NYCTIVOE

CHORUS
The earth ends in a sea of corpses.
And the earth is another sea, hard,
love’s sick root whitens in its shallows
and you hear it it seeks without hope the
firmament, to rest where there is no
bed, only the litter of passion and the
coasts that await you to drown
scoured by a wave beyond understanding. Listen, the
tears of past happiness now slake our
thirst, secret in the brain the hour-glasses,
and time a recollection of the ancestors’ embrace which
goes on opening, an old
plaything of the squall going deeper –
I learnt this world, the pain
I felt within it, in a corner of it I crouched
slow dance of no return that carried me
and left me next to them. And they,
the sun harvested their breed covered them
with its torn nets before they died
and then earth; ruthless gift
as light threw us
tonight beside them
and before I stay on my own again to
death does not bring peace
the night brings forth the blood
it can’t be held, goes up
spreads and comes back like the voice
which, listen, there, sings,
paralysed on the earth of terror. Beyond
here is the sea.

NYCTIVOE
inseparable from the withered
throng, its rumble
later the light raises up here
and there the vault’s shroud and there comes
within the image of the river bank which returns
no more; yet they come to us
now that spring has passed
and autumn, now, is here
it is not over, it covers
for those who fled; for those
still they hear intently mute
signs on the walls, of past
affection, secrets forgotten; and next to
where blood ran from a flock
of saints, they approach to look;
some more blood for our souls; now
under the nets, on
a bed deeper than that on which
we lay
                                               , and when
                                                in the fire
in there
consuming our bodies,

Poena Damni - Nyctivoe. Translated into English by Shorsha Sullivan (includes DVD with audio performance directed by Piers Burton-Page, slide show of  sculptures by Fritz Unegg, and video by Gudrun Bielz). Shoestring Press, March,   2005.