How Wan a Poet Live Without Love?

On Friday, the seventh of October, our generous poet is undressing in an hotel overlooking Hanover central station.

It’s really late and I'm dog-tired. I’ll just quickly brush my teeth and then into bed! I left Munich four days ago. My lucky star is shining on me again. I'm selling as never before. Perhaps it is Marias’s thoughts about me which blesses me with such luck. Or perhaps my love for her gives me so much confidence in pursuing my activities. Yes, my mission to distribute uplifting poetry actually brings me pleasure. He whose heart is full of love seems to have wings to carry him over all the obstacles upon the earth. Yes, I feel I have springs under the soles of my shoes. My printer has done a quick job of producing another 2000 “Festive Offerings” for me. They are my opening gambit on the trains. And if someone shows a lot of interest in my poetry, I’ll then pull out a copy of my book “Lebendiges Sein”.

In the past, people often asked if I've had anything published and I would reply that I, myself, am the publication. But now I have my book of poetry to show and can sign copies in any fashion they wish. There are so many other German writers on the breadline. Why have none of them thought of publishing themselves in this manner - presenting themselves in the flesh to the reader?

Yes, tomorrow I'm heading toward Lake Constance. I may start a co-authorship project with Torsten. He has so much poetic ability which I absolutely must rekindle. The German language must not lose a single poet. Through the power of literature and poetry, we must lead Man to himself and to the best that lies at his core. Once found, he may nourish this essence with the fountain of love so it may flourish and grow toward the everlasting loving light of God. (Yawning.) I’ll jump into bed now. Yes, next year my “Lebendiges Sein” will see its second edition. My supplies are evaporating like the morning dew in the first rays of the sun.

And while many human heads are tonight turned heavenward to marvel at a total eclipse of the moon, our slumbering poet’s head rests snugly upon his pillow.

Can, or rather may, we meet him again “somnambulistically”?

We can and we may. I’ve thought up something special for this occasion, knowing that our “Summer Valley Orpheus” is particularly responsive to whatever smacks of matters Grecian.

Shall we not again speak in verse and rhyme, thus bringing change to the all too prosaic? A break I think will enhance our novel’s charm?

Come on, then! Let’s use our charm!

While darkened is the moon’s light
it still shines in “our” deep realm bright.
In dreams to us all worlds seem lit
be they inner or outer, or indefinite.

In this deep realm we’ve sunken thus,
prime motherly drunk the two of us,
awaiting the poet on underworld’s throne
whose thoughts have long to dream realm flown.

And the bonding power of our mind
catches the sleeper in its bind
and takes him into custody.

Still freely to us is he brought,
as to a poet’s free spirit it is ought.

Molar: Where am I?

Hades: Thou art in earthe’s underrealm, in the source of all unconscious being. For here emergence is begun as well as mergence with the One.

Persephone: Through us you’ll reach Elysian Fields, where every dweller knows but love.Through us you’ll come to Tartar’s grounds, way down below, racked by anguish and woe.

Molar: The two of you, closely examined, are those who bar the path to earthen life,the masters of these lower spheres, who vouchsafe entry, yet no return.

Hades: Back one will go in different guise, once having drunk of the Lethe’s waters. Back one will go where one will rise to a different life and different times.

Persephone: For I myself return to earth, each spring once new arising.Embodying the earthly tides and eternal seasons’  passing.

Molar: If rightly I have understood, Thou art Persephone, of Demeter’s brood.So ‘t is my honour in this house to meet with Hades and his spouse.

Hades: Correcly hast thou seen, those who sit before. Yet we are more than meets thine earthly eye.

Persephone: We are thy deep unconscious thought, thy flights of fancy to escort,and in thy dream have brought thee here.
 
Hades: We are thine all unconscious realm, the never bounded poets’ sphere from whence a thousand future currents spring.

Persephone: We led thee here unto our realm, so wisdom would be shining brightthroughout this dream-transfigured night.
 
Molar: Do tell me then what lacks me upon the earth, in my sphere of poetry,that I return enriched and lend my fellow man a true helping hand. 

Hades: Thine eyes ignore the darkest depths and turn to the lofty stars alone. Uneven is thy poetry sewn.

