START
WRITING
I
About life,
about the living.
About
death, about the dead.
About
loving and hating.
About east
and west,
the two
that will never meet
and never separate,
only suspect
each other’s presence,
sense and
follow each other’s movements,
as a person
must
in hatred
and love.
I sing of
the only thing that reconciles,
the only
practical thing, the same for all:
How seldom
a person possesses the power
to relinquish
power!
To
relinquish I and speech, relinquish –
the only
thing that gives power.
II
I rise up
out of my ashes –
a thinking emotional
life
on my way
to being swallowed by the formlessly billowing
I float once
more.
A person only
exists as a witness:
Start
writing!
There is no
other strength than inner strength
and it
comes from without,
from the mysterious
something that moves up there,
is glimpsed
among dimly luminous clouds,
pours
galvanically over you
so you feel
yourself wrestling!
Then it is the
force wrestling, not you!
With what
is the force wrestling?
There is no
weakness except inner weakness
and it
comes from without,
from the
mysterious something that moves down there,
shifting
form, darkly billowing,
menacing,
magnetic.
You feel
how strong arms are wrestling!
Then it is
the force wrestling, not you!
With what
is the force wrestling?
Indeed, you
are nothing more than a battlefield!
A wanderer whose
cloak the sun and the storm simultaneously take,
simultaneously!
Not in turns.
Ice-cold in
the shade, white-hot in the sun:
The soul’s
April.
To see the original, and hear the poet read the poems, go to here
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