Peter Mamara


Resignation - Poem by Peter Mamara

by M. Eminescu (1850-1889)

(After Schiller)

I too was born at Arcadia's bosom. To me as well
The nature has pledged at my golden cradle,
That it shall give me fulfilment.
And I too was born at Arcadia's bosom,
But to me a short spring it gave: only sorrow.

The late spring of one's life flourishes just once.
The flowers fell off in my case.
And — oh, do mourn me, people —
The gentle, peaceful God bends down my life's candle,
And He quenches its light
— Its scent has already run out.

Now I stand on your bridge — scary Eternity you
— On your deserted bridge.
Receive my authorization, addressed to my fortune.
I return it to you untouched und sealed.
I don't know a thing about happiness in this world.

And to the Throne around, I raise my charge.
Here You are, oh, Veiled Judge You.
Being carried by that star goes the wise and clear adage
That You carry the balance of Right with bestowed rewards,
You have been crowned by the centuries.

Here — it is said — scare waits for the bad ones,
And happy are the good guys.
You shall put on display the depth of one's heart.
You shall give dispensation to the mystery of fate.
You won't forget the wretched guys.

Here the refugee finds a motherland,
And the prickly way of anguish has come to an end.
The divine progeny, which is called the Truth,
And few adore it —the crowds keep away from it —
My swift life was stopped by it, with a restraint.

'I reward you in your next life — said —
Oh, give me your youth.
I won't give you anything without this barter.'
I took this advice for my next life,
And I gave up the pleasures of my youth.

'Give me the lady dear to your heart.
Give me your Laura!
Bitter taste shines with mortgage, on the other side of the grave.'
And bleeding, I plucked her from my burning heart.
I shed tears, and I gave her away too.

"This contract is directed to the dead"
— Said people who were amused —
"Since don' t you see it? The fake document procured by the tyrants,
It gave to you: gloom, instead of true happiness.
You could not possibly be alive at the end of this invoice, "

Smartly joked an army of snakes much laughing at full capacity:
"Are you scared being watched by a hollow place deified by time?
Really, who are your deities?
To the weak plan of this world,
It has lent dreams of redemption, for the brilliance of human need.

What? Is the time yet to come shrouded by graves?
What is the eternity to which you pointlessly sing praises?
Is it great for the reason that it is covered with outer-layers?
And it's a blurry shadow of our own fears,
Projected on the empty mirror of human scruples?

Untruthful icon you, whom the living things you embody,
— Being the time's mummy —
And being kept cool by the solace of hope
— Inside the dwelling of a tomb.
Do you in your delirium call all these: living forever?

And lasting goods you gave away
On hopes proven wrong by the decay.
For the last six thousand years, has death not kept its silence?
Did any dead see resurrection since: so he can hint
That on the other side you shall get your reward?

I just saw the time passing towards your shore,
And flowering the natural world.
And behind were what's left remains worthy of mourning,
Since no dead gets out of the darkness of his grave,
And still, I strongly believed the sacred vow.

Any joy in the world I killed it for you.
I throw myself at Your judging Throne now.
I loathed the people's gossip, like I was deaf.
I only thought excitedly about your provisions.
Now I ask for my reward, Divine Rewarder You!

' I love my children equally '
— Said a Divine Spirit, from unseen spheres —
"There are two flowers — He said — listen Humankind!
There are two flowers that man is bound to find.
One is hope, and the other one We call it pleasure.

And you, who take only one of these two in this world,
You shall not get hold of the other.
He who can't believe, he shall try it. It's a belief old as the world.
The guy who hopes shall renounce pleasure.
The world-history is the judge for humankind.

You have hoped, and your reward has been granted.
One's hope is the wealth which luck has destined for you.
Have you ever asked your philosophers?
Why, whatever is refused to a passing moment,
Not even eternity can bring it back? "

(1866)

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Poem Submitted: Friday, March 10, 2017



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