MADONNA OF MINE...
I
Madonna of Mine, Immaculate Virgin,
exalted in eternity!
Only the wind is blowing
on our lonely altars...
Pass over us wearing an omophorion,
sob above the village.
We’ll no longer sing songs or psalms to you
with our strange choir.
– A dauntless woman, a sinful virgin
proceeds toward us.
Naked – unclothed, unadorned –
she charms us like a blooming rose.
Lean over, Madonna, against the side
of the last house in the village.
Smile – and then leave through the plowed fields,
flicking away bullets like bees...
II
Already they sing and exalt
a new name.
(Ave Maria,
My guelder rose!)
She walks and laughs:
life! a flower!
The sun into a fiddle,
and clouds begin a dance.
A hand rests
on hips, as though on strings.
Hello, girl,
who do you belong to?
I’ll say – I won’t:
I’m everyone’s, I’m yours...
(Ave Maria,
My guelder rose!)
III
My Madonna, Blessed Virgin,
my Bluest Flower!
A pure soul
steps into a new era.
Lips kiss a rose
instead of a lily.
Yet I can not deny You
as Peter did to Christ.
With whom now, at what hour
will I be rejuvenated again?
Can it be I won’t pray even once
for my love, for humankind?
Iron resonated. Concrete is silent.
Year after year.
Strum in my heart, My Golden Dream,
in various tones...
IV
Not of stone, not of marble –
but made of simple iron.
– Tender, bold,
oh where is your chiton?
Where is your golden cassock,
your sorrowful eyes? –
A strummed hosanna,
a cornflower tone.
Till night we’ll toil
in the field as though in a cathedral.
Ripen – fill out
with the rye-fields in unison!
With songs, with embraces
our madonnas will meet us.
A late... iron... dream
above their breasts...
1920