The Dark Night of the Soul

St. John of the Cross

I've taken a stab at this before, but here's another product of the local blackout a few nights ago: my interpretation of St. John of the Cross's "Dark Night of the Soul." This is a less literal translation than my previous try, in order to make it work better, I think, in English.

In velvet night, on fire with violent longing—oh sweet chance—
I slipped away unseen; my household still and dumb, like smoke suspended.

Safe in the blanketing darkness, by unsuspected ladder, reflecting someone else—oh blissful chance—
Invisible and silent; our dead world sleeping still.

In the delirious void, unwhispered and unknown, disturbing no moonbeams
Naked with blindness, no wayfinder but the unsteady torch burning down my heart.

This flame a truer guide than gaudy noon
To the place where I remembered he had been
A place where no one was, and none appeared.

Darkness itself led me—night brighter than the dawn.
Brilliant night that interlaces lover and belovéd, two transformed.

Upon my restless breast, all his alone
He rested, sleeping; I caressed. A cedar detonation filled the room.

A gentle breath swept in from some high keep. I lost my fingers in his hair;
His fingers found and touched my neck: all senses fled.

One remained, forgetting everything. My head was somewhere on his breast.
Everything ended. Even me. All cares or caresses were lost among lilies.

-- Stephen K. Roney