I would like to have woken you to a nakedness like a naked
evening in early spring,
when the stars brim over
and the earth burns beneath melting snow,
I would like to have seen you just once
sink in the darkness of creative chaos,
would like to have seen your eyes like wide-open space,
ready to be filled,
would like to have seen your hands like flowers unfolded,
empty, new, in expectancy.
You are going, and nothing of this have I given you.
I never reached to where your being lies bare.
You are going, and nothing of me are you taking with you -
leaving me to defeat.
Another farewell I remember:
we were hurled from the crucible like a single being,
and when we parted, we no longer knew
which was I and which was you...
But you - like a bowl made of glass you have left my hand,
as finished as only a dead thing is and as changeable,
as without any memories other than the light imprints of fingers
that are washed away in water.
I would like to have woken you to a formlessness like a
formless flickering flame
that finds at last its living form, its own...
Defeat, oh, defeat!
For more information, please visit the website of David McDuff and his own pages with the translations.