Daily the fair Sultan's daughter Wanders to and fro at twilight
By the margin of the fountain, Where the waters white are rippling.
Daily the young slave at twilight Stands beside the fountain's margin,
Where the waters white are rippling, Daily grows he pale and paler.
There one evening moved the princess Toward the slave with words swift-spoken:
"Tell me, tell me what thy name is, Where thy home is, what thy lineage?"
Spake the youthful slave: "My name is Mohamet, I come from Yemen;
and by birth I am an Asra, One who dieth when he loves."
"And by birth I am an Asra, One who dieth when he loves."
See the madwoman as she passes by dancing
and vaguely recalling something.
Children pursue her with stones as if she were a blackbird.
She brandishes a stick and makes as if to pursue them.
But then she continues her way.
She has lost a shoe on her way. But she does not notice it.
Long spider's legs crawl at the nape of her neck,
but these are nothing but her hair.
Her face no longer resembles any human countenance,
and she bursts into shrieks of laughter, like a hyena.
She lets fall rags of phrases of which, if they were knit together,
very few would would have any clear significance.
Her gown, torn in several places,
flutters about her bony and dung-sprinkled legs.
She wanders on like a poplar leaf borne upon a whirlwind.
She, her youth, her illusions and her former happiness
remembered now through the mists
of a ruined mind.
She has lost her former pristine grace and beauty;
Her bearing is mean, and her breath reeks of brandy.
If men were happy on this earth,
there would be cause for astonishment.
The madwoman makes no reproaches,
she is too proud to complain and will die
without having revealed her secret to those who interest themselves in her
but whom she has forbidden to ever address a word to her.
Children pursue her with stones as if she were a blackbird.
She has dropped a roll of paper from her bosom.
Someone picks it up,
locks himself in his room all night, and reads the manuscript
that contains the following:
But when you say: "I love you",
I have to cry bitterly.
Let me enter,
before it is too late!
Your desire means nothing to me.
The appearance will vanish.
I'm looking for the laws.
When you embrace me, I feel a sensation of humility
and can bear without sorrow that you cherish me.
She is dead, Maria!
I beg you, God of Love,
take her to you.
A sailor, dressed in white, walked down the street,
confident and with the swaying walk of the seamen.
I looked at him, without really knowing it.
He was much younger than I had ever been
and much more beautiful and blond.
And his masculinity was so self-evident
that for a moment I felt a sting, as if of envy.
Our paths crossed, and as if he had seen in my eyes
a treacherous glint, he gave me an inviting regard.
Such a regard he might just have
given to one of the beings, dressed up with desperate accuracy,
in the cafés on the street.
Had this regard lasted only a second longer,
then surely words would have been spoken, something like the usual
"Hey Baby, shouldn't we know each other?".
My face was burning and my heart was pounding in my chest
as I hurried on and tried to look stiffly ahead.
He had caught me in an unguarded moment,
as I hadn't really thought of him,
but of the letter in my pocket
and of Helmut.
When I changed the street
I asked myself what he might have seen in me.
I wasn't so young any more to believe, that the way I walked
or held my hands had caught his attention.
No, It must have been something different, something that I didn't dare look in the eye.
For that would be like looking into the flaring sun.
It was half past nine
and he hoped to be at home by ten.
It had been very presumptuous of him
to act as if he was sure of knowing the future.
It had been very presumptuous of him
to act as if he was sure of knowing the future.
Could not some unforeseen obstacle thwart him,
and would such a circumstance be so unusual,
as to lead him to regard it as an exception.
Why didn't he regard it rather as an anormal fact
that it had been possible for him to feel free of unrest
and, so to speak, happy?
Indeed.
With what right could he assert
to reach his home without damage,
and someone luring and following him
as if he was his future bait.
I so long for you.
That is death for me.
Death.
The judgements over men
are more precious than men themselves.
If I grant men
to despise me,
they shouldn't forget to say
that this is everything
I can do for them.
