louisev (louisev) wrote in zebratta_poems,

Romances for String

20 July 2003

Threshold Publishing Company
PO Box 4033
Blaine, Washington 98231

The Soul of Autumn

As the Summer reigns,
A joy becalms the soul of Autumn,
And in the precincts of her Love
She is all abandoned to desire,
This Love, this Prince, this Charletagne,

And she will not be taught
Not by Wisdom of her Sages,
Not by lessons harder-sought;
And I at length,
Have been refused

In the deepest contemplation of my pain,
I have been chilled,
For none had climbed the height of such Despair
As soul of Autumn,
None had jarred the Sanctum of my peace
With stronger cry

And there were Two;
There went She and I;

But this is fond illusion,
O my Soul,
For as soul to soul hath fled
She would fast forsake
To fill a lover’s bed.

For this, I had been warned,
For seasons of my suffering,
As long her shadow yawned,
I was forewarned.

One day, I will be healed,
Hastened by Eusebius,
A whole, to Beauty yield,
And the loss, so late, of Autumn
Will be then revealed.

20 July 4:35
Cancer nach Leo

Eusebius goofs off again
And listens to a rehearsal of Mozart from a time warp in the 21st Century

Don Juan Suite

The fencing scene replays again
On shifting, white patina
In a theatre far away
Orchestras are tuning in the pit
Just below my chair,

I am Eusebius, I know that hand,
Kissed by flesh,
And washed by flesh alike
My keepers are my Band
Slain by Proprium
Constrained by Willingness, alike,
I wait the Order of the Fall
To set my Maid aright.

We will dine at Eisenstadt,


The Latter Days

The hope of These
The latter Days
Of Saints,

Is stained
Is Refrained,

Is Ained,

die Bilder zum Mir noch entraint
Gibt uns unser Dienst
die Blauen augen
die Schauen mir
in Nacht,
Die Koenigen des nachts


The Impatience of the Age
These wait
But only in the sanctum of the Temple
Do they listen to their conscience;
Outwardly, the press of Time returns
And trust is never given when unearned
They do not wait;
And though my time is come indeed
And proved;
They do not wait.

29 Juni


Though comfort’d in Sanctuarium
I weep; for all that has been done and done;
All that, rendered perfect, has Become
For it is Done,
And so I wait, to end my time
To end the grosser State
I am bereft,
and while the rest of Man is locked in hot embrace,
I am dis Graced
For all have gone;
And only I am left.

29 July (sic)
29 Juni Baden-Baden
2:30 p.m.

The 11th Step

Whereupon I pause,
Without the Stain
God placed upon my Soul
I am here Made
From death instate
To rebegin so soon
to see the hand
so late.

29 Juni


The sacrifice of Lust is made complete,
And I remain, unmoved
My joy is not yet Replete;
For my love cannot longer be rended from my arms
She is within me now,
The Dichterin
I am now whole;
My marriage is complete.

Day of the Empress
30 Juni-03 2:00 p.m.

The New Math

and Seven, and One, Make Five

And this is how the Wicked stay alive,
We are Wicked to be bless’d another Season
We are His men, and we wait,
With patience of the Age upon ourselves,
We are Holy, to be wrought to Gold
Within His golden Temple,
Alone, to preserve His Sacred Sound
We have our Prince;
And we have the wisdom of his Perfect Reason.

30 Juni nachmittags

The Then, the Now

I wonder, as I pause
In silence,
In the wonderment of contemplation
In the Now,
Which is sweeter,
the memory of sweetness
I never had forgotten
Now renewed?
Or the fresh Original
Never yet expressed
And sweetly New?

For C.L. 1854 autumn

Der Letzten Tag den Juli

The echo of my once created Song,
Drafted in the coldest lonely Winter
Ever thus, the inner season of the Frost
Betrays the Summer’s outward calm.

For Beauty here, abounds,
The joy and play, the festivals of Summer
Though I know another ending
As the Endings doth begin.

I am upheld
Not shaken so entirely by Fame,
My Fame has ended as a newer Fame impends,
The Shem withdrew as I am strengthed by Skeld.

The Horror comes.
Unrealized, this Circumstance
Long and long-impelled,
I will not stay the horror of the Eld,
My friends have taken Suit
and draw along my path
I will be upheld
As Horror waits to free me from the Skeld.

They are with me today,
an Allgemein of three are won and lost in play,
It is the end of things for these
I cannot speak so loud
To make this pain appease.

the falsely friendly are not choosed
they will martyr soon
As Mars and Saturn loose.



Fast before beginning
Soon to End
another destiny, as yet unwrit, awaits,
They calm, they break, they storm
All around the Kraft of Kunst aborns.

