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.

Tuhannen yön uni

Runoilija lipoo kaksihaaraisella kielellään.

"Hei Veli, kerroppa kerran,
Jos vierestä veljen en heräisi,
Ystävän luona en yöpyisi,
Luota lammen en läksisi,
Vaan istuisin yksin koivikossa,
Päätä pitelisin pajukoissa;
Metsämailla mä määrättä,
Soilla ilman sanelematta,
Vuorilla veljettä vaeltaisin,
Vailla kotoa ma kaukomailla.
Jos perheettä mä pahoilla mailla;
Toivotta tyynyyn laskisin,
Pääni sanaakaan sanomatta,
Vailla toivoa tulevasta,
Enkä menneitä muistelesi,
Huoletta nukkuisin huomeniin;
Niin nukkuisinko silloin heräämättä,
Nukkuisinko nälkää näkemättä,
Tuhannen toivotonta yötä,
Uneksisin unetonta yötä?"
"Sit' heräisin mä öiden unista,
Nukuksista ma nousisin,
Katselisin kaukomailla,
Kotimaille sit' läksisin;
Vaan veliseni, sanoppas sitten,
Oisko mulle paremmat paikat,
Viisaat vuodet vierineet,
Oisko mulle kadonneet kodot,
Takaisin tulleet kadoksista?
Josko ois kansa karaistunut,
Vanhat käävät viisastuneet?
Oisko vedet vaan vuolaammat,
Metsämaat vaan kauniimmat,
Tulleet takaisin tuhoksista,
Ajaneet vuodet ajattelemaan?"
"Vaan äläpäs vastaa, tiedän kyllä,
Ei kuusta löydy kadonneet,
Halikoilta ei hukkuneet,
Ei mies muutu vuodessa,
Ei laiva käänny hetkessä,
Historiaa haasta ei sadassa,
Eikä tähdet aukee tuhannessa.
Paremmin tekisin mä nukkumatta,
Päätä pitelemättä pajukoissa,
En kauaa koisisi koivikoissa,
Vaan pois läksisin huomenissa,
Toimeen kävisin mä hämärissä!
Oi veliseni! Jos vuoden voisin nukkua,
Silmät paremmat ois sulkematta,
Päät paremmat ois laskematta!
Näin haastoin mä hämärissä,
Aamulla yksin pimeässä,
Näkemättä mä yöllä haastoin,
Vailla aamua odottellessa."

Interlude

Say,
Not much my love will miss,
If one day it'll idle away,
Nor much delay its bliss,
If it sleeps some summer day.

Today,
Neither lenghty love nor loss,
Nor nature's worthy art,
Will bring its point across,
To dreams that hold my heart.

So,
Let Paris defend Troy for day,
Let Romulus find Rome alone,
Fair company shan't spell away,
The courts of inertia in my bone.

Today,
Endeavor shan't hold its spell,
Nor duty retain its haste,
Yet that is all I will tell,
For I dreamt and dreamt for waste.

In the Jungles of Life

The jungle, like a desert, is silent. While the hues of thousand colours play their silent cacophony from dawn till dusk, and while the maddening odours of flowers and moths wage their eternal war in air, no sound is audible, as if none could or none dared to voice their amorous complaint. There are no grasshoppers, and no beasts to roaringly announce their excited pride. Only at times a brief rustling of leaves is heard, punctuating the silence, or at others a loud noise is viciously crashing or snapping, eerily echoing for a moment before silence regains its throne. Yet ignore the silence; this is no dominion for death: leaves quiver in wind, vibrant flowers shiver and undulate; somewhere, a chamelont mantis is creeping by, a butterfly is idly hovering above the ground, and even somewhere above the canopy a pair of eyes can be seen, unblinking or otherwise watchful. Overripe fruits weigh the branches, often almost touching the ground, which, covered by a thick layer of fallen leaves, seems to be reaching back.

Then the illusion shatters; the moth alights on a verdant leaf, and flapping its wings no more, quietly slides to the ground. Looking closer, the leaves are seen covered in tiny spikes, transparent and almost invisible. The mantis too, its laughing eyes now gently mocking, slowly disappears beneath the twisting branches, and in its place we hear a silent slither; an azure serpent has come, and circles the bodies of a dozen bats, outstretched as they are beneath the fruits of a poison tree. The silence retreats; the forest is suddenly filled with noise; birds cry and tweet, fleeing animals crash with the flora, air is filled with flying lizards. Above all this, a vast shadow blocks the sun, and the unblinking eyes are no more, having left for more bountiful hunting-grounds. As the silence returns, the flowers continue their quivering dance; only this time there is no wind.

Remark on mindless fervours

OH, you sphinxes of the old, everlasting earth,
Your green world tumbles and orbits the sun;
Your pale moon tumbles and orbits the earth;
Yet below the spheres of your light, some men
Still tumble and orbit the old race-course.
Do they think themselves celestial orbs too,
Hurtling mindlessly along endless paths,
With little care and even less regrets?
OH, you all-knowing sphinxes, tell me this,
Do you think we have yet to grow tired,
That like children we still loudly applaud and boo,
When a flaming chariot is seen, tumbling
Towards high walls, whilst all the audience
Laughs and marvels at such a strange sight?
Or perhaps you think, that we have grown old already
And are like the idle old men, with nothing better to do
Than to bet on the course of the burning wheel,
Or analyse the machinations of some captive youths,
Running towards an inferno, barefoot and with no regrets?
I assure you it is not so, for we have seen it all before,
And besides, all this bread has grown stale,
And our tastes have drifted, like some heavy old clouds.
SO let the moon and earth tumble and orbit, mindless as they are;
But tell me, oh sphinxes, should we not do better?

Dreams of Coffee

Dream on! Oh youth of day,
And stretch your legs below the table;
Soon the dreams of coffee will come to you,
Whether you be sitting alone,
Together with your spectres of mild mindfulness,
Or amongst pleasant and genial company,
And surrounded by waxing waters of conversation.

So dream; oh dream on!
And wave your hand within or without;
As like nymphs, gathering in woods whilst
Circling a sleeping minstrel, or like muses,
Hearkening to the pipe of a flute, these dreams
That you shall neither avoid nor pass
Will enter within, through the holes in your ears.

So dream on! And drink the draught of day,
You sleepy-eyed youth, for these grand dreams
Shall wake your idle ambitions, and serve them
The supper of intoxicating self-absorption.
So drink that draught, and whether it be in Babylon,
Or in China you wish to be; so be it,
The servings shall be the hanging gardens,
And the forbidden palaces shall be scrawled into the napkins.

So dream on! O' youth of day,
And stretch your legs below the table.
Whilst you pass your worries along for a while,
Don't you worry a bit, but sip for sipping,
And when in time, these dreams long dispelled
You will be emptied of the bitter drink;
Fear not, for not alone shall they leave you -
Those sweet dreams of coffee.