FOREVER springing up in Womb of Time 
new leaves afresh on World Tree unfold 
unfurled banners, little scrolls unrolled 
while tides of sap into the branches climb 
soon stamped withal by Heaven’s paradigm 
impressed with seal and signet wrought in gold 
of sunlight, as the ancients have foretold 
at times conveyed in meter or in rhyme 
conceived this day be the eternal Word 
upon the Earth, as Gabriel hath said 
in the Annunciation that was heard 
by Mary, who hath tears of gladness shed 
to know that she by Heaven was preferred 
and so eternity with time was wed 
I know that what I say will sound absurd 
but the Divine need not have left his bed 
on nectar drunk and fed on Heaven’s curd 
in timeless bliss, no past, nothing ahead—
yet leaven works to swell a lump of bread 
and action by some cause or will is spurred 
so from forever God by love was led
to be conceived inside of time instead

AS FALLING SNOW that free from clouds is shaken 
and myriad shapes and forms by it are caught
I have so long as I remember fought 
guard to stand till day they shall awaken
howbeit buried they are not forsaken
till now I've not accomplished what I ought—
to set my seal upon the stuff of thought 
for all these untold eons it has taken 
because I've had to plane each plank by hand
each beam and timber wrought above my head
and floorboards furnishing a place to stand
on patch of ground to which I once was led
of decent earth and not of mire or shifting sand
sanctified by tears my mother shed
and hallowed by the drops my father bled

TO SEE correctly I must change my stance
revert the rhythms of both heart and lung
and fall in step with poetry that was sung
to ancient melodies that skip and dance
when angels moved the hands we now call chance
as they descended ladders rung by rung
and wrapped themselves inside our mother tongue
of Saxon speech and languages Romance
begotten in a chamber wrought of sound
begotten, not invented and not made,
spontaneous as blossoms in the ground
that spring up in seclusion of a glade
and soon with gold of vernal sun are crowned
the gold that in the origin inlaid
the throats in which angelic choirs expound
the psaltery triumphant saints have prayed
whose prayers against eternity rebound
and to despair have us express forbade:
“the Holy Grail will once again be found;
the ancient rite, though lost, is not decayed.”

IT’S TAKEN HALF my life to finally raze
the castle that my father built by hand
the walls he raised up on the desert sand
with altar placed at center of a maze
and cup that seemed to draw my vision’s rays
while held aloft by dint of unseen hand
beyond my reach wherever I did stand
and seemed to beckon from quixotic haze
and now I know not if I wake or sleep
for hours and days slip past like desert wind
that neither feasts observe nor Sabbaths keep
I’ll not pretend I haven’t also sinned
yet many though they never sow, they reap

WHERE EVERY WORD pronounced and every sound
must listen to the one that came before
in memory and in the house of store 
preserving us like seed in frozen ground
when enemies have compassed me around 
to drive me through the frame of death’s dark door 
the clothes from off my back they tore 
and to a rack my frame with cords they bound
all at once I hear a pulse and hum 
intoned and echoed through the halls of space
howbeit that I know not where it’s from
yet it imbues in me an angel’s grace 
that through surrender we shall overcome 
and once again I’ll look upon your face 

WHILE HEAVEN’S angels kneel on bended wing
before the Earth regaled like ancient priest  
of all celestial spheres yet not the least
and soon to far and wide these tidings bring 
and still the bells from out land do ring
though from the snow-clad church they long-since ceased
that gathered time itself to keep the feast
while two by two the aeons form a ring 
as one by one and three by three they came
as each one listens to what came before 
which needs must change itself to stay the same
and also looks ahead at what’s in store
then all at once in unison his Name
pronounce for now and then and evermore 