Persephone: Thou dost lack the dark side of life, withholding death from the readers’s sight. It's wholeness which thy poetry lacks.

Molar: What! Should I myself fall into line singing of death,for men to hear but ‘bout the dying? Were there not murderings galore
by millions these last years, and more? Should poets but of horror speak,when death is all that men recite? Should they not break with darkness bleak, heralding love and life and light?

Hades: We mean not death as dreadful horror but rather death behind the sorrow.

Persephone: For death’s the Spring of all of life, and alike to springs is never dead.Yet man will see it as the end from whence all of his plight is bred.

Molar: I aim to rid man’s mind of fear to relieve him of his inner plight,return again his dignity. Do show what lies within the poet’s sphere?

Persephone: A poet need always forego many a pleasure of the day, wandering through mazes to and frowith no complaint, be it as it may.
 
Hades: A poet ceaseless need to know and speak of that which many abhor. He is their conscience, after all, challenging us all not to ignore.

Persephone: A poet has to bear much grief, strong standing, tall and panoplied,answers to suffering must he seek, to descend even to Orcus bleak.

Hades: A poet is to tell of truth as far as truth to seekers is revealed. Since any truth wrested, in sooth preserves some mystery concealed.

Persephone: A poet must much succour bring, the world’s servant, a humble priest, the truth he is to win alone, if modesty he makes his own.

Hades: A poet must be giving love, each verse expressing love itself, for love alone may raise the heart
and to all heavens the key impart.

Molar: Of love can I truly witness bear my bounty of it I gladly share,with love I’ll open and extend always my heart as too my hand. On earth appeared me Eurydice, attached to me with heart and soul. To humbly serve our God and follow the beacon of love, is our goal.

Hades: Pray tell us which path thou’d take: Eurydice thy wife to make or to die as Orpheus, Immortal, in garlands of glory?

Molar: How can a poet live without love, how, without love, a minstrel be? To love we’ll both devote our lives, tending to all, with love the key.

Hades: Misunderstand us not. Thou must decide. In no uncertain terms we ask thee now, will thou humbly follow, in service to mankind,  the path that forsakes love and its requital to fulfill thy poet’s duty as a priestly office?

Molar: This question only love can answer, the love of which I am aglow.As poet I would fade, love lacking, so loving love I never could forego, not even for poetry’s sake.
 
Hades: Setting thy love for thy betrothed above thy poetship, thou art letting slip true poets’ glory.

Molar: Orpheus himself, so long ago, owed greatness only to his love.

Hades: The death of his beloved is that which made him great! A poet’s eternal yearning for love and for beauty brings lyrical fruit.
But with the fulfilment will die the root. Maid Poetry’s a fickle creature, only those devoted to her grace will ever know to truly reach her. While the poet still sings forth her praise revering her in gilded earthly-divine guise, she’ll open to him with the greatest love
and lavish him with gifts so great and wise. Yet should he court her through a woman, she will grow jealous, unforgiving. The poetic stream will cease to flow and distant times will of his feats ne’er know.

Persephone: That’s why again I ask: decide! Shall Poetry wave a laurel’s wreathand Elysium’s kisses hail thee home? Or wouldst thou rather have Mary’s troth and later pay for breaking the poet’s oath?
 
Molar: Overpowering is my love for Mary. I shall never let this go.

Hades: So return to thy bed and earthly bliss, continue then without amiss.

Persephone: Though poets’ fame and splendour  escapes thee now,I shall love’s laurel wreath  to thee joyfully bequeath.

While Molar rises t’ward the moon which clothes the night in silvery light, so rise we too from the underworld’s dream to return again to the earthen scheme.

Author: Now I request you answer me with all sincerest honesty: Shall we fulfill his heart’s request or steer his path to manifest that Molar poetry’s most loved be? For should Maria die to him, in grief shall he the poet’s crown win.

Reader: To rob him of his greatest love, even murder then for poetry’s sake,all to fulfill this poet’s life?

What kind of callous soul are you?

To death I shall not lend a hand, though e’en it means we may disband!

Author: We may only do what is decreed, to fulfil is all the Author’s deed.