Death of the Steppenwolf
after Herman Hesse
I'm not a man, but half a man
And half a man again, my love,
Who took your limbs in shamless lust,
Then sweetly blessed you from above.
Two halves do not a whole contrive,
Not when they cut each other deep,
Not when they rail constantly
And leave me soulless without sleep.
I yank one half up from the ground.
I catch the other in the sky.
With fire, anvil, hammer hot,
I weld them tightly, eye to eye.
Then the dreadful clash entails,
Without a word the war begins.
I feel sharp splinters of my bones
About to pierce my frail skin.
The weld cracks first along the joint;
The halves themselves begin to split.
I'm set afire, rent asunder,
Evolved forwards bit by bit.
Not two or three, but many more,
A thousand selves aswarm like flies.
Within, around, I move about
And see them with unveiled eyes.
I'd made my bed for bitter death,
But from this chamber I can flee.
I've found my gem-bright oversoul:
It shines in radiant infancy.