The Mount of Olives

Summary

Then he went up beneath their leaves of grey —

all grey — and in the olive groves all lost.

Deep in his burning hands he went to lay

His wholly dusty temples, dust to dust.

After all this. And now, this was the end.

I must go now, while I am going blind.

Why must I say You are? Why must I bend

to You, when You are Him I Cannot Find?

Now I can't find You in me; You're unknown.

(You're not in them; You are not in this stone).

I cannot find You now. I am alone,

alone with all the grief that man can name,

which through You I have tried to lift and claim —

You who are not. Oh, unspeakable shame …

Later on, they said, an Angel came —.

Why an Angel? The thing that came was night,

and through the trees, it leafed indifferently.

Dreams would not let the stirred disciples be.

Why an Angel? The thing that came was night.

The night that came was nothing vast or great;

hundreds like it have been.

(Dogs sleep through them; in them, stones lie in state.)

Oh, any night is sad when it must wait —

wait through itself till morning comes again.

For Angels never come to such — no, never.

And nights, around such prayers as these, don't loom.

All leave the self-abandoned to their doom.

Their fathers disinherit them forever.

And they are barred forever from the womb.

Pietà

So seh ich, Jesus, deine Füße wieder,

die damals eines Jünglings Füße waren,

da ich sie bang entkleidete und wusch;

wie standen sie verwirrt in meinen Haaren

und wie ein weißes Wild im Dornenbusch.

So seh ich deine niegeliebten Glieder

zum erstenmal in dieser Liebesnacht.

Wir legten uns noch nie zusammen nieder,

und nun wird nur bewundert und gewacht.

Doch, siehe, deine Hände sind zerrissen —:

Geliebter, nicht von mir, von meinen Bissen.

Dein Herz steht offen und man kann hinein:

das hätte dürfen nur mein Eingang sein.

Nun bist du müde, und dein müder Mund

hat keine Lust zu meinem wehen Munde —.

O Jesus, Jesus, wann war unsre Stunde?

Wie gehn wir beide wunderlich zugrund.