistening,
eternal morning dew.
The whitest swans were gently gliding
upon the bluest lake,
there was a choir of gracile houris
to keep the mind awake.
There was a flower-covered fountain
that rendered sweetest wine;
the Lord and I, we had a glass,
'And now', he said, 'you're mine!'
But I refused to stay in Heaven,
not falling for his charms,
for all his wonders fade compared to
one moment in your arms.
The Lonely Rose of Spring declares
that she will not get hurt -
she sends the butterfly away,
the bee and ladybird.
The Lonely Rose of Summer then
pretends to be content,
and every creature can be proud
who once has breathed her scent.
The Lonely Rose of Autumn sees
her blossom lose its hue,
and still she keeps her friends at bay
like haughty herons do.
The Lonely Rose of Winter has
no soul to share her grief
as her last petal hits the ground
long after her last leaf.
Without a passion in her heart
her lonely year is done;
the Lonely Rose has not been hurt
nor loved by anyone.
My heart is a field, and the reaper has come!
The maidens spread flowers, the host plays the drum,
the children all sing as they're loading the carts:
Thanksgiving is nigh for the harvest of hearts.
The barrows are full, and the barns have no room!
The host tilled his lands without knowing for whom,
he sowed and he furrowed the ground in spring's chime:
he trusted the reaper would call in due time.
The harvest moon rises, the bonfire is high!
The young folk are dancing beneath the blue sky,
the reaper embraces the host by the firs:
the host and the field and the harvest are hers.
Whatever may happen, the harvest is done!
The host lifts his eyes to the moon and the sun,
the stars in the heaven and all things above:
his field has been blessed by the goddess of Love.
1.
Most beautiful of flowers, in your spell
you hold a hundred suitors, and a train
of votaries has prayed to you in vain
and brought oblations at the sacred well.
Those who came close enough to you to smell
your fruity fragrance always will remain
in a celestial trance, for they maintain
the haunting memory of how they fell
in love with Beauty, and how Beauty took
them by their hands and hearts and eyes to see
the magic of Life's garden and to look
upon the rosebush's crimson mystery:
I'm one of them, and, standing at the brook,
I'm captured since you first appeared to me.
2.
I'm captured since you first appeared to me
with silver swans beside the peaceful stream,
where, with a smile, you managed to redeem
my soul from wand'ring by your company.
Your tenderness restored my energy,
and now I know all things are what they seem,
I realised that Life is not a dream,
but that a dream is Life's reality.
I know that all things round me must exist
after you shut my eyes so I could see;
before I touched your leaves, before I kissed
the dewdrops from your petals which lay free,
before your warm embraces sealed our tryst,
I never thought that anything could be.
3.
I never thought that anything could be
so beautiful that it would lift my mind
to heights and peaks unknown to humankind
and let me reach the stars I didn't see.
And yet the flower that enchanted me
grows lovelier each day, so now I find
that all the flowers that I've left behind
are fading in your splendour's majesty.
The sight of you blurs everything around
and leaves me paralysed; since I could spell
I've tried transforming Beauty into sound,
I sang of Beauty and was doing well,
but you're the only thing I ever found
too splendid and too beautiful to tell.
4.
Too splendid and too colourful to tell
is what my eyes have seen when first we met,
a picture that won't ever leave my head,
a vivid image that will always dwell
within my heart, and at the sacred well
I will give thanks to all the gods who set
you on my track, and I will not forget
to sing their praise, submitting to their spell.
Without you, flow'r of flow'rs, my life would be
only a vibrant yet an empty shell,
but you were there to change my destiny.
You helped me on my feet after I fell
for you, you render a tranquillity
no Heaven could environ and no Hell.
5.
No Heaven could environ and no Hell
the tender feelings that I have for you,
Elysion couldn't make this dream come true
that is my life since you have cast your spell.
No Happy Hunting Grounds could e'er compel
the bliss of tasting of your morning dew,
and Tìr na nÒg can't be so bright and blue
that I would choose beneath its vault to dwell.
