"...Ο μίτος χάθηκε. Το ίδιο και ο λαβύρινθος.
Σήμερα, εξακολουθούμε να μην ξέρουμε αν μας περιβάλλει ένας λαβύρινθος, ένα μυστικό σύμπαν ή ένα επικίνδυνο χάος.
Το ευτυχές μας χρέος είναι να φανταζόμαστε οτι υπάρχει ένας λαβύρινθος και ένας μίτος.
Αυτόν τον μίτο δεν θα τον βρούμε ποτέ. ίσως τον συναντάμε και τον
χάνουμε σε μια πράξη πίστης, σε μια αρμονία, σ΄ένα όνειρο, στις λέξεις
που ονομάζονται φιλοσοφία ή πολύ απλά, στην απέριττη ευτυχία."
Ακούς αυτήν την υπέροχη μουσική;
Τον ρώτησα.
Δεν είναι μουσική,μου λέει.
Εγώ καταστρέφω τη ζωή μου..
The moon is pallid and sad, the moon is bloodless and cold.
I imagine the half-moon as a profile of the dead…
And beyond the renowned and praised pallor
Of Arab pearls, I prefer the rose in recent bud.
In a corner of this land with the colors of earth,
I adore this pale moon, I adore this death mask!
And at the altar of the night, like a flower inflamed,
Inebriated by strange perfumes, my soul resigns.
I know of lips withered with blasphemy and wine;
After an orgy they kiss her trace in the lane.
Insane ones who die kissing her image in lakes…
Because she is light of innocence, because white things
Illuminate her mysterious light, things taking on white,
And even the blackest souls become uncertainly bright.
She flees from me that sometime did me seek
With stockinged foot entering my chamber
I have seen her gentle, tame and meek
Who now is wild, refusing to remember
That in the past she placed herself in danger
To take my hand, though now far does she range.
Heaven be thanked it was not always so
But in more pleasant times she came to me
Clad thinly in her silks in beauteous guise
Slipped her loose gown which from her shoulders fell
Clasped in her slender arms I heard her tell
Me softly whispering, as we did kiss
Dear heart, tell me, do you like this – and this?
It was no dream from which I durstn’t waken
And all that I was helpless to prevent
Being lost is lost and now I am forsaken
As she has left me here and flown away.
Now she is willful and intransigent
And so, since I have been thus cruelly served
I wonder if she found what she deserved.
He appears to me, that one, equal to the gods,
the man who, facing you,
is seated and, up close, that sweet voice of yours
he listens to
And how you laugh your charming laugh. Why it
makes my heart flutter within my breast,
because the moment i look at you, right then, for me,
to make any sound at all won’t work any more.
My tongue has a breakdown and a delicate
— all of a sudden — fire rushes under my skin.
With my eyes i see not a thing, and there is a roar
that my ears make.
Sweat pours down me and a trembling
seizes all of me; paler than grass
am i, and a little short of death
do i appear to me.
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