Bored From Painting Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Bored From Painting
Bored
from painting
I took
to chiseling
last night:
I chiseled a crucifix
and a broken-hearted Mother.
Come! I'm out!
At night
Early night before
the deep of night
passed darkling clouds
on earth
I went out.
Slid
through
the
door
closed
the
door
slowly
without
sound
as
a
rat
fleeing.
now I have arrived
at the edge of the village
the last street
and
of that last street
the edge.
come! come! into the green!
the green that still appears
black
in the moon's light!
I turn
I jump
I turn
I turn
and
turn
again
Joy!
Joy!
Joy!
All drear be gone!
I walk,
turning and turning.
Round,
round
the stars go round
the moon goes round
the night revolves
around me!
I will not
return
before the edge of night.
Here! The bottle!
Ho!
Ho!
Ho!
I will get drunk
make me drunk
willingly, I know!
It's
like a suicide!
But no!
No, I will return!
I fall asleep
atop the hill
that I have climbed
tomorrow
let them find me
return me
from the grass
haunting me
from the dry fig tree
above me.
Come! blanket, night!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/21/2024 8:18:50 AM # 1.0.0.1119
This poem reminds me of a scene in D. H. Lawrence's WOMEN IN LOVE when after a violent argument with his lover, Rupert goes into a forest, strips his clothe off, and spends the night in nature as a fellow denizen to animals and plants. At dawn, covered in dew, he is refreshed in body and soul, and liberated. I sense that same nature-infusion in this poem, the same refreshment and liberation. You are, as Nietzsche put it, thinking with your blood. It leads to a release from boredom or stress, not permanently, but the night adventure gives a respite from whatever is nagging at your soul. Life proves intractable, living it is vexed, mother nature absorbs the discontent, purges it. NEW DAY = NEW MAN.