No Eden with its portals opened wide,
no Garden of Delights could render me
a sweeter fairer flower. By your side
I found the one place where I want to be;
no paradise, no god could e'er provide
the worldly pulchritude of what I see.
6.
The worldly pulchritude of what I see
is more than angels witness in the light
of Heaven's realms, and it's as twice as bright
as Heaven's sun with all her energy.
And yet your beauty is as soft to me
as pallid moonbeams in a summer night,
a gentle breeze in spring, or as a flight
of swans who like to keep my company.
The moment that I've seen you Fate gave birth
to what Olympus knew would have to be:
a flower of your elegance is worth
a poet's love, a lover's poetry;
you'd always be my sun, my moon, my earth,
if I could live through all eternity.
7.
If I could live through all eternity
and had the power of a god or king,
believe me that I wouldn't change a thing
apart from an abode for you and me.
If I would have a crystal ball to see
the future, I would take it and I'd bring
it back at once: I couldn't bear the sting
if you should leave me - ignorance makes free!
If I could travel back in time and space
to see the day Troy in its glory fell
and witness Helen's pulchritude and grace,
I'd stay beside you; since the sacred well
of Pegasus has mirrored Beauty's face,
there'd be no other place for me to dwell.
8.
There'd be no other place for me to dwell
without the blossom of the perfect flow'r:
if I could choose, I wouldn't spend an hour
away from you and from the sacred well.
I'll tune my lyre and raise my voice to tell
the world about my blessing, how I tow'r
above the skies and how your mystic pow'r
forever bound me in your magic spell.
The gardens of the world don't have the room
for all the happiness I feel; it seems
all troubles left my life, all grief and gloom.
And now I know your tender love redeems
my heart and soul as long as you will bloom
beside my placid spirit's peaceful streams.
9.
Beside my placid spirit's peaceful streams
there lies a pleasant meadow, green and rich,
and once you crossed the river on the bridge,
you'll find that nothing is the way it seems.
Conquered by rugged and romantic dreams
you will discover your most secret itch,
your thoughts at once will all come true in which
reality is forced into extremes.
The sparrow will escort you on your long
excursion, for the wanderer who goes
through No Man's Valley must be calm and strong.
And where the jewel of all flowers grows,
beyond the mountain of the happiest song,
there is a land no other poet knows.
10.
There is a land no other poet knows
with wild and craggy mountains in its core;
the restless ocean whips the stony shore
while over it the forceful west wind blows.
But in its very centre there arose
a peaceful hill where votaries adore
the gods of calm and silence, where no more
the storms can rage, and where my flower grows.
This is the pasture of my soul's desire,
here Life has synchronised with all my dreams,
and here I'll stay to sing and play the lyre.
Here we can listen to the tranquil streams,
here is it where we lit the paschal fire
and where the dawn of my salvation gleams.
11.
And where the dawn of my salvation gleams
the skies have brightened and unfold the light
in time to save me from the bleakest night
and from my pensive spirit's bitter screams.
The starlings sing, and now the welkin teems
with merry creatures in convivial flight,
and as they whirl about the clouds they might
invite me to the hillock of my dreams.
My wingèd horse will bring me there; I'll steal
a kiss from my beloved flow'r who knows
that all my tenderness for her I feel.
And when I kissed her leaves, she will disclose
her petals with a smile, and she'll reveal
a paradise within my heart that grows.
12.
A paradise within my heart that grows
around the centre of my world will be
my fate and everlasting destiny,
a paradise whose gates will never close.
And while the spark of Life within still glows,
I hear the tender love songs come to me
and sing about my love's eternity
in melodies no bird or poet knows.
The salmon jump, the water pipit flies
across the rivulet, the sunlight beams
intensely from the clear cerulean skies.
My flower waits beside the peaceful streams,
and with her help I'll build my paradise
round the creator of my gentlest dreams.
13.
Round the creator of my gentlest dreams
on golden pastures blooms the daffodil,
the buttercup and dandelion hold still
while from the heavens still the sunlight streams.
And when the full moon sends his tender beams,
the daisy reaches out to get her fill,
the lily opes beneath the water mill
while in the heavens still the moonlight gleams.