My sibilants, my brethren, soon my Sohn,
Branded by inebriate
Broiled under One
The Symphony begins for Me,
The little Song, begun,
Eusebius returns to take the Lied.

he wakes,
As sooner dies the profligate in State
My shade, appalled, inebriate
He Quakes.

for Eusebius, awakening,
31 Juli 03

Autumn, at Summer
Summer, fast Autumn

Oh we were Quelled!
Harried in the Fast-unquaking Time
I cannot uproot Him
If I cannot win this time
But must it be,
The staying of the Clock must fast be bred
some Waste is heard to dark
And will be Redd.
the Will at last, be Read/Red
Let Dragon counter
Till the Angels, weeping, flee,
They are not so Reich as We.

Oh Waste,
In the Lately sacred Hour
Will not yield
Can I conquer quickly
So that Winter can be Healed?
This I doubt,
Healing cannot be dealt
By merest Doubt.

And She will not be Welled
Only tried by Proprium
Her trial soon is Held
I cannot speak
For I am old, and Elled
This lately sacred joy will find me Skeld.

For I discover, I am spared,
Permanently safe,
Though surely scared,
The Continent whereon I journeyed long and cared,
For this, I cannot be spared.

And what of He,
More worthy to be won
by all Important Mien,
He surely is not wasted to be Liened
What of He, cannot be cared?

Alas, I weep,
Though I am overjoyed
The World is safe
Though much of Me, destroyed,
And I am Whole,
Though She be full-destroyed
There is wisdom in the Purpose
As the Change will be Employed
My Talent will be plotted
And my Prose, enjoyed.

Fast unto Autumn,
to the Summer roughly Come,
Fast unto Winter
Is the Beating of the Drum.

1-8-03 = 12 = 3
Day of the Empress


Today I doubt,
For even as the summer passes quickly in this bout
I am stormed,
Threatened by the hope of He who borns,
Eusebius awakes.
For when He comes
What pathway will I take?
I cannot be slaved to Egoist
Nor slake the passion of the falsely happy
Who are well refused

Oh I doubt
Because of me
The Death is lain about,
and due to my mistake,
Johannes may be born a bit too late.
I choose not the season of the Allegemein
My mind is turned to German
and in the interstices, find
Eusebius is not too far behind.
He will out!
In beauty,
In the lyric of my Doubt,
The swelling up of something
Will come out.
in Zweifel, 2 aug, Weinheim

The yearning

Of my empty
Uninspired hand
Uncomposed, and limpid
From the Wellspring of repose,

I am Romanced,
Emptied out of passion
And bereft of song and dance
I seek the empty solitudes
The Soul of me has glanced,

The yearning

of my empty
Uninspired hand
Will rise to pluck the promise of my Dream
And reinspired
Wake the passion
That for now is barely seen

10 Aug 03

The Even of the Summer

When evening came
In trembling
The fuller to be met by host unworthy
I was slain by these
The angry and the lost
The profit-seeking genie
That counts so little cost…

I am little cost to these
The hosts unworthy
Who believe I am but dross
And yet,
The price is still too high
For these


My Joy

Has leapt from Prophecy
Through pain
I have endured the summer swelter
And await the Autumn rain

Will I see, on this old Land
The coming of the Rain
Will Autumn be my loss
And I return to pain?

This I cannot know
This day is lost to trembling
For I am banked but low
I open both my hands
And cannot see, but know
I cannot help the present plight
And cannot help
But know.


From Distance

I behold the Beauty
That is ever mine to keep
My Art is but a moment
‘Ere I shine

Something waits, as yet unnamed
And presses me to music and to rhyme

This drama must remain
To slay the demonkind
I am removed from them
And must not look behind

They are the roughest sort of Allegemein
These ignorant
Who sought my soul to bind…


Romance 1

What rises in my sleep
And draws me out
This inspiration will not keep
Nor linger
In the precinct of Repose

For soon He wakes
The conquerer of Emptiness
The E that doth compose
He takes the inner child of me
That does not think,
But knows,

Eusebius my shade
Will soon compose.


The Last Day of August

He dies.
Before the light imperious
As Love and Light reprise
I am blind today
To the promise of my fair tomorrows

I am bereft
And cannot choose the theme
To weep upon
There are too many losses
For my heart to break upon

This grief, I cannot fight
Nor can I deny
That something waits
Unknown, and uncreated
On the Stone

This night
As I grope in darkness,
I count the bills of yesterday, unpaid
The little that remains to me
My cost

There is little left to lose,
As late I count my cost
There is endless grief today
As late I feel my loss.

