Patmos
The god Is near, and hard to grasp. But where there is danger, A rescuing element grows as well. Eagles live in the darkness, And the sons of the Alps Cross over the abyss without fear On lightly-built bridges. Therefore, since the summits Of Time are heaped about, And dear friends live near, Growing weak on the separate mountains— Then give us calm waters; Give us wings, and loyal minds To cross over and return.
Thus I spoke, when faster Than I could imagine a spirit Led me forth from my own home To a place I thought I’d never go. The shaded forests and yearning Brooks of my native country Were glowing in the twilight. I couldn’t recognize the lands I passed through, but then suddenly In fresh splendor, mysterious In the golden haze, quickly emerging In the steps of the sun, Fragrant with a thousand peaks, Asia rose before me.
Dazzled I searched for something
Familiar, since the broad streets
Were unknown to me: where the gold-bejeweled Patoklos comes rushing down from Tmolus, Where Taurus and Messogis stand,
And the gardens are full of lowers,
Like a quiet ire. Up above
In the light the silver snow
Thrives, and ivy grows from ancient
Times on the inaccessible walls,
Like a witness to immortal life,
While the solemn,
God-built palaces
Are borne by living columns
Of cypress and laurel.But around Asia’s gates Unshaded sea-paths rush Back and forth
Around the unpredictable sea, Though sailors know where The islands are. And when I heard
That one of these close by Was Patmos,
I wanted very much
To put in there, to enter
The dark sea-cave. For unlike Cyprus, rich with springs,
Or any of the others, Patmos Isn’t splendidly situated, But it’s nevertheless hospitable In a more modest home.
And if a stranger
Should come to her, Shipwrecked or homesickOr grieving for a departed friend,
She’ll gladly listen, and her
Offspring as well, the voices
In the hot grove, so that where sands blow And heat cracks the tops of the fields, They hear him, these voices, And echo the man’s grief. Thus she once looked after The prophet that was loved by God, Who in his holy youthHad walked together inseparably
With the Son of the Highest, because
The Storm-Bearer loved the simplicity of his disciple. Thus that attentive man observed the countenance Of the god directly, there at the mystery of the wine, Where they sat together at the hour of the banquet, When the Lord with his great spirit quietly foresaw His own death, and forespoke it and also
His final act of love, for he always had words
Of kindness to speak, even then in his prescience,
To soften the raging of the world.
For all is good. Then he died. Much
Could be said about it. At the end
His friends recognized how joyous
He appeared, and how victorious, And yet the men grieved, now that evening Had come, and were taken by surprise, Since they were full of great intentions, And loved living in the light,And didn’t want to leave the countenance Of the Lord, which had become their home. It penetrated them like fire into hot iron, And the one they - love walked beside them Like a shadow. Therefore he sent
The Spirit upon them,
And the house shook,
And God’s thunder rolled
Over their expectant heads, while
They were gathered with heavy hearts,
Like heroes under sentence of death,When he again appeared to them At his departure. For now
The majestic day of the sun
Was extinguished, as he cast The shining scepter from himself, Suffering like a god, but knowing He would come again at the right time. It would have been wrong
To cut off disloyally his work
With humans, since now it pleased Him to live on in loving night, And keep his innocent eyes Fixed upon depths of wisdom. Living images flourish deep In the mountains as well,Yet it is fearful how God randomly Scatters the living, and how very far. And how fearsome it was to leave The sight of dear friends and walk off Alone far over the mountains, where The divine spirit was twice Recognized, in unity. It hadn’t been prophesied to them:
In fact it seized them right by the hair
Just at the moment when the fugitive
God looked back,
And they called out to him
To stop, and they reached their hands to One another as if bound by a golden rope, And called it bad—But when he dies—he whom beauty Loved most of all, so that a miracle Surrounded him, and he became Chosen by the gods— And when those who lived together Thereafter in his memory, became Perplexed and no longer understood One another; and when floods carry off The sand and willows and temples, And when the fame of the demi-god And his disciples is blown away
And even the Highest turns aside his Countenance, so that nothing Immortal can be seen either In heaven or upon the green earth— What does all this mean?It is the action of the winnower, when he
Shovels the wheat and casts it up into the clear air And swings it across the threshing floor.
The chaff falls to his feet, but
The grain emerges finally.
It’s not bad if some of it gets lost,
Or if the sounds of his living speech fade away. For the work of the gods resembles our own:
The Highest doesn’t want it
Accomplished all at once.
As mineshafts yield iron,
And Etna its glowing resins,
Similarly I’d have sufficient richness
To shape a picture of him and see
What the Christ was like.But if somebody spurred himself on
Along the road and, speaking sadly,
Fell upon me and surprised me, so that
Like a servant I’d make an image of the god—
Once I saw the lords of heaven visibly angered, not That I wanted to become something different, But that I wanted to learn something more.
The lords are kind, but while they reign
They hate falsehood most, when humans become Inhuman. For not they, but undying Fate
It is that rules, and their activity
Spins itself out and quickly reaches an end.
When the heavenly procession proceeds higher Then the joyful Son of the Highest
Is called like the sun by the strong,As a watchword, like a staf of song That points downwards,
For nothing is ordinary.
It awakens the dead,
Who aren’t yet corrupted.
And many are waiting whose eyes are Still too shy to see the light directly. They wouldn’t do well in the sharp Radiance: a golden bridle Holds back their courage.
But when quiet radiance falls
From the holy scripture,
With the world forgotten and their eyes Wide open, then they may enjoy that grace, And study the light in stillness.And if the gods love me,
As I now believe,
Then how much more
Do they love yourself.
For I know that the will
Of the eternal Father
Concerns you greatly.
Under a thundering sky his sign is silent. And there is one who stands Beneath it all his life. For Christ still lives. But the heroes, all his sons have come, And the holy scriptures concerning him, While earth’s deeds clarify the lightning, Like a footrace that can’t be stopped.
But he is there too, aware of his own works From the very beginning.Honoring the gods hasn’t been Seen for far too long.
They practically have to
Guide our fingers as we write,
And with embarrassment the energy Is torn from our hearts. For every heavenly being expects a sacriice, And when this is neglected,
No good can come of it. Without awareness
We’ve worshipped our Mother the Earth, and the Light of the sun as well, but what our Father
Who reigns over everything wants most
Is that the established word be carefully attended, and that which endures be interpreted well.
German song must accord with this.
Jesus is the "storm bearer" who visits John which is a direct merging of the role of Jesus with the role of Zeus.
The speaker suggests that the visitation is because the simplicity of the disciple's faith is admired.