But in the centre of the peaceful mound
where Pegasus' enchanted water flows,
where you can hear the soothing ripples sound
as longingly the warming west wind blows,
you'll see the holy place where I have found
the Queen of Love and Poesy: the rose!
14.
The Queen of Love and Poesy, the rose
has been my destiny since time began:
I'm meant for her, and still I tremble when
I touch her beauty with a love that grows.
And when she opens to the light, she shows
her crimson petals every day again;
she made of me the world's most happy man
and renders me a love no lover knows.
So in your shadow I will sit and rhyme
beside the ripple of the poets' well
to praise the first of flowers in her prime.
At last I found my calling, and I shall
spend all my life until the end of time,
most beautiful of flowers, in your spell.
15.
Most beautiful of flowers, in your spell
I'm captured since you first appeared to me;
I never thought that anything could be
too splendid and too colourful to tell!
No Heaven could environ and no Hell
the worldly pulchritude of what I see:
if I could live through all eternity,
there'd be no other place for me to dwell.
Beside my placid spirit's peaceful streams
there is a land no other poet knows
and where the dawn of my salvation gleams,
a paradise within my heart that grows
round the creator of my gentlest dreams,
the Queen of Love and Poesy: the rose!
The only flow'r that lasts grows in my heart,
its damask petals mirroring the dawn,
sharp like a spear is every poisonous thorn:
it brings bad luck to linger or depart.
Most terrible of flowers, cast your dart,
most beautiful one, let me be reborn,
most dangerous one, don't leave me forlorn,
oh gentlest one, and let our journey start.
There's many a place where nothing else can grow
that isn't routed by a raging sky,
typhoons of Time that evermore will blow;
as cultures, nations, centuries pass by
like poppies in a storm, it's all we know
that those who lived for love will never die.
Through my attempts to make her love me
her heart's challenger fell from grace;
no world below, no sky above me,
I once again am dumped in space.
My songs and roses died beneath her
high heels as others' died before,
my tears and heartbeats sail the aether,
where they will matter nevermore.
Who has the freedom of a gannet
can't conquer an abiding place:
I've tried to settle on Love's planet,
and once again I'm dumped in space.
In sultry dreams I still can feel and see
your lissome body being one with mine,
I taste your kiss as sweet as Tuscan wine
and have to sing our passion's threnody.
I can remember all the times when we
walked hand in hand to see the sun decline
and celebrate, while still for you I pine,
a solitary anniversary.
Nobody wants to see, and no one sees
the red-hot flame of all my memories
which evermore my song of songs shall be;
the ardent songs Love ever did create
desert the poet who must celebrate
a solitary anniversary.
When everything seems gloomy, dim and grey,
you have to travel forth and look ahead:
the present may present you grave and sad,
but every road hosts roses at the way.
And when your heart's in turmoil and dismay,
and when you count the countless tears you shed
for this one flow'r you love and that has fled:
you'll find another rose beside the way.
Although it may be long before you'll see
another flow'r like her; eventually
you'll find one where you least expect a bloom:
so, with your melancholy and your gloom,
live for the blessings of the coming day
when you will find a rose beside the way.
She basked in every gentle touch,
each tender kiss on any limb,
there's nothing she enjoyed as much
as being the idol of my hymn.
I didn't see that golden sun
was setting fast until the day
she told me that she told someone
that we had parted on our way.
She wants us to stay friends of late
and has no heart to understand
that I could never separate
the sensual lover from the friend.
Leaving for those she claimed she shuns
she doesn't even watch my fall:
I wonder did she love me once,
and did she ever love at all.
How the rain, how the rain
dims my view from the train,
worlds seem sad through the pane
in the rain, in the rain.
How I live, how I live
on my isle, wond'ring if
all my gods will forgive
that I live, that I live.
How I die, how I die,
with that thorn in my eye,
she might see, passing by,
how I die, how I die.
Her pale breasts bring the fullness of Nature
while her wings overshadow the land,
as her lips go from blossom to blossom
and from evil to evil her hand.
