			Alice \| Tin.it \| Foto album \| Disco remoto \| Community

Poetry by Carl Selph

Page 21

"Déjame existir en mi libertad."
                 --  Rubén Darío

The Wolf's Motives

(a translation of "Los Motivos del Lobo" by Rubén Darío)

  
                             
      
That good man with a heart pure as a lily,
a cherub's soul, a celestial tongue,
diminutive, sweet Francis of Assisi,
met with a creature bloodthirsty and grim,
bestial, fearsome, thieving and ravaging,
nothing of pity or remorse in him.
      
 
The Wolf of Gubbio, the terrible wolf,
rabid, had ruined calm countrysides,
ferociously slaughtered whole flocks by himself,
devoured rams and ewe lambs--even shepherds,
causing much carnage, much wastage of goods.
      
 
Hunters armed with pitchforks and scythes
fled at the sight of his long, yellow fangs.
He tore out the throats of the dogs.  Hopeless wives
prayed and prepared to yield up their lives.
Who could live in such dread of such pangs?
      
 
Saint Francis went out.
He looked for the wolf.
He searched out the wolf in his den.
And there, near the cave, he encountered the beast,
which launched itself fiercely at him.
      
 
With his sweet voice, good Francis, raising his hand,
said to the mad carnivore,
"Peace, Brother Wolf."
Beast looked at man, in the sackcloth he always wore,
and was less churlish--a bit--than before,
uncurling his lip, his demeanor
showing he'd changed his mind about dinner.
      
 
"Very well, Brother Francis, what have you to say?"
      
 
The saint exclaimed, "What!  Does the law
now decree you live by rapine and death?
The blood that revoltingly runs
down that muzzle from Hell, the hideous dread
you cause and you spread,
the cry of the farmer, the grieving and shrill
lament of poor creatures lent us by Our Lord....
Can't you temper your hellish ill-will?
Are you infernal?
Did Belial or Luzbel
in sulphurous Hell
inspire you with rancor eternal?"
      
 
And the humbled great wolf:
"Well, here the winter is hard.
If fasting's a virtue, famine's a vice.
In the forest, all ice,
when there's nothing to eat,
I go nose out some livestock that's nice
and at times eat both shepherd and sheep.
      
 
"And the gore?
I see more
from a hunter on horseback, a goshawk on his wrist,
or chasing the stag or the bear or the boar;
and more often than not he bloodies and wounds
and tortures, his horn's brassy blare
drowning their sigh and their cry as they die,
those creatures of God our True Lord.
And nor was it just for mere hunger pangs
he went out a-hunting."  (A baring of fangs!)
      
 
Responded good Francis, "In man there exists
a kind of ferment or leaven.
Though born into sin, he's intended for Heaven.
It is sad, for the beast's soul is simple and pure.
You are going to have from now on, I assure,
always something tasty to eat
but must in these hills leave forever in peace
the shepherds, the sheep and their fleece.
May our Great Kind God make you softer and mild,
who were nurtured in mountains so wild."
      
 
"All right, Brother Francis.  Now, before God,
who binds and unbinds, here and in Heaven,
let's be joined before Him, a sign of faith given."
      
 
The wolf then offered the Brother his paw,
which Francis took in his strong, warm hand.
They were then at the village.  The people all saw--
a pair they could not understand.
After the holy man came the fierce wolf,
his head humbly bowed, following calm,
like a little pet dog or a new-born ewe lamb.
      
 
Francis called the people out into the square
and preached there.  Here's what he said:
"We can now enjoy pleasant sport with our friend
Brother Wolf, who comes with me gently.
He swears he's never seen us as his enemy
and will not repeat his attacks.
You, in turn, give him food
and hearty brotherhood
so that nothing lacks
to this fellow creature of God."
      
 
"So be it!" shouted they all.
And soon, now content, 
the great, gray wolf went,
wagging his tail,
and with Francis entered the convent.
      
