THE LITTLE MERMAID’S SONGS

on her way to the witch

 

gladly would I exchange these feet for the fins these words for the voice of the deep

I ought to be the foam of the ocean, I’m walking again those slow painful roads – they said there would be pain in every step as if it were only my fate as if anyone could tread the hard soil of earth with no pain

are you satisfied are you satisfied, she was saying she was laughing when I first came to her, do you like your immortal soul? you got it so cheaply smiling at children who gave their voices away

oh please release me! I cried from my prison of pure spirit

I was so young I cried am young and my grandmother was reading from the wrong books! how could she know a thing having never accepted any risk of change –

I’m kinder than your little man, she said, but you insisted on looking at me with his eyes

he gave me his eyes, now give me back my own and perhaps I won’t see your ugliness! –
she laughed and I saw her with apples and mirrors and distaffs scattered by laughter

I’m kinder that the little man but you’ve made your choice, she said and turned me into a bird

…

a cormorant she made me a swift black diver and when I entered the blue I felt a small comfort but that was not the reason she’d given me wings

from above I saw the backyard of the palace all dirt and misery –
how could have I been so deceived by all those dead statues, the fountain’s tame water, trifles of gold glass and marble, compared to my sunny circle of roses of the deep?

a flyer I was but it was hard to fly high and far and fast enough to escape those bells always tolling

a flyer I was but the sky’s just reflection of the sea

…

are you satisfied, she asked when I came again with a gift of a pearl

oh please do release me! I cried give me back to the ocean, all the longings of this world are just longings for the blue –

I’m kinder that the little man but you insisted in loving his kind, she said and I knew that she knew I still loved him

as I dived for the pearl so I’ll dive for that love and bring it to you as an offering!

your hard coin of gold is not what I need, she said and turned me into a woman

she gave me back my tongue but just for words, not for a siren song

 

the palace the prince

when I came to the palace the wedding was over and I saw that there was no bride
the prince was holding a white marble statue, his rapture already waning

accustumed to silence, I just smiled as I used to and grateful he was when he took me in his arms

my foundling, he cried, my own sweet invention, never again will I let you go!
accustomed to my silence, he never suspected that I might have found a voice

as kisses were falling on my rose petal body I saw there was no palace there either
no guilt dome, no fountain, no costly silk hangings, and almost no sun at all –

a room in the attic with no one but us, my prince dwindling into a little pen-man
and I did let him love me, because he was the one I had saved from raging waves

but never again was he so enchanting as when I kissed him the first time in the sea:
his pale face washed by my father’s ocean, his frail being trembling on the threshold of the deep – as gentle and lovely and mute as a little mermaid should be

and already I knew that a day would come when I’d push him again in the storm –
just to see that princely face, kiss him unconscious and save him once more

shapeshifter he was, a prince and a stealer, beguiled by mirrors so easily
it was hard to love him, but I was his creature and he taught me to serve his needs

and though that first morning there was no palace and although we were alone,
still somewhere around us the slaves were singing whose voices he’d praised as so fine –
please give us freedom! they cried when I entered, sensing a mermaid, yet one of their kind

it would have been easy if I could have sung, but I had a voice just for words –
and by words I’m still trying to build a new palace, for them and myself to be free

 

words

and so we lived and lived in a land of hunger with all his wonderful beasts
he painted a face on my face and told me his stories, I told him my tales of the deep

in the beginning he said he had a perfect mirror but a fierce wind came and broke it away
he made a cold lady to give her the shards and get in return a drive in her sledge

in the beginning he said his mother was cold and too late he came with his fireworks
in the beginning he said he was living with birds, to birds he’ll go back in the end

you’re my paper love dancer he said and I know any breeze could take you away
but my heart’s a steadfast tin soldier he said and hung it between my breasts

I told him my tales of moons and longings, yet he could not hear but what he could say

and the siren song in my heart grew louder, so loud I couldn’t follow his voice

I wiped from my face the face of a listener, went out in the harbour for a short walk

I saw many people but touched nobody though I wanted to love more than just one
but if there came a ship with a deathtanned sailor I’d smile and tell him my tales
I didn’t have voice for a siren’s song, but some of them drowned in my words