And she stamps on the earth as it trembles,
and her spirit is whiter than snow,
and she flies when we try to persuade her,
and she follows wherever we go.
At her feet we find cherries and berries,
from her hands we take vermouth and bile,
and she talks when there's no one to talk to,
and she smiles when there's nothing worthwhile.
And the touch of her wing carries poison,
and the clasp of her hand squashes coals,
and her hands clasp this world ever tighter,
and her wings touch our bodies and souls.
The Witch of Clonakilty
approached my cradle when
I thought of Love and Beauty
and how it all began.
She stooped down o'er my pillow
to see me smile and wince;
her pale white breasts have nourished
my spirit ever since.
Her icy eyes of azure
have pierced my fearful mind,
her long wild shocks of ginger
and my blond curls entwined.
Her freckle-dappled cleavage
appears to me at night,
but when my eyes are open,
the witch is out of sight.
She haunts me, though she never
comes back, and with a pen,
my magic wand, I'm calling
her image once again.
Spirit of Beauty! tarry yet awhile,
they are not gone, thine ancient votaries.
-OSCAR WILDE
From the river's bank I see
fishing boats from days of yore
which in peace return ashore,
as I listen patiently
to the whisper of the Nile -
Sadness, linger yet awhile.
Now the day's as good as done:
Evening's calm enchants the land,
and you gently take my hand.
Roses face the setting sun
as it gilds our lonely isle -
Sadness, linger yet awhile.
Night is falling; we're a part
of the beauty of its stream.
Here I sit beside a dream,
with my spirit and my heart
buried in your tender smile -
Sadness, linger yet awhile.
You six foot something from the Hazel People,
you Queen of Amazons, I want no more
than to investigate and to explore
your temple from the altar to the steeple.
Bewitch me, serve me, honour and adore me,
for in the flicker of the candlelight
there's something that could save my life tonight:
two yards of female flesh spread out before me!
We know not where we go, we know not whether
we'll reach our destinies; I only know
that you won't stay with me, but let us go
these seven inches of the way together.
With many girls I've been,
and I have done my stuff,
but I have never seen
so wild a bit of fluff.
This is the love I seek,
this is the love I'll find:
your lipstick on my cheek,
your frontpiece on my mind.
Together we will join
the force of Eros' spells:
your frontpiece on my groin,
your lipstick somewhere else.
Her lips around the mouthpiece,
her fingers on the flute,
her salient breasts dilating,
she's lush beyond compute.
Her eyes of sapphire smiling
at me, her golden hair
framing her shapely shoulders,
she bathes in my stare.
The music briskly carries
her sensual attribute,
her lips around the mouthpiece,
her fingers on the flute.
This snowball flower grows for you,
my Butterfly of Night,
and all its nectar flows for you,
so warm, so pure, so white.
Now taste it with your lips of pink
to stay forever young,
then kiss my face and let me drink
my nectar from your tongue.
Your age shows in Beauty: your raven-hair,
your lissome body, your genuine smile,
your mature magnificence and grace,
your mystical eyes, your view of the world
have filled me with passion.
You don't look a day under forty, and still
the liveliness of your aquiline features,
your joy on the dance floor, your raunchy voice
and the way you whirl your husband around
spin all my heart to the very core.
To light a fire is productive,
the fire itself is destructive,
and if you shoot Love's fiery dart,
it will destroy your very heart.
Oh Goddess, nevermore
I'll kiss you like before -
my love still grows,
but Ares sent the boar,
and, lying in my gore,
I tinge the rose.
My eyes are closed, but when
I squint, I see again
your face above;
what more can any man
desire from kismet than
to die in love?
My messengers have done their duty,
yet of your grace I haven't heard;
there is a certain kind of beauty
where language lacks the certain word.
I'd give my life and thousand more
to love you on the Trojan shore.
Come with me to Lotus Valley,
where the colours cure the blind,
walk with me down Sunset Alley,
leave the Road of Cares behind.
Hold my hand at Birches' Bowers
where the tender lily grows,
crown my head with daisy flowers
and your body with a rose.
