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Master, without your compassion
I must despair in the abyss
Do you not want to carry me
With strong arms back to the light?
With each year your goodness
Reaches into the earth and into men’s hearts
With each year you arouse the blooms,
And your arouse in me the old pains.
Born but once to the light,
But dead a thousand times,
I am lost without you
Without you I am spoiled in myself.
When the earth moves thus,
When the air waves sunnily,
Then the flow is moved as well,
Which stands in a funereal shroud.
And in my heart shudders
A sorrowful, bitter fountain
If the springtime lurks outside,
Then a flood of anxieties will run against me.
Woe! Through poisonous earthly premises
As time flows into them,
I have sunk the shafts
And he is but weakly condemned.
As the springs now swell about us,
As the ground bring forth about us,
The poisonous waves break upon us,
Which compel no curse, no wit.
I call to others, swimming, swimming,
But no such call can be good for me,
For in me rises the grim Deluge,
Surging from my eyes.
And then they all seemed evil growths
To me, all these bright lambs,
Which I greeted, sweet fruits,
Which ripened to me into bitter bile.
Lord, take pity upon me,
Make my heart bloom anew,
No one has taken pity upon me
From the springtimes of the earth.
Master, if all hands approach
You with sweet-filled peelings,
Then I will never pay my debt
To you with a bitter donation.
Oh, how I rake more deeply,
How I create and wine,
Never shall I flush the torrent
Into the firm and pure foundation of crystal.
The walls always collapse upon me,
Every stratum lies to me,
And hands bloodied by work
Burn in the bitter swells.
Woe! The space grows tighter,
Wilder and more deserted grow the waves,
Lord, oh lord, I can sustain it no longer,
Strike your rainbow.
Lord, I plea to you, spare me,
Lord! I heard it recently said,
Wondrous salvation resides
In your floresence.
And so I cry to you,
I cry from the bitterest depths,
Can you not then forgive that
Your servant so audaciously ripens.
That the source of light again
Flows pure and holy in me
One drop trickles down
From Jesus, to me, to your bloom!
–Clemens Brentano, Frühlingsschrei eines Knechtes aus der Tiefe in Brentanos Werke, vol. 1, p. 329-335 (Carl Hanser ed. 1968)(S.H. transl.)
More from Scott Horton:
Conversation — March 30, 2016, 3:44 pm
Joseph Hickman discusses his new book, The Burn Pits, which tells the story of thousands of U.S. soldiers who, after returning from Iraq and Afghanistan, have developed rare cancers and respiratory diseases.
The new docudrama The People v. O. J. Simpson: American Crime Story (FX) isn’t really about Orenthal James Simpson. It’s about the trials that ran alongside his — those informal, unboundaried, court-of-public-opinion trials in which evidence was heard for and against the murder victims, the defense and the prosecution, the judge, the jury, and the Los Angeles Police Department, to say nothing of white and black America. History has freed us from suspense about Simpson’s verdict, so that the man himself (played here by Cuba Gooding Jr.) is less the tragic hero he seemed in the mid-Nineties than a curiously minor character. He comes to the center of our attention only once, in Episode 2, at the end of the lengthy Ford Bronco chase scene — which in real life was followed by a surreal cavalcade of police cars and media helicopters, as well as an estimated 95 million live viewers — when Simpson repeatedly, and with apparent sincerity, apologizes for taking up so much of so many people’s time. It is an uncannily ordinary moment of social decorum, a sort of could-you-please-pass-the-salt gesture on a sinking Titanic, in which Simpson briefly becomes more than just an archetype.
Amount an auditor estimated last year that Oregon could save each year by feeding prisoners less food:
Kentucky is the saddest state.
An Italian economist was questioned on suspicion of terrorism after a fellow passenger on an American Airlines flight witnessed him writing differential equations on a pad of paper.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”