THE STONES first drew the warmth of aeons in
and into mineral bonds that fire did freeze
and then was fangled by the ancient trees
the sunlight from before the Fall to sin
and next did creeping things and beasts begin
(as asses, oxen, lizards, mice, and bees)
to locomote and travel as they please
for waters of the Moon they’d drawn within
and as the Moon did rise they gather round
in semicircle or in shape of horn
and in the darkness wondrous tones resound 
that space itself with metaphors adorn
because no space inside the inn was found
into this crescent is the infant born

IT CAN BE KNOWN, it’s said, a man is wise
when he from one thing of another learns;
by what he loves as much as what he spurns:
when I behold the glow in yonder skies
foretelling that the Sun is set to rise,
I follow as the Earth her face she turns,
forsaking cheap and fatuous concerns,
to drink the cup of dawn into her eyes
in image showing forth the heavens whole
on every surface and in every part 
each moment making manifest their goal
so let me also stand with my whole heart 
in all my deeds there writ on Heaven’s scroll
until my life becomes a work of art;
my way of life a symbol of my soul

THE HOUR the waxing moon begins to wane
a whistle cries with voice of pressured steam
at once as though they’re born upon a stream
the scenes outside flow past while I remain
their stillness loaded on a moving train 
where passengers abide as in a dream
where things are almost never what they seem
and looking on, face pressed against the pane
I watch the countryside slip past my sight
till now unknown, a presence starts to stir
a hand whose fingers play on cords of light
whose every note and tone seems to recur
eternal echo in some unknown height 
I feel my life’s been passing in a blur
but one day very soon I’ll find respite

THROUGH channels never built with hands they flow
as streams of colour carving veins of light
that poured themselves into our eyes as sight
from moment first that we began to grow
and long before the day we came to show
the gesture that would soon become our plight
as stars carve paths among the sea of night  
reflected in the waters far below
then all at once the angel sees his face
in mirror of the newly-seeing eye
which then proceeds those lineaments to trace
as it imbibes clear draughts of starry sky
and now abiding outside time and space
where divine patience must the angel ply
until that moment of abounding grace
as when the sun first crests a mountain high:
the dawn of recognition in the I

SINCE memory began my mind was caught
in threads and weavings wrought without a seam
as images inlaid within a dream
and sequent happenings within a plot
now scenes of childhood long-since forgot
in firelight of recollection gleam
a gathering that will at last redeem
the empty furnishings and ghosts of thought 
the light like fingers on the ceiling play
on beams and rafters wrought of ancient fir
as though with something that they wish say
like resin-waves and rivulets of myrrh
ever-working like a potter molds his clay
an ageless memory begins to stir
that when I seek to grasp has slipped away
but now I understand whose hands they were
that e’er did right my own when they did stray
and I will look upon his face one day

UPON THESE LINES and verses in the dark
that I composed on pages of my mind
the fire light casts shadows from behind 
and then it sailed in parabolic arc—
how great a blaze can spring from little spark!
a word was writ in flame as though divined 
then evermore unto the night consigned 
but only then did I perceive the lark
that in the darkness took me by the ear
as by the hand, with lilting melody 
to guide me through the valley of my fear
until my vision is restored to me
now rays of morn above the hills appear
until this day I never learned to see

A FROST has crept across the window panes
and left the glass with hieroglyphs bedight 
inscribed by hand of angels in the night
and unseen ones, departed souls, and manes
though eyes they have, not hands to hold my reins
so I press on by faith and not by sight
still even as the cold begins to bite
and eagerness in tides does course my veins
as I approach, a lantern held aloft
and place my other hand upon door
and listen for the voices—lilting, soft
oh! how I wish to hear what is in store
and spring across the threshold of the floor
and catch the ones whose whispers hither waft
but I have stood here many times before
and I can stand to wait a little more

AS SERPENT winding through a bed of stone
the sunlight on a river’s surface plays
with image cast on tapestry of days
forever fraying and again resewn;
how everything from out itself is thrown
and so goes bounding from itself in rays
in what we do see, what we don’t arrays
itself like banners that surround a throne 
whereon once king did seem to have his seat
before whom courtiers once their heads inclined
and once I too the rising Sun did greet
when all its virgin strength and splendour shined
when more than light alone it gave, but heat
and could be felt by one who’s eyes are blind 
but I have eyes as well within my feet
and surely what I’ve lost I too could find

