um quarto feio numa pensão barata

John Francis Dooley, wipe the sleep from your eyes
And embrace the light
You have slept now for a thousand years
Beneath starless nights
And now it's time for you to renounce the old ways
And to see a new dawn rise

In former days, the masks were raised
When the god came down from off the mountain
And a sacrifice was made
For they knew that the day of wrath was fast approaching
Just like yesterday, before the war
John Francis Dooley, the scapegoat has run
All our sins are disowned
And now it's time for you to take off your mask
And cross the Rubicon

If you and I were one within the eyes of our designs
It would still not change the fact of our leaving
For tonight we must leave with the first gentle breeze
For the Isles of Ken we are assailing

Just like Ulysses on the open sea
On an odyssey of self-discovery

Individuality

Individuality?
is not of the substance of elements.
It is an organism, indivisibly
occupied
by elementary objects of a divergent character:
if you
were to attempt division, these parts
would die.

Myself,
for instance: an entire dramatic company.

Enter an ancestor, prophetic;
enter a hero, brutal
a rake, alcoholic, to argue
with a learned professor.
A lyrical beauty, rolling her eyes
heavenward, a case
of chronic infatuation --
enter a heavy father,
to take care of that.
enter a liberal uncle -- to arbitrate. . . .
Aunt Chatterbox gossiping in a corner.
Chambermaid Lewdie, giggling.

And I, watching it all,
astonishment in my eyes.
Poised, in my left hand
a sharpened pencil.

A pregnant woman!, a mother
is planning
her entrance--
Shushhh! you
don't belong here
you
are divisible!
She fades.

Paul Klee
(Translated by Anselm Hollo)