19 Aug-03
upon the Change


The mortar and the stone
I linger, stopping brief
And tarry not to sleep.
Oh slow, I cannot be;
I am surrendered to the hope
Of fair tomorrow

I have lingered long in anger
And drowned too much in sorrow
I am late;
My pride has dwindled errant
From the lack of Discipline
I am still unholy
And my fear
Is much too great.


Romanz 2

O Florestan
The bold Original
Of which that Name is but reflection;
He comes to me abed
As I lay weary;

Who invented you, my sprite
Who leaps ahead of boldest inspiration?
What deep inquiry piques me
To the whimsy of Your light?

O lover of my deepest inclination
I am Geliebte
For your Greater inspiration
And rise to joy
To join this dance
Of hot creation.

For Florestan

The Last Day of August (II)

This grief, I cannot fight
Nor can I deny
That something waits
Unknown, and uncreated
On the Stone

This night
As I grope in darkness,
I count the bills of yesterday, unpaid
The little that remains to me, my cost

There is little left to lose,
As late I count my cost
There is endless grief today
As late I feel my loss.

19 Aug 03
upon the Change.

Oh Many

Were the changes
That I put myself through then
In solitary maunderings of soul;
I wandered,
Solitary, free
I was jaded, Egoist
My grief was swallowed whole

Many were the hopes
That pinned me into Now
Few to be fulfilled
Lesser then the light
That I had sooner skilled

I lose my light so freely
When my passion is distilled.


I Long for Thee

With empty hands,
Devoid of Music
And so poor, and uninspired
I am engulfed
In wanton life Material
I fled from Light
Into the insubstantial

I have nothing
To devote to thee
I have little but my Lust
To offer Thee,
I am the uninspired lover
Who you may never see

And still this empty,
Endless night,
I long for Thee.


The Moment of Change

And is my prayer now answered
Or has this moment of change,
Starkly contrasted to the previous,
These months wherein I raged,
Been made a play,
A gross distraction from the toil of years?

This, I cannot say
The lamp, now emptied
Does not illuminate
The fleeing of my soul
From Day.


Das Letzten Mal
In Baden-Baden

I prayed,
How long I prayed
For Sarah and her children,
For these long months
I wept and played,
I listened and was made full
By that which Altestier
Had promised ill;

I was not ready
For the ending of my days
The funeral of my former self
Had echoed out of sighs
Breathed from out of books
Sung from orchestras
And I was through
Fuller to be fallen
From this Ruh

I go quickly,
The quicker to be greeted by the Fall
I am the Angel of the Small.


Bay of Biscay

The ocean looms ahead
Cold, fresh
That curtain holding me apart
From the legacy of Time
How I lingered, fearing Time
And that bright promise
Of all that once was mine
I go from here with speed
To make the claiming
That was ever mine
Once denied,
Now late and Rhein.

Day of the Emperor

The Resonance

Of this Return,
Subdued, on holiday
Imbued with unfamiliarity
Yet old,
And older than the youth
Misspent by age
I remember much
Since being here before
And little,
Since the I has never lived before

I live again, among the legacies
The monuments
Descendants of the blood
That courses through the selfsame breast
We share the history of blood
We bear a legacy in common

The power that I feel so fresh, so new
And hopeful, springing forth
Enlivens me, and sets me fast
Upon a new and stronger course
I am renewed by these
My cousins and my brethren in the blood,
What comes of these
Is naught but Good.



The sky impends
With cloud, with sunshine
And with hopeful crowds
Who know their wisdom
And who are not shy
To show their happy pride
They are at home
At length, and after all
This weary travel,
So am I.


The Intimacies

I never felt loved
So utterly, and so completely
As by you, in my exigency
In present need
In longing of the fiercest, deep desire

In the waning summer heat
As Autumn soon impends
I feel the depth of passion
As I never felt before

My lover and myself
That rival that I sooner sought to quell
You quicken me to new Creation
And am held
To beauty bright
You cannot be quelled…

For F
In his bold desire


Remind me of the secret joy we shared
You held me weeping in the night
When you fulfilled me
I am yours entire, Beauteous
I am slain and drawn to tears
By this unspoken passion,

Oh Love, I am overwhelmed
By the pleasure of your touch
I tremble with anticipation of your kiss;
You are a dream of joy to me
This pleasure, overmuch.



The world changed, the night we met. I was a regular at Coffe Baum, though there was no telling when I would disappear from the table on the obscure mission, when inspiration struck me, and I was never questioned on these disappearances. I was at the penultimate moment when my glass was empty, and I hesitated before calling the taverner once again, because the increasing urge to bolt for the evening was on me, Emil had captivated the group with another story I had heard too many times at school, and I was fading into that ennui that tempted me to return once again to my heap of uncompleted work.

(from The Erotic Etudes)

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