Poems in different languages

[AC Benus]

I only ran into this poet yesterday, thanks to a Poesie schmeckt gut Facebook posting. Robert Jentzsch was a contemporary of Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele but less Expressionistic than neo-Stefan-George in a painterly way. That being said, the following poem follows the Expressionist's primacy of exploring the importance of dreams on our waking consciousness. 

Robert Jentzsch may be unique in his brilliance as a mathematician and his serious interest in poetry. Sadly, both flames were extinguished on the battlefields of WW1, where he was killed at age 26.

Thoughts on my first attempt at translating his work...?

 

Widmung

von Robert Jentzsch

 

Die ihr im flüsternden Walde nächtens schweift,
Vorm falben Frühlicht in die Häuser kehrt,
Nach Schmetterlingen langt, nach Faltern greift,
Ihr licht- und frohen Kinder unversehrt

 

Von Qual, die sinnlos uns am Boden schleift,
Die uns der Tage Munterkeit verwehrt,
Und, wenn die stumpf Entschlafnen Morgen streift,
Heiß gegen Wollen und Traum aufbegehrt:

 

Ich will erinnern, wie ich eure Kreise,
Die Spiele der begeisterten Natur
Verlassen musste, Hügel, Fluss und Flur,

 

Wie ich die tief in Lehm geschnittnen Gleise,
Hinwandernd zu den großen Städten kam:
Nun kenn ich Jugend krank und Alter gram

 

Und die Zertrümmerung der Menschen-Seele.

 

 

 -------------------------------------

 

Convocation

by Robert Jentzsch

 

You who drift in some rustling forest at night,

Going home ‘fore dull morning’s glow is spied,

Grasping at butterflies, grasping moths in flight,

Bright and joyful children unscathed inside

 

From torment, which drags us to the ground with might,

To whom day’s lithe cheerfulness is denied,

And which lackluster morn comes as sleeping’s blight

To hot rebel against both dreams and pride:

 

I’ll recall I was forced to leave your confines,

Where the games of nature delight and thrill,

Parting with field and river, stream and hill,

 

For just as deep-cut track and clay intwines

Wandering towards the great cities still,

Age finds itself sorrowful, and youth ill

 

To know how shattered is a human soul.      

 

_

Edited March 22, 2022 by AC Benus

[Lyssa]

On 3/22/2022 at 3:40 PM, AC Benus said:

I only ran into this poet yesterday, thanks to a Poesie schmeckt gut Facebook posting. Robert Jentzsch was a contemporary of Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele but less Expressionistic than neo-Stefan-George in a painterly way. That being said, the following poem follows the Expressionist's primacy of exploring the importance of dreams on our waking consciousness. 

Robert Jentzsch may be unique in his brilliance as a mathematician and his serious interest in poetry. Sadly, both flames were extinguished on the battlefields of WW1, where he was killed at age 26.

Thoughts on my first attempt at translating his work...?

 

Widmung

von Robert Jentzsch

 

Die ihr im flüsternden Walde nächtens schweift,
Vorm falben Frühlicht in die Häuser kehrt,
Nach Schmetterlingen langt, nach Faltern greift,
Ihr licht- und frohen Kinder unversehrt

 

Von Qual, die sinnlos uns am Boden schleift,
Die uns der Tage Munterkeit verwehrt,
Und, wenn die stumpf Entschlafnen Morgen streift,
Heiß gegen Wollen und Traum aufbegehrt:

 

Ich will erinnern, wie ich eure Kreise,
Die Spiele der begeisterten Natur
Verlassen musste, Hügel, Fluss und Flur,

 

Wie ich die tief in Lehm geschnittnen Gleise,
Hinwandernd zu den großen Städten kam:
Nun kenn ich Jugend krank und Alter gram

 

Und die Zertrümmerung der Menschen-Seele.

 

 

 -------------------------------------

 

Convocation

by Robert Jentzsch

 

You who drift in some rustling forest at night,

Going home ‘fore dull morning’s glow is spied,

Grasping at butterflies, grasping moths in flight,

Bright and joyful children unscathed inside

 

From torment, which drags us to the ground with might,

To whom day’s lithe cheerfulness is denied,

And which lackluster morn comes as sleeping’s blight

To hot rebel against both dreams and pride:

 

I’ll recall I was forced to leave your confines,

Where the games of nature delight and thrill,

Parting with field and river, stream and hill,

 

For just as deep-cut track and clay intwines

Wandering towards the great cities still,

Age finds itself sorrowful, and youth ill

 

To know how shattered is a human soul.      

 

_

I can feel him. Such an impressiv poem, such a good translation. Muha

[AC Benus]

3 minutes ago, Lyssa said:

I can feel him. Such an impressive poem, such a good translation. Muha

Thank you, Lyssa

[AC Benus]

Attention any German speakers!

I've encountered a remarkable poem by one of Germany's leading poets of the past. The word is "After". 

Oddly, the online translation sites translate the word as if it means the same thing in English, that is, as "after."

However, through all my separate, independent research I find only one (and only one!) meaning for the German noun "After" -- and that is anus. 

Interestingly, in the context of the poem, it makes total sense. But are there indeed different meanings for the German noun "After"? 

Thanks in advance

 

[JACC]

On 4/14/2017 at 8:24 PM, Former Member said:

I recognized, that poems in different languages have a different emotional connection to me. So I have a question: Does anyone of you read or write poems in different languages? And  if so what impact have poems in foreign languages on you?

I do, and it is sometimes a struggle which language has the upper hand at the time of creation, the time of birth. I usually move among four languages and it is not easy to balance one source from the next. My poems are born obviously in a language, versions in the others come… but they are different, it’s never a 100% equivalence… not easy. In fact, I’m sampling data for a research…

[Lyssa]

In memory of my father, who loved Rilke as much as I do. As my mum is in coma still for nearly 3 years, he died a few month ago probably waiting for her to follow this peacful path.

The death of the beloved

He only knew about death what everyone knows:

It takes us and pushes us into the silence.

But when she was not torn away from him,

no, rather softly released from his eyes,

slipping away to unknown shadows,

and once he felt her moonlike gentle smile

and her way of kindness bright up this dark realm:

The dead became familiar to him,

as if related close to each of them

because of her; he let the others talk

and did not believe, he called that land

the pleasant one, the ever-sweet -

and probed it carefully for her feet.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Der Tod der Geliebten

Er wußte nur vom Tod, was alle wissen:
daß er uns nimmt und in das Stumme stößt.
Als aber sie, nicht von ihm fortgerissen,
nein, leis aus seinen Augen ausgelöst,
hinüberglitt zu unbekannten Schatten,
und als er fühlte, daß sie drüben nun
wie einen Mond ihr Mädchenlächeln hatten
und ihre Weise wohlzutun:
Da wurde ihm die Toten so bekannt,
als wäre er durch sie mit einem jeden
ganz nah verwandt; er ließ die andern reden
und glaube nicht und nannte jenes Land
das gutgelegene, das immersüße -
und tastete es ab für ihre Füße.

Rainer Maria Rilke

[Aditus]

Die perfekte Wahl. It's the perfect poem for their situation.