Showing posts with label German literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label German literature. Show all posts

"Spring has come back again"



Spring has come back again. The Earth is
like a child that’s got poems by heart;
so many poems, so many verses,
patient toil winning her prizes at last.

Strict, the old teacher. We loved the whiteness
in the old gentleman’s beard, its bright snow.
Now when we ask what the green, what the blue is,
Earth knows the answer, has learned it. She knows.

Earth, you’re on holiday, lucky one: play now!
Play with us children! We’ll try to catch you.
Glad, joyous Earth! The gladdest must win.

Every lesson the old teacher taught her,
all that is printed in roots and laborious
stems: now she sings it! Listen, Earth sings!

Rainer Maria Rilke; translated by Stephen Cohn

"The Earth is like a child who knows poems by heart" is one of the Rilke lines you'll see most often quoted on the web, but there's seldom any attribution, and I wonder how many English speakers have seen the whole poem. The line comes from Sonnets to Orpheus (Part One, XXI), which Rilke wrote in February 1922, completing all 55 poems of the cycle in about three weeks.

The inspiration for this sonnet came from a visit to Ronda, in southern Spain, in the winter of 1912-13. Rilke had overheard a group of schoolchildren singing in the Convent of Santo Domingo, accompanied only by a triangle and tambourine. He didn't know what their song meant, but the light-hearted animation of their singing is reflected in the cadences of the second and third stanzas.

There are many translations of the cycle, but the one I like best--and which seems to me closest to Rilke's German--is Stephen Cohn's. Readers who know some German can see how faithfully he has caught the spirit of Rilke's celebration of springtime and childhood:

Frühling ist wiedergekommen. Die Erde 
ist wie ein Kind, das Gedichte weiß; 
viele, o viele . . . Für die Beschwerde 
langen Lernens bekommt sie den Preis. 

Streng war ihr Lehrer. Wir mochten das Weiße 
an dem Barte des alten Manns. 
Nun, wie das Grüne, das Blaue heiße, 
dürfen wir fragen: sie kanns, sie kanns! 

Erde, die frei hat, du glückliche, spiele 
nun mit den Kindern. Wir wollen dich fangen, 
fröhliche Erde. Dem Frohsten gelingts. 

O, was der Lehrer sie lehrte, das Viele, 
und was gedruckt steht in Wurzeln und langen
schwierigen Stammen: sie singts, sie singts!

Photo above courtesy of www.4kphoto.net.

El Convento de Santo Domingo, where Rilke heard the children sing
Julius Feldmeier plays Rilke in a new film

"Stay"

Ingeborg Bachmann, Hans Magnus Enzensberger and Gunter Grass in Rome

Now the journey is ending,
the wind is losing heart.
Into your hands it's falling,
a rickety house of cards.

The cards are backed with pictures

displaying all the world.
You've stacked up all the images
and shuffled them with words.

And how profound the playing

that once again begins!
Stay: the card you're drawing
is the only world you'll win.

"Bleib" ("Stay")
Ingeborg Bachmann; translation by Peter Filkins
(from Darkness Spoken, Zephyr Press, 2006)

Austria's Ingeborg Bachmann (1926-1973) is widely regarded as one of the best European writers of the postwar period. As a poet, Bachmann had the gift of evoking a complex situation, rich in emotional undertones, with a handful of words.

The first stanza of this poem is a prime example: notice how magically its last word, "kartenhaus" ("house of cards" in English) serves as a springboard for the conceit that follows. Some of the surprise of the last two lines is that a "house of cards" generally has negative connotations; here that final "Blatt" ("card") becomes something numinous and full of promise.


In his superb translation, Peter Filkins wisely uses rhyme, and it works well, but, in the original German, the rhyme scheme (A/B/A/B) is tighter, creating an even more compelling verbal "tune". The poem comes from Bachmann's 1956 collection, Anrufung des Großen Bären, (Invocation of the Great Bear):

Die Fahrten gehn zu Ende,
der Fahrtenwind bleibt aus.
Es fällt in die Hände
ein leichtes Kartenhaus.

Die Karten sind bebildert
und zeigen jeden Ort.
Du hast die Welt geschildert
und mischst sie mit dem Wort.

Profundum der Partient,
die dann im Gange sind!
Bleib, um das Blatt zu ziehen,
mit dem man sie gewinnt.

In February 2023, Margarethe von Trotta's film, Ingeborg Bachmann: Journey into the Desert, opened at the Berlin Film Festival, with Vicky Krieps as the author. See the link below for a review.

"Every day"

Ingeborg Bachmann

War is no longer declared,
but rather continued. The outrageous
has become the everyday. The hero
is absent from the battle. The weak
are moved into the firing zone.
The uniform of the day is patience;
the order of merit is the wretched star
of hope over the heart.

It is awarded
when nothing more happens,
when the bombardment is silenced,
when the enemy has become invisible
and the shadow of eternal armament
covers the sky.

It is awarded
for deserting the flag,
for bravery before a friend,
for the betrayal of shameful secrets
and the disregard of every command.

"Alle Tage"
Ingeborg Bachmann; translation by Peter Filkins
(from Darkness Spoken, Zephyr Press, 2006)

If you saw this poem in a magazine, you might take it for a defense of Edward Snowden or a warning about the coming of Donald Trump. Actually, it was written in 1953.

Austria's Ingeborg Bachmann is widely considered to be one of the best European poets of the postwar period. The first full-scale biography of her appeared in German in 2013; a second was published in November 2017. Bachmann is just now being discovered by many readers in North America.



Top photograph by I.B. Spiegelbild