Poetry (0.081s) Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature

agonia Agonia.Net | Policy | Advertising Contact | Participate


romana Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature english Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature francais Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature italiano Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature deutsch Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature espanol Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature



[ Creative ][ Internet ][ Culture ][ Society ][ Events ][ Art ][ Books ][ Dialogue ][ Press ][ Regional ][ _INTERVIEW ][ Contact ]

poezii



 
The gothic chamber ::


The gothic chamber
poetry [ ]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
by Aloysius Bertrand [Aloysius_Bertrand]

2006-02-08  | [This text should be read in romana]    |  Submited by Ionescu Bogdan



THE GOTHIC CHAMBER

Translated by Michael Benedikt


Nox et solitudo plenae sunt diabolo.
--The Church Fathers
At night, my room is full of devils.


"Oh! the earth"--I murmured into the night--"is a perfumed flower whose pistel and stamens are the moon and the stars!"

And, eyes heavy with sleep, I closed my window inlaid with the cross of Calvary, outlined in black among the yellow haloes of the stained glass.

*

Oh were it only on this midnight--this traditional time for dragons and devils!--some little gnome once again, drunken from drinking the oil of my lamp!

Were it only some wetnurse droning a dismal lullaby, and rocking a tiny, still-born baby in the hollow of my father's breast-plate.

Were it only the skeleton of the old swordsman imprisoned in the wall-paneling, and banging on it with his forehead, elbow, and knee!

Were it only my grandsire stepping down full-figure from his worm-eaten frame, and dipping his gauntlet in the holy-water fount.

But no: Instead it's Scarbo, gnawing away at my neck, and then cauterizing my bloody wound by thrusting out one iron finger--red-hot from the fireplace--straight out into it!

.  |




printe-mail

Views: 783


.Translations of this text:


  Members comments:









 
shim Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests. shim
shim

Agonia  Search  Agonia.Net  Forum  

Reproduction of any materials without our permission is strictly prohibited.
Copyright 1999-2003. Agonia.Net

E-mail | Privacy and publication policy

Poetry (0.084s) Poetry, prose, essays, comments, poems - International Culture and Literature

# You own a cultural website? Join the Cultural Topsites! LitScene.com - The portal for writers and authors