"A Moonlit Child"
“The Benefits
of the Moon”,
No. 37,
by
Charles Baudelaire)
You were
newborn then,
so tiny,
asleep in furry little blankets,
when
gazing down
she saw you
first
through opened curtains;
that night
she whispered,
out of the blue itself,
“How I marvel
over this little one!”
Her milky moonlight
flowed down
stair-stepped clouds
of cotton stuffing;
then, in elegant silence
she stole
through the curtains and glass.
There she settled in,
and curled around you
soft
as your own mother,
and tenderly bathed your face
in luminous colors
all her own.
Still, to this day,
your cheeks glow pale
as moonbeams,
and your eyes of emerald-blue
open
all too wide
in her radiance.
Nestled under your chin,
she clasped you
there and then
in sweetness,
so that
now and always,
you’ll cry in the dark
for comforts like those.
Her jubilation
waxed full and bright,
flooding the nursery
in luminous mists
more deadly
than Radium!
Her spirit
aglow in the haze
spoke thoughtfully:
“Ever will I
cast my kiss of moonlight
down to guide your steps;
your beauty must shine itself out
like mine,
through stages,
and your passions
correspond to mine,
and only those I love;
and
that which worships
only me --
liquids and vapors,
stillness,
and darkness;
infinite emerald-blue expanses
of waves;
the one and many shapes
of water;
and
everywhere you cannot reach;
the soul-mate you will never meet;
and blossoms
so bizarre and cruel;
the scented oils that drive you crazy;
that furry gray call
of a cat rolling on the ivories;
the raspy purr of honey
in a woman’s yearning whisper.
“And those
who cherish me
will also cherish you;
they’ll race to win you,
even as they dance
to win my heart!
You’ll rise,
a reigning majesty
to lovers of the ocean,
men with emerald-blue eyes
and moonlit shoulders --
a lasting memory of my embrace
where night fell on the sea --
and all their limitless waters,
eternal seas
a turbulent emerald-blue;
the one and varied face of waters;
and every world man cannot find;
the woman
he will never seem to meet;
and flowers so evil,
like ornamental cages
of smoldering aromas,
swung to rituals of communion
and unfamiliar gods;
those delicious scents
to mislay the soul;
and all the rounded,
fertile creatures loose and free --
the perfect symbols
for his lunacy.“
So now you know,
insatiable little creature
so dear,
this curse of love
that throws me
to the ground
where you walk;
I look inside you
for the goddess,
and worship her image
on your mirror.
My Night Queen
of death
and deadly elements,
you offer milk to me:
my nurse’s faithful breast --
but tainted milk --
a luminous milk
of madness!
“The Benefits
of the Moon”,
No. 37,
by
Charles Baudelaire)
You were
newborn then,
so tiny,
asleep in furry little blankets,
when
gazing down
she saw you
first
through opened curtains;
that night
she whispered,
out of the blue itself,
“How I marvel
over this little one!”
Her milky moonlight
flowed down
stair-stepped clouds
of cotton stuffing;
then, in elegant silence
she stole
through the curtains and glass.
There she settled in,
and curled around you
soft
as your own mother,
and tenderly bathed your face
in luminous colors
all her own.
Still, to this day,
your cheeks glow pale
as moonbeams,
and your eyes of emerald-blue
open
all too wide
in her radiance.
Nestled under your chin,
she clasped you
there and then
in sweetness,
so that
now and always,
you’ll cry in the dark
for comforts like those.
Her jubilation
waxed full and bright,
flooding the nursery
in luminous mists
more deadly
than Radium!
Her spirit
aglow in the haze
spoke thoughtfully:
“Ever will I
cast my kiss of moonlight
down to guide your steps;
your beauty must shine itself out
like mine,
through stages,
and your passions
correspond to mine,
and only those I love;
and
that which worships
only me --
liquids and vapors,
stillness,
and darkness;
infinite emerald-blue expanses
of waves;
the one and many shapes
of water;
and
everywhere you cannot reach;
the soul-mate you will never meet;
and blossoms
so bizarre and cruel;
the scented oils that drive you crazy;
that furry gray call
of a cat rolling on the ivories;
the raspy purr of honey
in a woman’s yearning whisper.
“And those
who cherish me
will also cherish you;
they’ll race to win you,
even as they dance
to win my heart!
You’ll rise,
a reigning majesty
to lovers of the ocean,
men with emerald-blue eyes
and moonlit shoulders --
a lasting memory of my embrace
where night fell on the sea --
and all their limitless waters,
eternal seas
a turbulent emerald-blue;
the one and varied face of waters;
and every world man cannot find;
the woman
he will never seem to meet;
and flowers so evil,
like ornamental cages
of smoldering aromas,
swung to rituals of communion
and unfamiliar gods;
those delicious scents
to mislay the soul;
and all the rounded,
fertile creatures loose and free --
the perfect symbols
for his lunacy.“
So now you know,
insatiable little creature
so dear,
this curse of love
that throws me
to the ground
where you walk;
I look inside you
for the goddess,
and worship her image
on your mirror.
My Night Queen
of death
and deadly elements,
you offer milk to me:
my nurse’s faithful breast --
but tainted milk --
a luminous milk
of madness!
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