The Full Moon - Marie Under

Bursting full is the moon,

its weight bends the trees.

The waters desire to be turned 

to wine,

they are so restless.

The streets are breathing;

the houses have wings on their 

shoulders — 

everything is festive:

tigerskins

have been spread out on the

thresholds.

Snowy flags flutter

from the roofs.

The traveller wears a halo in his hair,

the hat in his hand is full of moonrays.

He wears the checkered coat

of a harlequin.

A dog pushes his crooked shadow

with his milky muzzle;

what a strange smell —

stand up and fight!

The old sofa has golden patches,

The walls tremble

They are made of water, clear,

pure water — 

everything is aflow.

Shoes made of glass —

I hear their ringing steps

coming right at me.

On the windowsill, ready to pounce,

a great white cat

with mintgreen eyes:

I feel its sly paw

on my throat.

Who is embracing me in my sleep?

Incubus! Incubus!

I awaken.

The moon's yellow beard on

my breast.

---

Marie Under (1883 - 1980) Estonia

Translated by Ilse Lehiste

Source: LITUANUS Lithuanian Quarterly Journal of Arts and Sciences,  

Volume 29, No.3 - Fall 1983