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  • Baharak Beizaei

#Hölderlin: Andenken (Remembrance)

Winding from the northeast,

the most beloved of the winds

is aquiver with ardent spirit, to me,

and good sail for sailors.

Go and now greet

the lovely Garonne,

and Bordeaux’s gardens

where, ashore, a narrowing

becomes the path, plummets, and into

the stream the deep currents go, and above

an ennobled pair overlooks,

oaks and incandescent leaves.


It occurs to me still. But how

the wide summit lowers

into the elm woods, over the mill,

when in the courtyard a fig tree grows.

With celebratory strides go

brown women thereto,

on satin floors,

around March time,

when the likeness of night and day

cross, and onto slow footings,

heavy with golden dreams,

a taciturn breeze blows.


But brimful of

dark light brought to me,

one such pungent vessel,

with which I become calm, would

be sweet beneath the slumbering

shadows. No thing would

be soulless with

good, mortal thoughts. To be thus

a conversation, and to say

what is the heart’s opinion, it has to

hear of the days of love

and happenstance of deeds.


But where are the friends? Bellarmin

with the departed? To some,

shirking, the spring is unreachable,

it bespeaks, namely, riches

at sea; They, how painterly, gather

the beauty of the earth and are not

embarrassed of winged war, and

of living alone, yearlong, under

the defoliate mast, where the holidays shine

through, not the night, and stringed

vibrations and native dancing, in the city.



But now the men are

gone to the Indies

where the Dordogne,

on the windy peaks of bunchy mountains,

comes and brings the splendour

as far as sea. Garonne

parts ways with the river. It

takes and gives but remembrances at sea,

and love, too, intent as vigilant eyes.

But what remains,

the poets found.

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