Talk:Laza Kostić/Archive 1

Poem
I am moving the words of the poem, because Wikipedia is not a repository for fictional works. Here it goes, for those interested:

Santa Maria della Salute


 * Forgive me, O Holly Mother, I pray
 * For mourning our mountains, stripped of pine,
 * Those woods that became, despite our dark day,
 * Part of Your Mansion, a Holy Shrine,
 * And, Source of Mercy, forgive, as you may,
 * This, my earthly sin, this guilt of mine.
 * Repentant, I kiss the hem of your dress,
 * O, Maria della Salute, Blessed.


 * Is it not better to bear Beauty’s weight,
 * Hold up your arches, solid as rock,
 * Than to feed the hearths of the world’s hot hate,
 * Burning to ash the heart and its bark,
 * Than to sink like a ship, rot at a gate,
 * Like the devil’s own fir tree or oak?
 * So much lovelier the eternal rest
 * O Maria della Salute, Blessed.


 * Forgive me, O Mother, I’ve borne such hurt,
 * Much sin I’ve repented and renounced.
 * All my young heart had dreamed is but naught,
 * Ripped up by the waking world, denounced.
 * All that I yearned for, all hope my youth bought,
 * Crumbled to ashes, dusty accounts,
 * All in fulfillment of some malign jest,
 * O, Maria della Salute, Blessed!


 * Poisons, corruptions have hurt me within,
 * Yet I’ll injure no man with my curse.
 * Whate’er I’ve suffered, from lash or snake’s sting,
 * I’ll have no man bear the blame or worse.
 * The power that broke this spirit’s bright wing,
 * Choking its breath as it flew on course,
 * Sprang from this mad head, this mind of unrest,
 * O, Maria della Salute, Blessed.


 * Then my secret nymph stood there at my side.
 * Oh, such a sight had my eyes ne’er seen!
 * From the black darkness, a poem in her pride,
 * Broke dawn’s glory in a dazzling sheen,
 * Healed in an instant all my wounds beside,
 * Yet left deeper wound, sharper pain.
 * Now how could I bear this joy in my breast,
 * Dear, Maria della Salute, so Blessed?


 * She looked on my face, and none has yet seen
 * Such a shine that sparkled from her eyes.
 * On a frozen landscape the light of that mien
 * Could warm mountain tops, melt snow and ice.
 * Now my heart’s every wish was there to glean
 * Sorrows and sweetness, gall and fresh spice,
 * Hunger and thirst and the wants of my breast
 * Eternity be yours for this bequest,
 * O Maria della Salute, O Blessed!


 * Was all of this splendor for such as me?
 * This prize like a miracle mine?
 * All these golden fruits, now ripe on the tree,
 * Indeed all for me, in life’s decline?
 * O rarest fruit, you, so sweet to see,
 * Why were you not ripe at the harvest time?
 * Forgive me, for I’m a sinner confessed,
 * You, Maria della Salute, Blessed.


 * Two forces struggled for mastery in me,
 * Mind against heart, against flesh’s yoke,
 * How long did they fight in this awful way,
 * Like the tempest against the old oak?
 * Finally passion grew weak in the fray,
 * And the grooved brain made its last attack.
 * You’re the hinge of the mind; you hold it fast,
 * You, Maria della Salute, Blessed.


 * My mind consticed, compressed my own heart;
 * I fled its pleasures, mad in my flight.
 * Oh, how I fled, so hurt at the start.
 * Cold rose round my sun and quenchead its light.
 * Stars darkened, and tears burst from heaven’s part;
 * ‘Twas the world’s end, Judgment’s awful night,
 * The crack of doom, the world’s trial at the last,
 * O, Maria della Salute, Blessed.


 * All broken hearted, my mind scored with fears,
 * I hold her memory a holy shirine.
 * Now in later years, whene’er she appears,
 * It’s as thought God’s face were here, Divine.
 * Within me the ice of agony thaws;
 * Throuth her I see; all knowledge is mine.
 * Why are our wise minds perplexed and distressed,
 * O Maria della Salute, Blessed?


 * In sleep she comes, all silent, refusing
 * The loud rabble-cry of my desire.
 * When she will speak, the time of her choosing.
 * At her command she holds strange power,
 * And all around her, in clouds suffusing,
 * A heavenly pattern of charming hours.
 * And my path to her is thus paved and pressed
 * By Maria della salute, Blessed.


 * We hold one another as man and wife,
 * Without unhappiness, without care,
 * Halcyon days, which no fever of life,
 * Our passions cooled by heavenly air.
 * She’s older now, and there is no strife;
 * The past is as mute as unsaid prayers.
 * For here my own age is blessed by the best,
 * By Maria della Salute, Blessed.


 * For us our children are poems I have made,
 * Timeless traces of our elation,
 * A written text, neither sung, nor e ’en said,
 * Only the soul’s ray’s penetration.
 * Only two known where the secret is laid,
 * Rare is heavenly revelation.
 * It’s what rapturous prophets have expressed,
 * O Maria della Salute, Blessed.


 * When the time of my doom comes round at last,
 * When I break my head ‘gainst life’s jagged stone,
 * My dream will be born with Death’s rattling brass;
 * Then I’ll hear ringing cry, "Come home!"
 * From nothingness into glorious grace,
 * From limbo to the Heaven’s fult bloom,
 * To heaven and into her arms so warm.
 * Then that yearning will rise within my breast,
 * And my heart-strings will quiver without rest,
 * And the moving stars in the skies above,
 * Both the men there and gods will gaze aghast,
 * We’ll alter the path on which the stars move;
 * We’ll melt in our warming sun all the frost,
 * Till the dawn’s red glow lightens every cove,
 * And all the ghosts are by love obsessed,
 * Dear Maria della Salute, Blessed! —Preceding unsigned comment added by Webkid (talk • contribs) 23:59, 13 February 2008 (UTC)

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