Posted in Language

On the Transitory: Piece I

transitory1

All Rights Reserved © mmartel∞

 

Noch spür ich ihren Atem auf den Wangen:
Wie kann das sein, daß diese nahen Tage
Fort sind, für immer fort, und ganz vergangen?

Dies ist ein Ding, das keiner voll aussinnt,
Und viel zu grauenvoll, als daß man klage:
Daß alles gleitet und vorüberrinnt

Und daß mein eignes Ich, durch nichts gehemmt,
Herüberglitt aus einem kleinen Kind
Mir wie ein Hund unheimlich stumm und fremd.

Dann: daß ich auch vor hundert Jahren war
Und meine Ahnen, die im Totenhemd,
Mit mir verwandt sind wie mein eignes Haar,

So eins mit mir als wie mein eignes Haar.

 

 

Still yet I feel their breathing on my cheeks:
So how is it that these quite recent days
Are gone, forever gone, and wholly lost?

This is the thing that no one clearly sees,
And much too full of horror to lament:
That all there is slips by, then goes away,

That everything I am, without restraint
Is emanated from a little child
Unnatural as a silent, foreign hound.

And more: I lived a hundred years ago,
And all my forbears (long now wrapped in shrouds),
Relate to me just as my very hair,

Are one with me just as my very hair.

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Author:

"If he's honest, he'll steal; if he's human, he'll murder; if he's faithful, he'll deceive. Being at a loss to resolve these questions, I am resolved to leave them without any resolution." I have so much to say to you that I am afraid I shall tell you nothing."

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