 
For some time the wolf was wholly at peace
in a refuge so quiet and calm.
His huge ears attended the sweetly-sung psalm,
and his bright eyes would turn moist and glisten
as he learned a thousand graces and games
with the gentle friars in the kitchen.
And when Francis preached
the wolf, freed of all lust,
licked the gray dust
from the worn sandals on the saint's feet.
      
 
The wolf walked in the street;
he reaced on the hill; and down in the vale
he entered the houses.  Friends gave him to eat
as to a greyhound, graceful and sleek.
      
 
But then one day
Saint Francis went away.
And what of our beautiful wolf?
The fine, upright wolf, so tame and so good,
disappeared; he returned to the hills,
where as of old his hideous howls
made the night frightful, turning the bowels
of his former neighbors, the shepherds, their flocks.
The wolf, returning to his error,
renewed the old alarm and terror.
Arms and bravery served for naught,
since the fierce beast
in his madness and rage offered no truce,
like Moloch and Satan at war.
      
 
The good little saint, come back to the town,
was assaulted with grumbling and tears.
With a thousand complaints the citizens cried
of what they'd put up with and suffered so much
for that infamous devil the wolf.
      
 
Saint Francis of Assisi could be severe.
He climbed up alone on the rocky hills
to look for the false, carnivorous wolf.
A saintly man, I warn you,
can be a man to fear.
And when he reached the den of the ravening beast
he addressed him sternly, thus:
      
 
"In the name of the Father of the sacred universe
I conjure you, O savage wolf,
to answer why you have turned so perverse.
I'm waiting.  Reply.  And I expect proof."
      
 
The wolf seemed to struggle, mouth dripping with foam.
But looked the saint in the eye and dryly observed,
"Brother Francis, you do not approach very near....
      
 
"I was happy to live in your convent.
In the village I went freely in and out.
With the gifts of food I was content
and ate gently what was put on my plate.
But in every house I began to see hate,
envy, passion, and anger
and in all the faces shone danger,
like live coals, of hate and lewdness, infamy, lies....
Brothers against their own brothers made war;
the weak lost; the evil won;
man and woman  were like dog and bitch.
And beware:
one fine day they all beat me with sticks
and tore out patches of my hair.
      
 
"I felt lowly.  I tried to give gentle licks
to their hands and their feet.
I followed your sacred law:
Men were my brothers; my brothers were stars.
My brothers were oxen and worms and nightjars.
      
 
"The men, my loved brothers, they cudgeled me
and drove me out of the town,
their sneers and their shouts
searing oil on my back running down.
      
 
"And then in my entrails the fierceness revived.
I suddenly felt like a wolf...
but better by far than those men I had left.
I began once again my struggle to live,
to care for my needs, to find food--
as a bear does, as does a wild boar
who has to kill to survive.
      
 
"Abandon me to the mountain now.
Leave me here on the crag in the wild.
Let me live out my life free,
as was meant to be.
It cannot be beguiled
by your virtues.  Follow your road.
Brother Francis, follow your sanctity."
      
 
The saint of Assisi said nothing
but, with a sad face, looked long at the wolf
and left in tears, disconsolate,
and spoke to Eternal God in his heart.
      
 
The wind of the forest raised up his prayer
through the pure, high mountain air.
His plea started this way, his heart nearly riven:
      
 
"Father...Our Father, which art in Heaven...."

Translation © Carl Selph, 1999

All text on this page is copyrighted by Carl Selph and appears here by permission. All rights reserved. It may not be archived beyond one personal electronic copy for offline reading; such a copy must include the entire text of the present notice and the author's name. It may not be printed, posted on a web-site, distributed publicly or privately, used or quoted in whole or in part, or published in any manner or form whatsoever without the author's explicit permission. E-mail Wordreign to contact Carl Selph and your request will be promptly forwarded.

    Carl Selph Poetry Index                    Original Writing Page

E-mail Wordreign