King Crypto and the Lapp Enigel - Ion Barbu

Oh minstrel sad, obscurer still
Than good old wine they serve at weddings
Which the groom’s father dished at will
With bags and ribbons, tinsel meldings,

Most stubborn minstrel might as well
A grand old song to try and sing,
Tell of the small Lapp Enigel,
And good old Crypto, mushroom-king!

– Chief here’s my grief!
Your feast my tongue did burn and sting,
I’ll sing the song, although not brief,
Of Enigel and Crypto king.

– Sing minstrel, sing!
You sang last summer like a heller;
Now sing constrained, on quiet string,
At wedding’s closing, in the cellar.


Oft searched by forests’ wild young sons
In river bed and greasy clay,
Reigned over mushrooms’ fleshy buns
King Crypto, dark heart under hay,

On some eternal dewy throne!
– The ’shrooms were gossiping, however,
That Penny Bun the witch did hone
A brew to keep him young forever.

And hateful snowdrops tall or stumpy
From dampest pits were crying sour,
Conjectured he’d be fruitless, jumpy,
Because he didn’t want to flower.

– In lands by ice forever doomed,
In those same days, down some deep dell,
A small and quiet girl was groomed,
The Lapp with furs, named – Enigel.

From winter dream to grazing stream,
To a new year her reindeer leading,
Through dew she ran, towards the sun,
On moss she lay, her running done,
Near Crypto groom in meadows weeding.

Three rugs she made, just near the shade
Gently she slept, dreaming sweet cherries,
When at her chest, bald king would rest,
Who dragged his eunuch on this quest,
Luring with nectar like the fairies:

– Enigel, Enigel,
I have brought you jam, look here.
Berries too, just for you
Take some, eat them, have no fear.

– Bald king pressed near my chest,
Thank you for your grace and skill.
But I wish to collect
My fresh berries down the hill.

Enigel, Enigel,
Night is ebbing, light is lifting,
If you go to collect,
Start with me, don’t go a-drifting.

– I would pick you kind bald king...
But the dawn has started dancing
And you’re dainty, frail with sap:
I do fear that soon you’ll snap,
Ripen first, then come romancing.

– Me to ripen, Enigel,
How I’d wish, but from the sun,
A hundred nightmares, like in hell,
Cut me off. He’s red, no fun,
Should I stay, it’s my death knell;
Please forget him Enigel,
My cool shadow do not shun.

– Crypto king, Crypto king,
Like a cursed sword-edge sheer
In my heart these words do sting!
For the dark I greatly fear,

Because in winter I’m conceived,
And cousin with the arctic bear,
From the dark shadow now retrieved,
The sun I worship, wise and fair.

With lamps of ice and under snows
My whole north pole one dream is dreaming.
Green tinged, a platter grand which grows
Of purest gold, our fancy gleaming.

The sun I worship, old and wise,
A well my soul is, on the rise,
And the white wheel, she is my master,
Deep in my soul, a holly aster.

When sunny, does the wheel grow large;
But shadows put the flesh in charge;
Asleep's the flesh, and weak as gel,
– But wind and shadows make it swell...

Pleasingly spoke, with dainty knell,
The small straightforward, Enigel,
But time, you see, was waiting not,
And the big sun rose like a shot,
Up in the skies, a ring of hell.

– Oh cry, you sweet, wise Enigel!
For how could Crypto, mushroom chief,
Love the hot light, which brought him grief?
He peels off lightly, like a shell,
From Enigel,
In the soft shadow to find fief...

But the hot sun, that fiery king,
Squeezed him into his deadly ring;
Ten times it did it, without shame
On his bald skin mirrored a flame;

And his sweet sap is getting sour!
His hidden heart will burst this hour,
Into ten darkened seals alive,
Red venom from a deadly hive
Seeping deep curses, now arrive;

It’s tough, the sun for long to bear,
For frail wood mushrooms in the glare,
Because their souls are not a pool,
Unlike for man, old beastly fool,
But in a creature, dainty, frail,
The thought’s a glassy, poison pail.

Like fool king Crypto, of love spurned,
Who’s heart in him with fire burned,
And he was left to wander on
With a more princely face of scorn:

That Dragon Mute,a grand old brute,
To cast the world some gold for loot,
To chop it, naked he will flee,
For it is Penny Bun, you see,
Whom he has asked his queen to be.

Added by: danielionita1960

Translator: Daniel Ioniță
Language: English

see more poems written by: Ion Barbu