Awake at Night in January

Again, restless melancholy forbids me to sleep.
Am I depressed? No, only melancholy.
By now I know,
Sadness and Happiness are Irrelevant;
All that matters is Energy.

Energy I have now,
in the aftermath of the exhibition:
the Theater, the Concert Hall—
they never let me rest.

My room is too hot and too quiet
and the moon is unseen.
I want to open the door and look at it,
to go out onto the cold metal railing
and hurt myself with snow.
My body craves action!
Anything! Except the hot and stifling stupor
that will not come.

I could do anything now!
I could dance, I could drive!
I don’t want to sit or eat or talk with friends.
Right now I want to sing as loud as I can,
outside to the stars,
with the empty forest to surround me.

And here I have the uneasy feeling that I have hurt the people who love me.
Just by being myself.
It’s my nature to injure others.

I ought to go alone.

Please be silent, O Music!