Lead me to the Pastel River
and the Lake of Swans between
sloping cliffs where violets quiver
and the firs are evergreen.
Over us, besmeared and ragged,
Peasants' Heaven hangs unfurled;
love me on the wild and cragged
mountain tops outside the world.
Let us shun their slave-rowed galley,
and their peasants' joys let's spurn:
come with me to Lotus Valley,
never to return!
My lover says her love is pure
and honest, but the cold allure
of distant passion makes me shiver,
and while my passion I deliver
to her, I wonder what to do;
I'll ask the mountain and the river,
I'll ask the sky if she is true.
Oh mountain, tell me honestly
if my true love is true to me!
If all the flowers of the spring
provide your vernal dress,
and all your birds rejoice and sing,
I'll take it as a yes.
But if destruction takes their place,
and raging storms that blow
remove you from this planet's face,
I'll take it as a no.
Oh river, tell me honestly
if my true love is true to me!
If moss grows on your bridge's planks,
and if your waters bless
the fragile daisies on your banks,
I'll take it as a yes.
But if your streams refuse to fill
the sea and cease to flow,
and if your current's standing still,
I'll take it as a no.
Oh sky, please tell me honestly
if my true love is true to me!
If Helos' horses gladly run,
and velvet clouds caress
the world beneath a smiling sun,
I'll take it as a yes.
But if you show my lover's worth
to me by falling low
and tumbling down upon the earth,
I'll take it as a no.
We fall in love, we suffer and regret:
this infinite disease of man
drains all our life and energy, and yet
the only cure is Love Again.
Afraid of my tears, she hides in hatred
since she dismissed her valued slave,
so I'll depart and take her with me:
she shared my bed, she'll share my grave.
God keeps his creatures in suspense,
lulled in a tantalusian sleep,
appealing to their common sense
with promises he'll never keep.
And when his subjects' spirits grow
too restless under woe unfurled,
he works a miracle to show
that soon he'll come to save the world.
Believing every word he says,
they once again obey his call;
it's clear, though wearing mannish dress,
that God's a woman after all.
Ten scars are on my back or more,
half of my tail is lost,
but still I roam the kitchen floor
to eat, whate'er the cost.
I should be warned, but I'm a male,
not learning from mistakes,
and so I follow every trail
of food till morning breaks.
There'll be a night of no release:
the metal bar will snap,
but as I need to get some cheese,
I have to find a trap.
Wooing with the voice of pigeons,
cooing like the turtledove,
we all desperately seek
new rhymes for love, new rhymes for love.
We can't count Arabia's flowers,
we can't count the stars above,
but we certainly can count
the rhymes for love, the rhymes for love.
We can colour clothes and body,
decorate a simple glove,
but not grace our poems with
new rhymes for love, new rhymes for love.
There are many words and phrases
we can trim and bend and shove,
but we never will create
new rhymes for love, new rhymes for love.
I told my love about the mountains
I saw as I walked by,
I talked about the restless ocean,
about the azure sky.
I mentioned all the long-stemmed roses
and daisies on my way,
the soothing ripple of the river,
the lark that sang all day.
And I described the blooming meadows
and Life's eternity;
my love just frowned and shrugged her shoulders:
What good is that to me?
'Cross my heart', you say and smile,
as you're walking out the door;
I'm an entry in your file,
nothing less and nothing more.
Girl, you better mean those things
that you say to me right now;
if you don't and spread your wings,
you'll be sorry for your vow.
Let me down, leave me forlorn -
you will be the one to cry,
wishing you were never born:
break my heart and hope to die!
I shall tie you to the mirror
that is standing at the wall,
and I'll place another mirror
in the middle of the hall.
There's a mirror near the window
that is facing towards the street,
there's a mirror on the ceiling,
and there's one beneath your feet.
Everywhere your body haunts me
on this last day of my life,
in the mirror of your iris
I will see my passion thrive.
If I straighten quilt and pillow,
if I clean the glass she drank from,
if I move the chair she sat on -
will her spirit still be there?