What am I supposed to do now?
I shouldn't have given him my love.
He is dead!
Let's put it off until tomorrow.
Federico Garcia, the father of Maria Malibran
God be with you, friend!
God be with you, too! Where are you headed?
To Eisenstadt!
Then we can go the way together.
I think the best possibility for a young man
to earn his living is to take up drugs.
To secure the grip of a tight footgear
is the most prestigious task of a southerner.
I believe, though, that the refinement of the object I occupy myself with
corresponds to the character of a beautiful warm clothing.
To dress the nude is futile,
for I know that the grip of him, who wears my footwear, is so tight,
that he has no use for warmth.
I strongly suggest you supply yourself with sufficient supplies.
I, for one, are going to buy me an ample amount of bread.
The way is short, so we are going to be at our destination before dawn.
I am not afraid, Hugo!
You are going to regret it!
If you give me one of your shining blue eyes,
then I will give you something to eat.
You shall eat your fill, but I will cut out one of your eyes for that.
Where are we?
At a place where you can finally rest.
At the neighboring pond grows an alder, between whose roots there blooms a blue plant.
If one brew a tea of it and gave it to a sick person, would have cured him soon.
You know something good, but my science is even higher,
it would do a lot of people good, they are dying of thirst anyway in the capital, the fools!
When they could have water!
- And how? - In front of the gate after dawn, grows a beech,
From the steed, there mold away leaves, on that horse one has to jump
and chase three times around the town square, but so that sparks are thrown out!
- Well, and you? - All the blind on earth could see again.
The blind would have to wash his eyes with the dew that drips from the leaves this morning!
I can see again!
If you give me one of your eyes...
I don't know you.
And I have never been here.
I'm a singer.
You too?
I, too, am a singer.
I, too, am... a singer.
Maybe... we shall meet again some time.
In the year 1814
When your foot slips on a frog
you have a feeling of disgust;
But when you lightly stroke the human body,
the skin of your fingers scales off like the laminations of a block of mica
as one fractures it with a hammer.
and even as the heart of a shark still palpitates with tenacious vitality
after it has been dead for an hour,
so our entrails are still moved
long after the contact.
To such an extent does man inspire his fellow man with horror!
TO SUCH AN EXTENT DOES MAN
INSPIRE HIS FELLOW MAN WITH HORROR!
The antique temple of Mendera is situated one and a half hour
from the left bank of the Nile!
Today tremendous droves of wasps took possession of the rives and quays.
They buzz around the pillars like the dense waves of a black head of hair.
As sole inhabitant of the cold pillar hall
they guard the entrance to the forecourts
as if that was their ancestral right.
I compare the buzzing of their metallic wings
with the never ending blows of the ice floes
which collide during the icefall of the polar seas.
But when I think of the conduct of him,
whom prevision gave the throne of this earth,
then the three pinions of my pain
let hear a stronger buzz!
But he is dead,
Maria, he is dead, dead, dead!
Even his grave is kept secret from me.
10 years later
Can you imagine that?
I am not aware of any guilt.
I say it for the last time, I will not work with him again.
But I'm begging you, I just want your best, just your best!
I cannot work with Federico again.
I don't want to and I can't!
- I'm begging you, Signora Malibran, you have to sing! - It is impossible!
- You promised! - It's madness!
It's madness to force me!
Signora Malibran, your daughter just committed suicide.
Nobody can force her now!
But I'm telling you, it's best for you!
You have to do it, and if it's only for me!
Soon you will be an angel in heaven
I'm going to die, but at least mother is going to avenge me!
I'm not going to die alone and somebody is going to follow me!
Poem "THE ASRA" by Hermann Hesse translated by Emma Lazarus
CHANTS OF MALDOROR by Comte de Lautréamont parts "See the madwoman...", "When your foot slips..." translated by Guy Wernham
Subtitle Timing and Translation by Kane32 for karagarga.net