WHEN ALL THE LEAVES have turned from green to brown
and so are given over to time’s powers
to fall like sand within a glass of hours,
and fall like snow upon the sleeping town,
on rolling hills and on the grassy downs
that gods of spring did people once with flowers
which one by one a scythe of frost now scours;
and ere the final grain of sand runs down 
I’ll have to meet the reapers face-to-face
as I before did greet the rising Sun
when I did wear a young man’s clothes and face
before the wheel of time and space had spun
by hand that this same hourglass did place
upon the mantle of my life to run
which garnered pinch of sand from shores of grace
as surely as I am my father’s son
and did the sand in glass of hours encase
through sequence, making many out of one—
but grain by grain is time becoming space 
where every moment there will find its place

WITH EVERY LEAF and every flake of snow
that falls like grains of sand in glass of hours
upturned by hands that also fell the flowers
which only yesterday did start to grow
whose green is fading like the evening glow 
above the borderlands the sky still glowers 
the borderlands where reapers wander to and fro
at times I’ve heard their footfalls in the night
in folds of twilight when I’m half asleep
on the threshold at the falling of the light
when vision from my eyes does slowly creep
and even as my eyes do lose their sight
I feel the angels come my soul to reap

THE WORLD was full of signs and once did I
behold the ring around the daybreak’s hand
that binds the Morning Star in golden band;
a sigil on the forehead of the sky
conveyed unspoken wonders to my eye,
but then at once they left me where I stand 
leaving only footprints in the sand 
that of things lost and gone do testify;
my eyes betrayed me and I could not see 
so I resigned myself to walk by prayer
commending thus my soul to destiny 
that guided me down pathways of despair
to discover at the bottom of the sea
in depths of Hades, you were also there
alone I was, and you were there with me

Below is Dr. Steiner’s original Seelenkalender, or “Calendar of the Soul” verse for this week followed by my translation into English. I have opted to follow, whenever a conflict arose, the spirit over the letter in my translation efforts, attempting to convey the “mood” before the propositional content.

TWENTY-FIFTH WEEK OF THE YEAR

25. Ich darf nun mir gehören
und leuchtend breiten innenlicht
in raumes- und in zeitenfinsternis.
Zum schlafe drängt natürlich wesen,
der seele tiefen sollen wachen
Und wachend tragen sonnengluten
in kalte winterfluten.

∇∆

AT LAST I may indwell myself again
compass round that dawn within my ken
as cosmic night descends through space and time,
as nature spirits soon, to slumber, shall incline,
new wakefulness is kindled in the depths of mind,
the daybreak of a rising inner sun
in Winter’s swell.

INVISIBLE the light by which we see
that renders clear the field of stars above
condensed in symbol of descending dove;
a presence stirs behind my memory
with wave of hand it vouchsafes unto me
a glance and fleeting intimation of
what it might mean for destiny in love
to be subsumed, drawn into utterly
to power that perennial bestows
the human soul its promissory wholeness 
when deep into eternity she grows
and sends out roots that pierce the husk of soulness
her destiny it’s God alone that knows—  
that is, the soul when time has reached its fullness 

WHEN NIGHT FALLS like a curtain on the land
you’ll know the hour of reckoning is near
and everywhere your soul could flee is here
here on the threshing floor the wheat is fanned
your memory has gathered up in bands
impressions bundled, every joy and fear
in other lifetimes shall again appear 
but now let rest your tired eyes and hands 
their work is done, let them incline to sleeping
and wakefulness your senses is forsaking
the Summer gave its vineyards for your reaping
and laid its fruits before you for the taking 
and God has given life into your keeping
how will he find you when dawn is breaking?