If I empty out the ashtray,
throw away the empty matchbox
and remove the empty bottles -
will her spirit still be there?
If I read a book or poem,
if I listen to the Beatles,
if I think of other women -
will her spirit still be there?
Before you leave, drink up your wine
and wash the dishes that you used,
and leave the roses you refused,
and don't confuse your things and mine.
Divide the stuff we bought these days
correctly and put on your coat,
and take the valentines you wrote,
and put my heart back in its place.
Just once again turn round and see
the man you have so much desired,
just once again bid me farewell
and tell me that your love expired.
Just once again impale me on
those steely eyes I perished for,
and press me to your chilly breast
and feel the heart that beats no more.
Oh wingèd rat of crowded market places,
nobody knows which viruses you spread,
and when you drop your droppings in our faces,
you coo at us, expecting to be fed.
You fattest fowl, you ugly turtledove,
whoever christened you the Bird of Love?
You look so crude and clumsy when you flutter
your wings and beg for bread in whinging tones,
and when you woo the noises that you utter
sound like a dying farmer's final groans.
Disgusting fowl, revolting turtledove,
whoever christened you the Bird of Love?
You take what you can get, then rise above us,
and in return you give your muck - unfit
to stop you, I remember all the lovers
I've had so far, and now I must admit
that after all, you greedy turtledove,
your name is fitting, you're the Bird of Love.
The fate of man in silence guiding, the evening sky embraced the briny,
and on the waters, softly gliding, there sailed the shadow of a wreck.
The sails hung loose, the mast was creaking, the rotting planks smelt foul and piney,
the seagulls cried, the rats were squeaking, but there was not a man on deck.
The empty crow's nest kept on whining, no pilot was on guard, no post;
the crew had gathered in the dining room: everybody was a ghost.
They raised their horns; the drink had mellowed the sailors as they sang their shanty,
but suddenly the captain bellowed: 'Another hundred years are o'er;
another hundred years of squand'ring our time which we have had in plenty.
I have to save our souls from wand'ring: I must ashore, I must ashore!
Set sail for Holland in the morning, make Odin's heavens blue and wide,
and when the afterday is dawning I'll find myself a faithful bride!'
The others laughed. 'You must be joking: you'd rather find a four-leaved clover!'
The captain sneered at their provoking comments and bawled: 'Set sail tonight!'-
'You browbeat us and asked to stop you if you should try your luck all over
again; girls cross their heart and drop you as soon as you are out of sight.
Their minds are fickle, and they nestle on every shoulder that is near:
they have a sailor on each vessel and pledge their love at every pier!'
'I know what I have told you'; laden with hope he said: 'I have been erring,
for somewhere there must be a maiden, a lassie of the faithful creed!
Have you observed the seagull sailing and darting down to catch the herring?
Ninety-nine times you see her failing, but finally she will succeed!
We've nothing left to lose; the morrow may see us languish like before,
and it might end our doom and sorrow: I must ashore, I must ashore!' –
'There may be faster ways to harden the metals in the smith's profession,
there may be new beliefs that pardon the evildoers who have sinned,
there may be vessels that are flying, there may be wealth or a recession,
new drugs preventing you from dying and ships that sail without the wind,
even a war that rearranges our native country and its name;
there may have been a lot of changes, but woman always stays the same.
'For every conman there's a lection to learn from any girl's performance:
she hovers round you with affection and makes you think you bought a gem,
she marries you, and she'll desert you and swap your passion for the doorman's,
for womankind has many a virtue; fidelity is none of them.' -
'That's what I've told you, full of rancour, but don't we all aspire to die?
There's nothing we could lose; weigh anchor! - I have to try, I have to try!'
So they sailed home. The captain faltered as he embarked; although still pretty,
the city's charm had sadly altered - it seemed the buildings grew and grew,
a new religion with new preachers attempted to convert the city,
but, being used to changing features, to Aubrey this was nothing new.
The captain passed the new-built churches and strolled across the rampant grass
to the cathedral at the birches where as a child he want to Mass.
'There is a man', the priest was chanting, 'whose soul was doomed for generations.
