Trinity Journal of Literary Translation
Online: De profundis1 There is a stubble field in which a black rain falls. There is a brown tree that stands alone.
There is a whispering wind that circles empty cottages. How sad this evening. Past the hamlet
The meek orphan still gleans scant spikes of grain. Her eyes feast round and precious in the twilight And her loins await the heavenly bridegroom. On coming home
The herdsmen found the sweet body Rotted in the thorn bush.
I am a shadow far from dark villages. God’s silence
I drank from the well of the grove. Cold metal comes to my brow Spiders seek my heart.
There is a light that is put out in my mouth. Nights I find myself on a heath, Matted with filth and star dust. In the hazel bush
Crystalline angels tingled once more.
1
De profundis, the penitential opening line of the Latin text of Psalm 130 meaning “from the depths.”
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