Anarchistbanjo's World

Iris

Morning mist, thin morning mist,
Lies suspended all around,
Veils the early scarce awoken sun.
Yet it has a moist fragrance,
That’s when the wanderer
Strides firmly with light feet,
When the young lad sets off eagerly
Through the mist into the world
When he walks vigorously through
The wet meadows,
Further,
Walks further,
With light steps.
The fiery blue Iris is eager as well,
Lonely, taciturn
Throughout the moist
Morning mist,
They open eagerly as well
Throughout the wet
Meadows ――
Ask the wanderer where he is walking,
Just ask him why he wanders alone ―
He will silently shrug his shoulders
And lightly walk
Further,
Walk further.
― This eagerness is without reason,
Purposeless, aimless,
Without end:
It is only a movement, a pull, a walking
Through the moist
Morning mist
And the wet
Meadows ――
In the distance you can still hear
The light steps of the wanderer.
In the distance you can still see
The gleam of the opening Iris ――
Do you know the
Eagerness of the wanderer
There in the mist?
Do you know the eagerness
Of the fiery blue
Iris?
Oh, you know it:
It is in you, in you!

-Hanns Heinz Ewers
translation by Joe Bandel