I. CURSE
Thief!
Robbed me of all,
Save my belongings:
I do not rest,
For you plague my thoughts;
I do not love,
For you pollute my heart;
I do not eat,
For ere I do, you consume me
Entirely.
Sanity is frightened
By your cruelty.
Liberate me:
Absolve the curse of perception.
Liberate me:
Undo the bondages of imagination.
Liberate me:
Remove the fetters that are your
Relentless grip on my mind.
An artist is his own fault,
And shall by his fault perish.
Art is a jealous mistress,
That teases a mind aroused
To keep it from its normal business.
Obligation,
Cloaked by volition,
Destined to constant awareness,
Privy of mind seized,
Serenity of thought
Assaulted;
Así por el destino conducido
debo sin tregua oír y conserver
el lamento marino en mi conciencia,
debo sentir el golpe de agua dura
y recogerlo en una taza eterna
Violation of mind's ease.
True artist unlike one seems;
This is what the title of artist means:
One who perceives more than his fellows,
And who records more than he has seen.
By no will of one's own.
I suppose,
Because I am that queer monster,
The artist,
An obstinate finality,
An inexhaustible sensibility,
Fueled by the cruel impetus of
Imagination.
Testament of an artist:
I am one of those that feele
A very great conflict and
Power of imagination.
All men are shockt therewith,
And some overthrowne by it.
One impression of it pierceth me, and
For want of strength to resist her,
My endevour to avoid it,
To no avail.
Ubiquitous fiend,
May my tired mind rest.
Does excessive exhaustion
Not exhaust itself?
Mistress Euterpe,
Abandon me,
So I can be.
Y escribí la primera línea vaga,
Vaga sin cuerpo, pura
Tontería,
Pura sabiduría,
Del que no sabe nada,
And ever since, even
Sleep avoids me.
II. LOVE
O muse, o alto ingegno, or m'aiutate;
o mente che scrivesti ciò ch'io vidi,
qui si parrà la tua nobilitate.
Erato,
I am drunk,
Sweet wine;
Without wine, man's true essence,
I cannot sustain;
Without wine, the burden of man's body
I cannot maintain.
Enigma:
Labyrinth embedded in my mind,
Artifact of consciousness,
Paradoxical product of oneself.
Art! Who comprehends her?
With whom can one consult
Concerning this
Great goddess?
Consume me.
But true art is selfish and
Perverse--
It will not submit
To the mold of flattery.
Addiction:
Pen, once left a mark,
Cannot cease.
Sustenance:
Enemy and friend to
Senses.
For Art hath an enemy called
Ignorance:
Detains me from total bliss
With her sincere, obligatory kiss:
Beauty that kills.
III. MISUNDERSTANDING
What do you write?
Words, words, words.
Written by the hand
As the potter molds his clay:
'Tis a goblet that earns the Mind's praise;
One hundred kisses upon its forehead man pays.
This potter of Fate makes his delicate pot so,
And alas! from his hand to the ground it strays,
Shattered by the potter
Himself, the agent of his art and its
Destruction.
Ah! lo vedi,
Che hai tu fatto?
Art so defamed, by an
Ignorant outsider.
How all occasions
Do inform against me.
E qual è quei che volontieri acquista,
e giugne 'l tempo che perder lo face,
che 'n tutt'i suoi pensier piange e s'attrista;
Torn by vultures,
Feed on the dead,
Dare not touch
The living:
Cowards!
Ill bred.
IV. INFINITY
That the day will come when he must pass
Through the wall of
Oblivion,
And he wants to leave a scratch on that wall--
That somebody a hundred, or a thousand years
Later will see.
Wall,
Consume me,
Free me
From the jealous mistress.
But not too soon:
'Twas the nightingale and not the lark:
And the dawn of oblivion is postponed.
Wall,
Behold my mark;
Mark,
Survive me.
