You are godly, 
you one and only;
even the radiant moon is humbled 
and kneels at your feet
while your shade invades
my very being...
Feelings,
passions,
poems and follies
melt away at your approach.

You are godly,
you one and only, 
harmony like unto music,
like the morning shafts of light
that play on the stealthy dew of the morn.

The cosmic oceans
fill a corner in the ocean of my soul,
and their perfumed tides
explode on the shores of my heart....

We sail towards a posterity,
towards that invisible throne,
now empty,
where we shall sit in state.

Noble vessel,
bear me on thy course,
bear me to my own inner depths.

Somewhere,
far, far in the West,
in the mines of gold,
you are the quarry
whence I draw all the gold in the universe.

A quarry never exhausted,
fed by that river divine
whose name slips my mind...

At your feet,
all the world's riches
where the yellow metal gleams.

Fascinating quarry,
dazzling,
like a thousand stars.

This night,
by the light of the moon I drown,
in the firmament of your eyes,
drunk with wine, drunk with the Spirit.

Helen, Marguerita, Astarte,
all goddesses...
all graces...
all mysteries...

you illumine my meditation
in this glory of what is holy.

Helen, Marguerita, Astarte,
like my dreams and my drunken delights,
you are pure and are sacred.

Bathed in moonlight we are united,
and in drunkenness I am enchanted.

The Garden of Joys

In all their kinds they are richly displayed,
For all to choose they are open arrayed.
One has only to enter and this world so desired
Sows in the spirit dreams of gold fired.
Here is the Eden where the spirit may find
Each voluptuous pleasure that comes to mind.
One seeks sacrifice, fasting and prayer,
Another seeks gold excelling desire.
Some seek in this garden great glory and fame,
Splendor and ease after making a name.
The hermit bows down adoring his Lord,
But all of us creatures obey His word:
The artist has many fine means of expression
For what he imagines and sees in a vision.
The painter’s palette has a limitless grace
While his genius stops short at the ends of space.
The melodist makes the soul to soar
When leading us through this earthly bower.
The poet pays court to his sacred muses
By giving us magic the world refuses.
The physicist piercing the atom’s heart
Looks over past ages to the world’s depart.
The learned in letters and thinkers profound
Show the finger of God in the world that’s around.
The political field, how can it bring gain
When men lead by lies for goals that are vain?
The sensual wants pleasure he never can win
Fulfillment is not to be found in a sin.
By one seer this garden is called Paradise ,
But another one Eden here descries.
The nun, the nurse, the baker too,
The monk, the milkman, young salesgirl new,
The housewife, mason, manual worker,
Blacksmith, craftsman, fortune-teller,
O Eden, garden of pleasures by every man whist,
If your seeds are not in us you cannot exist.

Joseph Matar
All rights reserved © LebanonArt
Translated from French: K.J.Mortimer

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