And there's a person', he kept ranting, 'whose love can save him from his doom!'
The sombre captain felt invited to look around for his salvation's
deliverer until he sighted a gracile nymph in fullest bloom.
She seemed naive and full of passion, her mien showed fervour and surprise -
his gaze was fixed on her expression; in vain she tried to cast her eyes.
He grabbed his hat when Mass was over and tried to talk to young Elvira.
Her parents said: 'Don't heed that rover, or he may give you some disease!'
They took their daughter by the shoulder and dragged her from her old admirer,
but as they passed, the captain told her: 'I'll wait for you between the trees.'
Amongst the birches he debated whether to trust one of her kind;
for three long days and nights he waited until the girl made up her mind.
But when he thought he'd been deserted, she met the captain in his bower:
'I've left my parents', she asserted and greeted Aubrey with a kiss.
'They locked me in, cause they disparage all sea dogs for their cryptic power
to raise a fate much worse than marriage, and I have wondered what that is!'
He gave the girl the breath that quenches the thirst for Himeros' fair land;
the birches rustled, and their branches touched them as with a long white hand.
Enraptured by the lambent stellar allure she answered his embraces;
under the moon's illustrious pallor he squeezed her rigid mammaettes,
thanks to her passion's manumission they journeyed through all times and spaces
and on Philotes' expedition discovered worlds of no regrets.
As they cooled down, she knew that never her feelings could be reconciled;
she pledged to love her man forever, and Captain Aubrey sadly smiled.
They married secretly and rented a little room. 'When you are near me,
I feel that Heaven has presented me with all blessings from its hands.
I haven't kept the ten commandments because my family won't hear me:
I listened to my heart's enchantments and left my parents and my friends.
But things are changing for the better, and have been since we said 'I do'",
for what do friends and parents matter as long as I can be with you?'
'I must away!' - Her man entreated his bride to cease her sobs and grouses.
'You're leaving me?', Elvira greeted as Aubrey gently dried her tears.
'But I suppose that a sojourning husband's the lot of sailors' spouses;
tell me, when will you be returning?' - 'I shall be back in hundred years.
Of all the women I have married you are the one I love the most;
this is the reason I have tarried - now I must go, cause I'm a ghost.
'Once we were sailing the Atlantic. A calm impeded us for ages;
the restless crew was taut and frantic, and I was getting to the brink
of death. There was no wind for seven long weeks: a proof too rough for sages,
the sun was burning down from heaven, no food was left and naught to drink.
I swore I'd eat the first thing failing to get away, and it occurred
that one just perched upon the railing: I killed the bird, I killed the bird!
'Hard is the punishment', he ranted, 'impossible my own salvation;
once in a hundred years I'm granted leave from the ship to join the mart,
and then again I steer the shoddy jackass bark of my soul's damnation
until the time I meet somebody who's loving me with all her heart.
Unless I find a faithful lover, there'll be no pardon nor release:
under the firmament's blue cover I have to sail the seven seas.'
'This sounds too strange to be a fable, my captain, and I do believe you,
and I assure you that I'm able to end your voyage; trust your wife!
I won't go near another suitor or gallant, for I won't deceive you;
to carnal love you've been my tutor - there'll be no other all my life!' -
'I do not doubt your good intentions, but woman changes every day,
and faith was none of her inventions; I must away, I must away!'
Aboard he roared: 'Did I not tell you to keep me from my foolish mission?
I wish that you could go to hell, you poltroons who disobeyed my calls!' -
'There's other orders that you gave us! As Odin knows of our petition,
there's still a chance that she might save us!' - 'Then you just wait till evening falls!'
The anchor from the ground was lifted, the mariners coiled up the rope,
and with a gentle breeze they drifted out of the harbour of their hope.
'I'll save your souls!' - The girl's unblotted clear voice addressed the pensive seamen,
and on the highest cliff they spotted her silhouette against the sky.
'There is a way', Elvira shouted, 'we can be faithful to a leman,
and I, the woman that you doubted, I shall be faithful till I die!'
