The Dead Christ Andrea Mantegna (1431-1506)

POEM ABOUT CHRIST
A reproduction by Mantegna or Holbein – where the body is like a landscape.
We are accustomed to distorted stories,
To dead appearances, and this landscape is ours.

How we keep crucifying Christ anew,
And read Kazantzakis novel
With passionate haste.
Christ is dead – and that is our flaw.

Christ is alive – and the heavens above us
Shine with a sum of lights – Christ is alive -
They affirm.
Merciful towards sins,
We do not gather spiritual roses.

The waters of Jordan shine
With warmth and golden brocade,
And baptism of light embraces
The Son of Man – stand firm!

The path to deification, given
To the Son of Man, we will not repeat!
In our deceitful modern times -
It would be so ridiculous. Go forth with them!

A dove shimmers gently in the sky.
Gods son goes out to preach.
Black faces all around, dull,
An empty cycle of pale deeds.

How can he, born in a cave,
Acquire royal power, great authority?
The Magi rode, believing in the event.
Hades craved sacrifices in vain.

They rode on blue – and round -
Snow on camels and donkeys.
Shepherds walked – the night blossomed with absurd,
Unintelligible joy in their hearts.

... in the office a scam is underway,
The fat boss rubs his hands.
But there are limits to crime.
Is Christ born in every heart?

Master Eckhart said: You could be born
In Bethlehem a thousand times -
If it doesnt happen in your heart
That birth – nothing more than a story.

Here is the flight to Egypt, key event,
Because an angel announced it.
What next? Your heart is troubled
Thinking about it? The substance of events
You strive to feel – or did Christ comprehend
The wisdom of light in the East?
But the gospel verses
Will remain silent. However, there is a question.

Here is the miraculous catch -
The teacher gained disciples.
The word of temptation in the desert
Cancelled the light.
Many words
We know, believing that they are in union
With the eternal Word of Words.
Who will resemble lust now?
Few are willing.

... wars raged fiercely into reality,
Wars where blood was spilled for faith.
Arrows, spears, as if life were banal,
And love is distorted all around.

Christ enters Jerusalem,
Here he purifies the temple from the greedy.
The Last Supper – genuine,
People will not understand such things, us.

Who was Joseph of Arimathea,
Who collected Christs blood in a chalice?
Fulfilling the duty of existence
In that bitter, extremely difficult hour.
You are great, Christ – I know, I know,
I am a writer – immeasurably small.
And – I dont suffer for you, alas,
Jalned by the sum of evils.

You are great – I turn to you,
Life-giving word! Revive
The soul, if I do not comprehend it -
If it is in sins, almost in blood?

A garden full of lights, and torches blaze
In the hands of soldiers, and here
Christ is taken, and passions pierce
People – he is full, waiting for something.
The trial of Pilate – a trial that is not really a trial.
And he would have sent legions
Dressed as zealots... But this path
Is impossible, even though Pilate yearned
To release such a beggar.
But the law cannot be changed.

If Christ came from words,
Then events must be according to words.

They flogged him, furious, mocked him,
And wove a crown of thorns.
And they frolicked in a crimson cloud
Of anger – earthly concerns.

Christ went on, he went on, bent by the cross.
Blood was created in capsules of sand.
Holy blood...
Laughter, sharp tales,
Rags, and curiosity – where is love?

Its spherical volume is above us.
Who gives today to the poor?
Who fears sin? Well – not a flame:
Sin is pleasant, it can hardly burn.

Its spherical volume of love is above us.
Christ goes through a labyrinth of torments.
What flag do we raise for hatred
Is our question of ignorance -
The true ignorance of seeing,
Separating essence from tinsel.
Worship! Here is your rock idol!
Rejoice – life is this game.

Christian churches cannot
Heal cracks with love.
We are holier! We are closer to Christ!
Inter-church dialogue will not take place.
We see nothing above the roof.
I do not judge – I reflect.
Here.

Here comes Christ, bent by the cross.
Here he is crucified. He rose again. Light shines.
We grow – and steadily create
The garden of life.
And there are no alternatives.

Это – ошибка. Картина, репродукция которой здесь размещена, принадлежит кисти Аннибале Карраччи – выдающегося итальянского художника, одного из основателей Болонской Академии, за свои заслуги похороненного рядом с Рафаэлем в Пантеоне. Кстати, на Вашем сайте эта атрибуция тоже зафиксирована.)) http://gallerix.ru/storeroom/2136404724/N/666139203/
А картина А. Мантеньи, ныне находящаяся в Милане, выглядит совсем иначе: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Andrea_Mantegna_034.jpg

Спасибо, пока подгрузим файл с википедии
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„Возможно, самой необычной картиной Мантеньи, требующей особого вниманья, является „Мертвый Христос“ или Cristo in scurto…Небольшой предмет на заднем плане рядом с подушкой дает ключ к пониманию картины: это сосуд с мирром. Возможно Мантенья решил изобразить момент помазания тела умершего по иудейскому обычаю, и каменная плита, на которой лежит Спаситель, – одна из главных реликвий христианства, которая хранилась в Константинополе и исчезла после взятия города турками в 1453 г. На ней тело Христа готовили к погребению.“

Александр Раух