TO SPEAK OF DARK THINGS

I am like Orpheus: I play
death on the strings of life,
and to the loveliness of this earth
and to your eyes, which rule the heavens,
I can only speak of dark things.

Don't forget how, all of a sudden,
on that morning when your camp
was still wet with dew, and a carnation
lay asleep on your heart, you also
witnessed the dark river
swiftly rushing past you.

The string of silence
strained on the blood-tide,
I seized your beating heart.
Your curls were transformed
into nighttime's shadowy hair,
your features snowed in
by black flakes of darkness.

And I do not belong to you.
Now both of us lament.

But I am like Orpheus and I know
life on the strings of death
and the becoming-blue
of your eye, forever closed.


INGEBORG BACHMANN

Translated from the German by Eavan Boland