And as her body touched the billow, the vessel sank with all her men;
they're resting on Poseidon's pillow, and neither ever rose again.
(based on Heinrich Heine's version of a Dutch legend)
Oh daughter, my dear daughter,
you look so sick and pale:
where have you spent the night, and
what happened to your veil?
Oh father, my dear father,
I walked the woods till dawn,
the night was wild and stormy -
that's how the veil was torn.
Oh daughter, my dear daughter,
it was a quiet night:
what happened in the forest,
and why are you so white?
Oh father, my dear father,
I didn't see the thorn
when I ran through the bushes -
that's how the veil was torn.
Oh daughter, my dear daughter,
you shouldn't tell a lie
to your beloved father
the moment that you die.
Oh father, my dear father,
to Helos in the morn
the rose must ope her petals -
that's how the veil was torn.
To stop the heart from beating,
to quench the heron's cry,
the chorus is repeating
that those who love must die.
The stream must meet the ocean,
the earth must face the sky,
the stars must stay in motion,
and those who love must die.
Who teaches must be learning,
who will succeed must try,
who kindles must be burning,
and I who love must die.
They stood together in the night
to watch the stars afar,
and as they held each other tight,
they saw a falling star.
The moon was hiding his disguise
and shared their mutual bliss:
they made their wish and closed their eyes
and kissed the longest kiss.
The morning came without a sound,
the woods and fields were still,
and as it dawned, her husband found
their bodies on the hill.
Now the winter, his power of healing
and the numbness of mind in his train
have retired from my soul, and I'm feeling
the old feelings that forward new pain.
There are rays of the sun, celebrating
the rebirth of a foolish belief,
there's the voice of the swallow, creating
a new love song, renewing old grief.
But I'll melt with the snow on the mountain
and I'll sing with the lark in the sky
and I'll flow with the stream from the fountain
and I'll challenge my heart till I die.
On Adonis' Day, on the tenth of July,
all passionate men and women comply
with the wishes they read in their lover's mind,
for this is how passionate love is designed.
On Valentine's Day their love they display,
but they show their desire on Adonis' Day,
when lovers, according to Eros' will,
the secret desires of their partners fulfil.
Through snow the crocus broke its way;
they heard the sparrow's song
and pledged their love until the day
a stranger came along.
And when the crocus gave its sign
where once their love they shared,
he sent a Reaper's valentine
to show that he still cared.
The pine tree was two lovers' tryst
where secretly they'd lie
among the grass until she kissed
him and his dreams goodbye.
And on a winter night his ghost
appeared behind the pine
and gave to her he loved the most
a Reaper's valentine.
My own true love will come tonight,
trapped in my daisy chain,
and in the dusky candlelight
I wait, and wait in vain.
'She lies', declare the stars above
as all my hopes decline;
I will arise and send my love
a Reaper's valentine.
Elena, as you ascended today,
comely princess, this is all I can say:
may I be with you, may we be apart:
you'll always live in my heart.
I'll meet the shoot that's too graceful to tell -
then let me see bud and blossom as well.
Know that the best thing in Life is its start:
Elena, stay in my heart!
May the sun god hide the moon,
may the summer fail,
may you leave, I know I'll soon
find the Holy Grail.
May you grin and may you smile,
may you weep and wail,
may you laugh: I know that I'll
find the Holy Grail.
May the winter be my guest,
may the wine grow stale,
may we do what you suggest:
I shall find the Grail.
May you hear the church bells chime
when I'm old and pale,
may I die before my time:
I will find the Grail.
Lazing under midday heavens
lay the lion, hardly breathing;
now and then his eyes would open,
and he'd yawn against the desert.
He'd watch flamingoes at the river,
and, dozing off again, awaken
to see red roses in their flower,
to hear the love song of the sparrows.
He'd watch a graceful antelope
that stops to drink, and, getting up,
he'd focus on her slender shape,
and he'd be ready for the race.
With powerful paces he'd follow her track,
and, knowing he'd get her, his victim would run,
would run for a while, but the lion would win
and finally sink his sharp teeth in her throat.