A gift for Sags

The Capricorn season is fast approaching and I couldn't let the Sag season go..without a poem and a story.

Nicolae Labis, a Sag, was one of the best poets my country had to offer. Had he lived, he would've been the best. He died when he was 21, a week after his birthday..while waiting for a tram. Witnesses claim he was pushed in front of the tram by followers of the communist party, Labis being a strong opposer.

The interesting thing is he had a premonition that year. He said he saw a lightning bolt strike his house and then the Death coming for him. That summer a lightning bolt did strike his house but the end came for him in December.

Lightning bolt? Jupiter motives?

The poem I want to share with you Sags is about his hunting while he was a child. People were starving so he would often go with his father to the mountains to hunt for deer. Like I said..he was a Sag through and through. This poem was his crowning achievement, written when he was 19. Drawing on the myth of the hunter your sign is famous for 🙂

"Death Of The Deer" (Moartea c??prioarei)

The wind has vanished, killed off by the drought.
The sun has leaked on earth and spilled about.
The sky is hollowed out and hot as hell.
There's nothing left but mud in every well.
And in the forests, more and more one sees
Satanic fires dancing on the trees.

I follow my father uphill through the firtrees
And hideous branches are hurting my skin.
Today we'll be hunting, a deer we'll be hunting,
The hunt of starvation and sorrow and sin.

The thirst overwhelms me. The droplets of water
Are nothing but bubbles when reaching the stone.
My temples and shoulders are one. And I wander
A planet that's leaden, uneasy, unknown.

We're going to stalk in a place where the wellsprings
Still gurgle and burble and babble away.
It's here that the deer come for water at sunset,
When sunlight is waning and moonlight's to stay.

I'm thirsty. My father commands me: "Be quiet!"
How limpid, oh water, you're quivering by!
By thirst I feel bound to the innocent creature
That, laws notwithstanding, is going to die.

The valley is withered, still gasping with rustle.
Oh horrible evening, oh evening of dread!
The flowing horizon is scarlet and bloody
And even my bosom is eerily red.

In heavenly clusters resplendent stars twinkle,
While ferns on the altars their blazes entwine.
I pray that you didn't come, wish that you didn't,
You lovely oblation and sadness of mine!

She sprang into sight at the end of her leaping,
And peered all around her, and listened for sound.
With delicate nostrils she touches the water,
And silvery circles start gliding around.

A mystery glistens from deep down her eyesight.
I know she will suffer. She'll perish, I know.
I feel I am living the myth of the maiden
Who back in the old times turned into a doe.

The moonlight reflected with cherry tree blossoms
Her fairylike presence, a radiant spot.
If only my father's old rifle misfired,
If only he bungled and blundered the shot!

But there was a thunder. She knelt on the pebbles,
She gazed at the stars for a final adieu,
And fell in the water, with blood rushing downstream,
A last intimation to places she knew.

A blue bird came screaming, shot up from the branches,
And heavenbound soaring he carried to rest
The soul of the doe deer, as when in the autumn
They leave an abandoned and desolate nest.

I stumblingly shambled and shut down her eyelids,
On eyes whence forever her life would retreat.
I startled and staggered when father with gladness
And joy in his voice uttered: "Now we have meat!"

I'm thirsty. My father allows me to drink now.
How turbid, oh water, you seem to subside!
By thirst I feel bound to the innocent creature
That, laws notwithstanding, has already died.

But laws have lost their relevance and core,
When life is not a given any more.
Traditions and compassion? Worthless foam,
When sister's ill and dying back at home.

My father's rifle lets out whiffs of smoke.
Oh my, the leaves are whirling unprovoked!
I see my dad has set some wood aflame.
Oh, never will the forest be the same!

My hand is feeling something in the weeds...
A little bell my mind just barely heeds.
Now from the grill my father sets apart
The roasted kidneys and the doe deer's heart.

And what's a heart? I wish to... Just living would be fine.
Oh maiden, please forgive me, you dearest deer of mine!
I'm drowsing. Oh, the darkness! The flames are flying, fleeting.
What is my father thinking? I'm sobbing. And I'm eating!

thanks to Damnata for sharing and that she thought of us Sags.
I'm reading it.... it is too long.... Isn't it more like painting? Or old times vine?

And I'm eating!
I pray that you didn't come, wish that you didn't...

wouldn't? don't? won't?

Posted by stillwat3r
i'd love to read it except it's too long. what if i just read the beginning and end... sounds like a reasonable thing to do.

I just let ggle translator read it (Engl.) for me. funny experience.