THE OX AND THE ASS AT THE MANGER
By Friederich von Spee (1591-1635)
Translated from the German by Pavel Chichikov
Flying through deserted skies
The raven-wind of winter
Finds the stable where He lies,
Jesus in the manger;
Croaks and bumbles over Him
Beak of ice to prod
Tender flesh and tiny limbs,
Incarnated God
Stop, stop you frost and hail
Wicked wind that moans,
Stop these sharp and shrieking gales,
Leave the child alone;
Fly across the savage seas
Buffet with your wings
All the oceans till they freeze,
Spare my Infant King
I have something to propose
Joseph dearest brother,
Mix the petals of the rose
With ox and donkey fodder;
Make a mash to feed them both
Lay it at their feet,
Quickly, quickly make their breath
Gentle, warm and sweet.
Pious ox and donkey mild
Purify this room,
Cense the body of the child
With rosy warm perfume;
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Go and blow your breathing:
Aha, aha, aha!
With your lungs unceasing:
Aha, aha, aha!
| TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: Friedrich von Spee (1591 - 1635) was a
Jesuit, a poet, a professor and a noted opponent of witchcraft trials.
He died as a result of an infection contracted while caring for the
suffering in Trier during the Thirty Years War. Von Spee combines a
powerful and profound imagination with childlike playfulness in
language and image. |
THE FORESTER
by Pavel Chichikov
I met Him once again
He's tall and holds a rosary in His right hand
Though no one saw the rosary but me
He's young and has dark hair, eyes of recollection,
Aware of everything and yet an inward knowledge,
For all is circumscribed within that frame
He walks along the trail, the flood-plain of my heart
And sees how scrub has grown
Where once the poplar and the maple flourished.
The owl and the hawk meet there at dawn
The fox returns at sunset to her kits,
My soul to feed its charity with dreams.
He walks this world with beads in His right hand
And counts each tree, each leaf
And sees them fall, just as He fell himself
And yet He meets us, and regards us
As He does the forest which he made,
This Forester of souls.
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