iii. All at Sea
sparks glitter, cloud to cloud
thunder cracks, Jove-loud
water bombards our ship's creaking hull,
relentless battering ram, siege-gun.
We're lifted up, up, to touch the stars,
plunged down, down, to Hell’s black jaws,
pitched into abyss as each swell sinks
(spray stops my lips as I speak, write this).
Look around: sky and sea, sea and sky,
one flecked white, other furrowed grey;
gales rage between, god-forsaken, fierce,
uncertain which element to serve.
I don’t fear death just the way it comes:
save me now and death would be welcome
for if sea should subside, storm be lulled
- if I live on, I live in exile.
I don't care for power or riches,
don’t plough oceans for jewels, fine silks.
I’m no student on the tourist trail:
Athens, Alex, diversions of the Nile.
So why - why? - wish for propitious winds;
in Sarmatia this trail must end.
I pray for safe landing, far from home,
sigh that this road to hell seems too slow,
strive for Tomis, last stop of the world,
the Black Sea, ice-hard, hail-stiff, snow-whirled;
plead for safe passage - to Tomis! -
in searching out the light
I'm staring at darkness
(from Tristia I.2.)
thunder cracks, Jove-loud
water bombards our ship's creaking hull,
relentless battering ram, siege-gun.
We're lifted up, up, to touch the stars,
plunged down, down, to Hell’s black jaws,
pitched into abyss as each swell sinks
(spray stops my lips as I speak, write this).
Look around: sky and sea, sea and sky,
one flecked white, other furrowed grey;
gales rage between, god-forsaken, fierce,
uncertain which element to serve.
I don’t fear death just the way it comes:
save me now and death would be welcome
for if sea should subside, storm be lulled
- if I live on, I live in exile.
I don't care for power or riches,
don’t plough oceans for jewels, fine silks.
I’m no student on the tourist trail:
Athens, Alex, diversions of the Nile.
So why - why? - wish for propitious winds;
in Sarmatia this trail must end.
I pray for safe landing, far from home,
sigh that this road to hell seems too slow,
strive for Tomis, last stop of the world,
the Black Sea, ice-hard, hail-stiff, snow-whirled;
plead for safe passage - to Tomis! -
in searching out the light
I'm staring at darkness
(from Tristia I.2.)
Translated by Josephine Balmer
Page(s) 63-64
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