I always returned to our little dwelling, in the meanwhile it often changed shape
my little pen-man would bid me welcome and ask me to climb on a theatre stage

and we would perform a play of his invention obeying all his didascalia
his face was so princely while we were playing, there was nothing I wouldn’t do for his smile
but I’m still not sure the applause we’d hear wasn’t just the voice of the tide

 

the dagger

I stood at the shore and longed not for lovers, my sisters were those I wished to see:

oh, you who had purchased a dagger to make me a killer, is your hair grown again, does it float on the waves?

the eldest one heard me and came to my shore and put in my arms a dagger again –
as I struck it in the heart of the little man prince the dagger turned into fiery words
and his heart started bleeding for words made of fire instead of those of sugar and silk

hey, my sweet sisters, what became of our dwelling, are the walls still blooming above the blue sand? you who had given your locks for the blade that would have taken me back, could you now bring me something that’s mine?

the second one heard me and brought me a dagger –
as I struck it hard in my pen-man’s heart it turned into the boy statue from my old garden
and his heart started bleeding for white marble boys, he wanted the boy for himself

oh, my sweet sisters, you who had come to his wedding to save me, wouldn’t you think of a wedding gift (now that we guess what a wedding’s about)?

the third one came and gave me a dagger and as I struck it in the heart of my beloved
it turned into voices of children –
his heart started bleeding for his own childhood
surrounded by children he’s still trying to reach it, always a little ashamed of his thirst

oh you who wander in the ocean so freely having escaped unpleasant choices,
you who have kept your voices unspoiled, couldn’t you give me just one little song?

and the fourth sister came with a dagger in her hand –

as I struck in the heart of the little prince man the blade turned into a song
I too had a voice for singing, he cried, I tried to forget how I was robbed by time

my last one, the youngest, maiden of icebergs, you who had chosen so wisely the North, wouldn’t you visit the prisoner of the shore?

the youngest one came and gave me a dagger once more

and as I struck I turned myself in a blade – now I could stay in his heart forever and finally was free to go

…

I left him surrounded by candles and roses, all people singing his name
but I knew his only true companions were blades I left in his heart

 

final quest

but is this the same road I travelled in horror when I was fifteen?

those whirlpools, I feel, are freshwater springs, peat marsh and hot seething mire just cardboard props like those on our stage

the wood of polyps, half-beasts half-plants, looks more like a garden of healing grasses
the debris of shipwrecks, no doubt, is just fears collected by my poor prince
and a dead little mermaid an upside-down reflection of my youthful self in a shell

she whom I was calling the witch has no house, let alone the house made of bones –
in a shade of seaweed, in a pearl swing she’s sitting, frog on her shoulder bright as a canary
her purple snakes dancing as the sun is setting, a huge scarlet flower above her head
(for once his description is useful)

I heard of your coming, she says, so we prepared ourselves to be merry
I guess you learned a thing or two, you aren’t coming again with some foolish wish

I know what I wish, but there’s still a thing unsettled, I want you to give me some answers

just name it, my pearl, you deserve to be served for the patience you showed among humans

so where is my mother I’m asking, she should have lived three hundred years too –
I do not know how mermaids bear children, but I’m sure they don’t die in childbirth!

oh, no! she’s laughing, and you know the answer – I am your mother, you foolish girl!

then you should tell me why did you do it, why take my tongue, my song away?

the text was written by your little pen-man, remember? and besides it’s a matter of daring –
if you dared to sing there at his wedding, that same night you would have been free

I was free all the way and you didn’t tell me? what mother would do that to a child?

I think you deserved your own story, darling, and I know you wouldn’t have believed in mine

I lost so much time with that story! and now, will my siren’s hours be given back to me?

sing and you’ll see what happens, my dear, just reach for your voice and sing

 

(the five poems I’m posting here, about H. C. Andersen’s little mermaid, were invented, more or less, while swimming in the wrong, mediterranean sea; they are meant to be sung – still waiting for someone to put them in music; my thanks go to Allison Amend who corrected my English)