The Death of The Wolf (La mort du Loup)
English translation by Stan Solomons
The dark clouds sped across the orange moon
As smoke trails streak across a fire
And to the far horizon woods were black.
Silent we walked amid the dewy grass,
Amid dense briars and the vaulting heather
Until beneath some moorland conifers
We saw great gashes, marks of griping claws
Made by the wandering wolves we tracked.
We listened, holding back our breath,
Stopped in mid-stride. Nor wood nor plain
Loosed murmurs to the air, only
The mourning wind-vane cried out to the sky
For well above the ground the biting wind
Only disturbed the solitary tower
And the oaks within the shelter of the rocks
On their gnarled elbows seemed to doze.
No rustle then, but sudden, stooping low
The most experienced hunter of our band
Better to scrutinize the sand,
Softly declared - and he was never wrong -
That these fresh claw-marks showed without a doubt
These were the very animals we sought,
The two great wolves and their two stripling cubs.
And then we all prepared our hunting knives,
Hiding our guns and their fierce tell-tale gleam,
We went on, step by step, parting the bushy screen.
Three of us stopped, and, following their gaze,
I noticed suddenly two eyes that blazed,
And further off, two slender forms together,
Dancing beneath the moon, amid the heather.
And they were like the hounds that show their joy,
Greeting their master with a wondrous noise.
And they were like; like also was the dance
Save that the cubs played all in silence,
Knowing full well that near and sleeping slow,
Secure inside his house was man their foe.
The father wolf was up, further against a tree
Remained his mate, a marble statue she,
The same adored by Rome whose generous breast
And suckling gave Remus and Romulus.
The sire advanced with fore-legs braced to stand
With cruel claws dug deeply in the sand.
He was surprised and knew that he was lost
For all the ways were seized, retreat cut off.
Then, in his flaming maw, with one fell bound
Seized the bare throat of our bravest hound.
Like traps his steely jaws he would not leash,
Despite our bullets searing through his flesh,
And our keen knives like cruel and piercing nails,
Clashing and plunging through his entrails.
He held his grasp until the throttled hound,
Dead long before, beneath his feet slumped down.
The Wolf then let him drop and looked his fill
At us. Our daggers thrust home to the hilt,
Steeped in his blood impaled him to the ground,
Our ring of rifles threaten and surround.
He looked at us once more, while his blood spread
Wide and far and his great life force ebbed
Not deigning then to know how he had died
Closed his great eyes, expired without a cry.
I couched my brow upon the smoking gun,
And deep in thought, I tried to bend my mind
To track the She-Wolf and her two young ones,
They would most willingly have stayed behind.
But for her cubs that fine and sombre mother
Would not have left her mate there to endure,
She had to save her children, nothing other,
Teach them to suffer gladly pangs of hunger,
Not sell their souls, enter that dishonourable
Pact man forced upon those hapless beasts
Who fawn and hunt for him, and do his will;
The primal owners of the hills and forests.
Alas, I thought, despite the pride and name
Of Man we are but feeble, fit for shame.
The way to quit this life and all its ill
You know the secret, sublime animal!
See what of earthly life you can retain,
Silence alone is noble - weakness remains.
O traveller I understand you well,
Your final gaze went to my very soul.
Saying: “With all your being you must strive
With strength and purpose and with all your thought
To gain that high degree of stoic pride
To which, although a beast I have aspired.
Weeping or praying - all this is in vain. Shoulder your long and energetic task, The way that Destiny sees fit to ask, Then suffer and so die without complaint.”
jbbartram-illu
blakekathryn
2087
origamiaround
vaporwave
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