Interlude

There are some times, moments of fleeting worth,
As when one blinks, and discerns his place on earth;
When twitching his finger, flexing his long arms,
One's vision clears, and pierces the earhly charms;
And when in the dew on morning blossoms he sees,
The sense that has eluded him, and as it flees,
He grasps its peacock-tail, and wonders for a while,
How such innocence has come to have such guile?
Such are those times, as though without dreams,
Freed of beguiling mist, and cleared of false sense,
We are still fog-filled, and enamoured with pretence,
So that few nights after, that same man must deem,
Though ungainly with a new love, that some days past,
He saw a fairer dream- a shame though it could not last.

Kullervo's Dream

1.
Behold! How all that is great, and strong, and fair
Has gathered in a single state, and with confident flair
Plays the play of life. As in the house of life, youth
Stages the show of passion; children, the show of innocence;
And elderly, the common code of peerless pretence!
These are the dreams of childhood, scenes of happiness,
And niches for righteous man, and yet who there goes,
Amongst the innocent, as if all were his foes?
Behold! Clad in regal cloak and in ragged attire,
In blue and crimson stockings, awokes before the fire;
Kullervo! With his hand on hilt, with confused gaze,
Stands forth, and blinks his eyes before the blaze!

2.
Behold! As among the gleeful, giddy crowd he goes,
With no familiar face in sight, no friend he knows;
None smiles at him, none laughs; In the house of merry
He alone is lone, bereft of company all should have,
And when the pairs in the center do whirl and round,
And dance for love - for him alone no pair is found.
Behold! As not all jeweled riches, nor his princely suit
Can mask this: lonely in the house of life he is,
And when before him dance all these shapes of bliss,
He shall wait - patientily for his many friends,
Whose names, one by one, from his memory he fends.
For so is Kullervo, emotionless the sullen child!

3.
And oh to be so! that once to have tasted brotherhood,
And then, soon companionless in the house of men,
Joined with but memories! And soon to him it comes again,
The senseless, sullen sight - of a child, who once
Had lost his mother, father; lost his brother and sister,
And just as faceless as the blurry youth he flees,
To where in some quiet corner, a balcony he sees.
Past the open, gilded merry-halls, past the bar;
Past all the fever and sweat of the dance-hall,
Past delight and past love, leaves behind it all,
Till where no screeching guitar nor violin
Shall him reach, he grasps for air and sweeps his brow.

4.
Darkness his only friend, night his only mother,
Kullervo scans the sky for impartial air,
And from all company removed, like a fox in its lair,
Kullervo finds his peace in the halls of silence.
And now, as the doors open to the states of night,
Behind him heave and wave the merry fire-light,
And before him, we see a misty garden in dark woods,
Whose savage silence well suits his sullen moods!
Kullervo! Forget the feasts and the jubilant inns,
Give no thought to dance-halls or manlier sport,
Yours are the wild expanses, misty mornings,
And the elation and peace from icy springs!

5.
Yet even for happiest man such are words in vain,
To him they are mockery; medicine that brings but pain;
And so he laments, recites a mourning song:
"Of my brotherly flock only one feather is left,
Of friendly feats, sisterly love am bereft;
I alone am lone, ashes are my homely hearth,
Empty roads bring me home; woe, woe me,
All I am is smoke; nothing lives in my memory!"
Yet though he would say more, will not, cannot,
For his silent lament now floods a reply;
From its sheat, devil sings from beside his thigh:
"You are the son of nature, storm wind of excellence,
Why do you trifle, and from trifles take offence?"

6.
"You are the scion of spring, my master,
Champion in wicked wiles, forest-fire of dry season,
Others have their shame, but your will is reason!"
Such is the voice of the sword, gift of godly powers,
Song of the song-mouthed, and Kullervo listens
In confusion. Thousand of disagreeing voices,
Disagree in his head, and none knows his choices;
How will he answer? Hear now, he speaks, speaks,
Yet no voice is heard; now pain floods his heart,
Mind and body scream, and rob him of his vocal art,
And as the voice of his brand blurs and fades,
So does the scenery, and disperses in dreamy waves!

7.
His vision swims, his face grows deathly pale,
In haste and hurry he now does inhale
His panicked air. Yet this is no mansion, no palace;
Kullervo sleeps in woods, back beside a pine,
Atop dry, rustling leaves, alone does recline.
Yet not all is dark, from above a leafy canopy,
Shines the light of moon and stars, onto his face
Where it find objects of adoration, tormented grace,
And sickly beauty, dual shrines of love and hate,
And such splendour as no words could recreate.
In silence and light he sits; whilst his mind
Aligns, and wonders the circumstances it now finds.

8.
And here we leave him, as is most fitting,
As to not reveal all; most, yet not too much.
Kullervo sleeps not, yet all the same, his state
Is silence, and but one thing is left to narrate,
And that is peace, for it is all right and good,
That when one sleeps, or wakes from a stragest sleep,
He should be none, and none of his worries keep.
And so we leave Kullervo in peace, yet not in full silence,
As when leaning his back against the piny height,
Eyes unblinking, caressed by sweetest moon-light,
We hear a quiet sound, the purr of a feline reply;
The sword in his lap, slowly saps blood from his thigh.