I Have Plenty of Heart

Today I am, I don’t know how,

today all I am ready for is suffering,
today I have no friends,
today the only things I have is the desire
to rip out my heart by the roots
and stick it underneath a shoe.

Today that dry thorn is growing strong again,
today is the day of crying in my kingdom,
depression unloads in my chest
a depressed heavy metal.

Today my destiny is too much for me.

And I’m looking for death down by my hands,
looking at knives with affection,
and I remember that friendly ax,
and all I think about is the tallest steeples
and making a fatal leap serenely.

If it weren’t for . . . I don’t know what,
my heart would write a suicide note,
a note I carry hidden there,
I would make an inkwell out of my heart,
a fountain of syllables, and good-byes and gifts,
and you stay here I’d say to the world.

I was born under a rotten star.

My grief is that I only have one grief
and it weighs more than all the joys together.

A love affair has left with my arms hanging down
and I can’t lift them anymore.

Don’t you see how disillusioned my mouth is?
How unsatisfied my eyes are?

The more I look inward the more I mourn!
Cut off this pain?—who has the scissors?

Yesterday, tomorrow, today
suffering for everything,
my heart is a sad goldfish bowl,
a pen of dying nightingales.

I have plenty of heart.

Today to rip out my heart,
I who have a bigger heart than anyone,
and having that, I am the bitterest also.

I don’t know why, I don’t know how or why

I let my life keep on going every day. 


Translation by Robert Bly.