Variations on Heine (from Then and Now)
Liverpool Revisited - A Winter's Tale
November it was. And the cloudy skies
Grew daily more down-hearted;
The wind tore at the leaves on the trees;
And off for home I started.
And as my plane flew gently on
I fell asleep. The thrumming
And thrusting of huge engines must
Have felt like spring was coming . . .
Anyway, May-time – Märchenwald –
And the moon’s marvellous gleaming –
The limetree blossoms’ sensual scent –
And whatever else I was dreaming –
Bewitched my senses. On and on
I floated, listening – aptly –
To ‘songs of love and the pain of love’:
To a nightingale, singing raptly –
Singing of love and the pain of love,
Of lovers’ tears and laughter –
Sadly rejoicing – with happy sobs;
Forgotten dreams trailed after . . .
And I behind them . . . On I went
Through a clearing, like a plateau,
Till I came at last to the gables and towers
Of an almighty château.
The windows were shuttered. Silence reigned,
As if the woods were grieving;
The stillness of death itself was there.
All life had left. I was leaving,
When I saw at the gate the torso and claws
Of a Sphinx, and felt it summon
My terrified heart – with the shining eyes
And breasts of a beautiful woman.
A woman whose neck and face and eyes
Were glowing with bliss beyond measure,
While the curve and smile of her silent lips
Promised immoderate pleasure.
The nightingale sang sweet and low –
I simply couldn’t resist it,
But took that lovely face in my hands
And gently, fatally, kissed it.
The marble statue came to life;
The stone itself was moaning:
She drank my kisses’ passionate heat,
Thirsting and panting and groaning.
She almost drank my breath away –
Till at last, unable to bear it,
She pressed my body close, while her claws
Started to stroke and tear it.
O delightful torment, blissful pain!
What agony! What lust! What excess of it!
While her lips softly caressed my skin,
Her claws made a dreadful mess of it.
The nightingale sang, “O beautiful Sphinx!
O Love! Why this strange mixture
Of bliss and mortal agony?
I just don’t get the picture.
“O beautiful Sphinx! Please solve for me
This marvellous riddle. For many a
Lover has asked. And I’ve racked my brains
Already for several millennia.”
*
We were taxiing along on British ground
When I woke to hear the hostess
Thank us for flying with BA –
Most other airlines cost less.
And though everyone speaks bad English now,
I still felt strange for a minute
At Customs. My blissfully bleeding heart
Had started to spill what was in it,
When they poked their nose into trousers and shirts
And tissues, fumbling for hidden
Substances, pornographic mags
With the bits and bobs forbidden –
In England. But why me? I’d’ve thought,
Now I’m not far off fifty,
I’d little left of whatever inspires
In a policeman the thought, “He’s shifty”!
From Manchester Airport a scenic ride
Through blackened dilapidation –
Past dreaming spires (Shell, ICI) –
Transports me to Lime Street Station.
Visiting one’s parents can’t have changed
A lot since the young took to living
Abroad: the latter suffer from guilt,
The former from forgiving.
Along that scenic route I read
My favourite poet’s narration
Of what happened on one such trip. I give
A word-for-word translation.
– But, first of all, some verses scrapped
From the original opening passage
Of ‘Deutschland’, known as ‘Adieu à Paris’,
Which encapsulates their message:
Goodbye for now, o you merry French!
My amusing brothers and sisters!
I and my homesick heart will be back
Before you’ve as much as missed us.
Pour moi, I miss black bread and kraut,
And spas for taking the waters,
And German rudeness, officials and sheep,
And preachers’ blonde young daughters.
Also I miss my mother a lot:
I frankly and freely admit it.
It’s all of thirteen years since I paid
The poor old thing a visit.
Adieu, my wife, my lovely wife:
Anxiety – impatience – and anguish
You can’t imagine – drive me to leave
You here to wilt and languish.
I’ll be back, in good health, by the end of the year.
And, don’t worry, we’ll find a solution.
I’ll bring you presents. We’ll even make
A New Year’s Resolution.
Translated by W. D. Jackson
Page(s) 61-64
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