Savitri – Eine Legende und ein Symbol. Sri Aurobindo

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      The Dream Twilight of the Earthly Real

      There came a slope that slowly downward sank;

      It slipped towards a stumbling grey descent.

      The dim-heart marvel of the ideal was lost;

      Its crowding wonder of bright delicate dreams

      And vague half-limned sublimities she had left:

      Thought fell towards lower levels; hard and tense

      It passioned for some crude reality.

      The twilight floated still but changed its hues

      And heavily swathed a less delightful dream;

      It settled in tired masses on the air;

      Its symbol colours tuned with duller reds

      And almost seemed a lurid mist of day.

      A straining taut and dire besieged her heart;

      Heavy her sense grew with a dangerous load,

      And sadder, greater sounds were in her ears,

      And through stern breakings of the lambent glare

      Her vision caught a hurry of driving plains

      And cloudy mountains and wide tawny streams,

      And cities climbed in minarets and towers

      Towards an unavailing changeless sky:

      Long quays and ghauts and harbours white with sails

      Challenged her sight awhile and then were gone.

      Amidst them travailed toiling multitudes

      In ever shifting perishable groups,

      A foiled cinema of lit shadowy shapes

      Enveloped in the grey mantle of a dream.

      Imagining meanings in life’s heavy drift,

      They trusted in the uncertain environment

      And waited for death to change their spirit’s scene.

      A savage din of labour and a tramp

      Of armoured life and the monotonous hum

      Of thoughts and acts that ever were the same,

      As if the dull reiterated drone

      Of a great brute machine, beset her soul, –

      A grey dissatisfied rumour like a ghost

      Of the moaning of a loud unquiet sea.

      A huge inhuman cyclopean voice,

      A Babel-builders’ song towering to heaven,

      A throb of engines and the clang of tools

      Brought the deep undertone of labour’s pain.

      As when pale lightnings tear a tortured sky,

      High overhead a cloud-rimmed series flared

      Chasing like smoke from a red funnel driven,

      The forced creations of an ignorant Mind:

      Drifting she saw like pictured fragments flee

      Phantoms of human thought and baffled hopes,

      The shapes of Nature and the arts of man,

      Philosophies and disciplines and laws,

      And the dead spirit of old societies,

      Constructions of the Titan and the worm.

      As if lost remnants of forgotten light,

      Before her mind there fled with trailing wings

      Dimmed revelations and delivering words,

      Emptied of their mission and their strength to save,

      The messages of the evangelist gods,

      Voices of prophets, scripts of vanishing creeds.

      Each in its hour eternal claimed went by:

      Ideals, systems, sciences, poems, crafts

      Tireless there perished and again recurred,

      Sought restlessly by some creative Power;

      But all were dreams crossing an empty vast.

      Ascetic voices called of lonely seers

      On mountain summits or by river banks

      Or from the desolate heart of forest glades

      Seeking heaven’s rest or the spirit’s worldless peace,

      Or in bodies motionless like statues, fixed

      In tranced cessations of their sleepless thought

      Sat sleeping souls, and this too was a dream.

      All things the past has made and slain were there,

      Its lost forgotten forms that once had lived,

      And all the present loves as new-revealed

      And all the hopes the future brings had failed

      Already, caught and spent in efforts vain,

      Repeated fruitlessly age after age.

      Unwearied all returned insisting still

      Because of joy in the anguish of pursuit

      And joy to labour and to win and lose

      And joy to create and keep and joy to kill.

      The rolling cycles passed and came again,

      Brought the same toils and the same barren end,

      Forms ever new and ever old, the long

      Appalling revolutions of the world.

      Once more arose the great destroying Voice:

      Across the fruitless labour of the worlds

      His huge denial’s all-defeating might

      Pursued the ignorant march of dolorous Time.

      “Behold СКАЧАТЬ