Translation:The Black Heralds (1918)/Nervestorm of Anguish
Sweet Jewess, unnail my clay transition;
unnail my nervous tension and my pain....
Unnail, eternal beloved, my long zeal and the
two nails from my wings and the nail from my love!
I return from the desert where I have often fallen;
take back the hemlock and offer me your wines:
with a cry of love, frighten off my assassins,
whose gestures are the iron blindnesses of Longinos!
Unnail my nails, oh new mother of mine!
Symphony of olive trees, pour out your sobs!
And you must wait, seated beside my dead flesh,
as the threat subsides, and the lark flies off!
You pass by... you return... Your mourning forms the braids of my great hair shirt
with drops of curare, blades of humanity,
the rocky dignity you have in your chastity,
and the Judith-like mercury of your inner honey.
It’s eight on a morning of bewitching cream....
There’s a coldness about.... A dog passes by gnawing the bone
of a dog that once was... And in my nerves begins the sobbing of
a match that I extinguished in capsules of silence!
And in my heretical soul, a Dionysian weariness of coffee
sings its sweet Asiatic festivity.