Ubi defuit orbis . . .
When the world failed us . . .
1
At the demise – its second, third relay
The gladiator raised his hand:
“This – is not” – he shouted – “Strength, it is not,
This is not Wisdom, as it’s called today . . .
Jovis himself threatens me no more,
Minerva thinks of herself with scorn.
You – spectators, scored twice a hundred thousand –
Are every day in need of blood and tears . . .
You came, trembling and doubting, both,
To sniff out where the soul is, where the might? . . .
While we’re to you – a book and image,
Our voice toward you – a slingshot missile.
– You came, trembling and doubting, both:
All your brightness now – is night!”
2
At the demise – its second, third relay
The gladiator raised his hand:
“This – is not” – he shouted – “Love, it is not,
This is not Friendship, as it’s called today . . .
Castor and Pollux, friends of yore,
With kisses their allegiance swore;
While Venus wears her phony hair,
Her blushes stuck with sweat in facial oil . . .
– You sat, you stones, in circle of stones,
Till mosslike fur has spread over you:
And your soul – our pains-and-moans,
And your body – our bodies-quartered.
– You sat, you stones, in circle of stones:
Now your whole life – is death!”
I wrote this in 1857