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    AC Benus
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Thousandth Regiment - 17. "Under several overturned crooks of bridges"

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17. Unter der Brücken eingestürzten Bogen,

Dumpf um die Schanzen dunkelt der Kanal.

Von schwarzen Schwaden rußig überzogen,

Zerfällt die Stadt, das große Feuermal.

 

Vor Häusern, wo die letzten Balken glimmen,

Leuchten noch Astern im zertretnen Beet.

Ein banger Laut verirrter Vogelstimmen

Kommt durch die Stille weither angeweht.

 

Rings in den Wegen, die sich ganz verloren

Tief in den fahlen Leib der Landschaft bohren,

Stehn Posten spähend ins Gebüsch geduckt.

 

Am Mühlenhügel liegt ein toter Reiter,

Ein paar verhärmte Frauen hasten weiter

Der Röte zu, die schwach zum Himmel zuckt.

 

                              ---

 

17. Under several overturned crooks of bridges,

Channels darken dully around bulwarks.

With filthy plumes of soot covering it,

A city crumbles, in a great fire-stain.

 

Before homes, where the final floor joists smolder,

Still blaze forth asters in their trampled beds.

The sound of lost birds wailing like refugees

Comes from far away, blown through the silence.

 

Upon trails, which disappear wholly forlorn

Gouged deep in the pale flesh of the countryside,

Patrols crouch down to search in the thickets.

 

Dead, an escaped rider lies nears the windmill

While some gray-overnight women still straggle

Towards the weary blush twitching the sky.

 

                              ---

 

 

 

_

Copyright © 2019 AC Benus; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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I still remember, how we talked about this sonnet. It was so intense and more than one time, I thought: I can not explain the grammar understandable in English. 😄  Still I struggle to explain in English how to recognize a German adverb, I really, really wish, we would have an ending like "..ly" for it.

BUT the result of your hard work, was worth all your effort and deep digging analysis. This sonnet reads like a dark and deeply sad landscape painting of a torn country. To me it feels a little as if Hans stepped back in his description as if he looks onto to not get drawn into this horrible situation completely. Maybe to save himself through a little rest of distance.

Magnificent work, thank you, it is an honor to be able to help a bit here and there. Muha

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8 minutes ago, Lyssa said:

I still remember, how we talked about this sonnet. It was so intense and more than one time, I thought: I can not explain the grammar understandable in English. 😄  Still I struggle to explain in English how to recognize a German adverb, I really, really wish, we would have an ending like "..ly" for it.

BUT the result of your hard work, was worth all your effort and deep digging analysis. This sonnet reads like a dark and deeply sad landscape painting of a torn country. To me it feels a little as if Hans stepped back in his description as if he looks onto to not get drawn into this horrible situation completely. Maybe to save himself through a little rest of distance.

Magnificent work, thank you, it is an honor to be able to help a bit here and there. Muha

Thank you, Lyssa. You help me a great deal! This is the one poem I have struggled with the most; hardest of all was "seeing" what's going on in the first line. I had to sort that out in my head for days, but I feel comfortable seeing it now in the way I translate it. 

You are completely right to comment that this poem differs from many of the others in the set. Hans steps back, and actually steps out of the picture entirely. Missing is his classic "we" to stand in for all soldiers in the conflict, and also his more rarely used "I" in these poems. What he presents here is a stark landscape in words with any personal POV absent. In that way it's a true Modern-style sonnet where the viewer is responsible 100% to bring in an emotional aspect to what is shown. It should not be suprising that such a great artist should acheive this many years before English-speaking poets caught up, but here the effect is truly horrible. It's a firsthand rebuke for any and all who think war is an option to peace. Such carnage precludes any chance of real, lasting peace anywhere in the world it occurs. 

Once again, thank you for all your guidance with every German piece I try to translate. Muah

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A city, a country, torn and blasted by war: through you, Hans describes it with ghastly clarity. Flowers in the gardens of burning houses, blackened and crumbling bridges, and everywhere the death of the defeated; all images etched in his - and our - minds. So much was lost in that foolish war. But these poems tell us again and again that at least some part of our common humanity was saved. 

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Hans has painted Hell here on earth. To me  when i read this, all is black or grays... and then the asters.. briliiantly coloured against the dark, and the fire of course. Everything burned, broken and black. He was a very talented man, he brings there but stands back to do so. Wonderful.

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Poetry is a way of remembering what it would impoverish us to forget. 

Reading your translations in this and the last, and seeing what Hans has put into words makes this Frost quote so true. I understand what’s been said about him stepping back in this poem. 

It’s like Hans needed - wanted, us to know what he saw and felt. This was quite effective. 

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On 9/5/2019 at 1:49 PM, Parker Owens said:

A city, a country, torn and blasted by war: through you, Hans describes it with ghastly clarity. Flowers in the gardens of burning houses, blackened and crumbling bridges, and everywhere the death of the defeated; all images etched in his - and our - minds. So much was lost in that foolish war. But these poems tell us again and again that at least some part of our common humanity was saved. 

Thank you, Parker. The more I get into this collection of poetry, the clearer I can see Hans as a visionary. Poems like the one above may have been intended to give the folks back home another view on the front. A view that's unflinching, real and un-supported by glowing press reports (propaganda).

And yes, our common humanity; the next poem in the series looks at the pointless destruction of civilian places and asks what the consequences will be. More of his vision for a post-war Germany comes through. 

Thank you again for your support. i always love when you read my things and share your thoughts :)

 

   

Edited by AC Benus
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On 9/5/2019 at 2:41 PM, Mikiesboy said:

Hans has painted Hell here on earth. To me  when i read this, all is black or grays... and then the asters.. brilliantly coloured against the dark, and the fire of course. Everything burned, broken and black. He was a very talented man, he brings there but stands back to do so. Wonderful.

Thank you for reading and commenting, Tim. I agree with you concerning all the gray tones; the asters stand out all the more for the sudden disruption in this town. There's not even time for the flowers and birds to react...they become the refugees as much as the people spotted on the road leading into the countryside. Such sights can be seen in every war, I imagine, but few wars have the talent of a Hans to document them. Tolstoy is another exception in his War and Peace, for he too had been a soldier, surviving the joint Turkish-French-British assault on Sevastopol as a defender of the Russian city in the Crimean War.  

Thank you once more for your great comments :)

 

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18 hours ago, Defiance19 said:

Poetry is a way of remembering what it would impoverish us to forget. 

Reading your translations in this and the last, and seeing what Hans has put into words makes this Frost quote so true. I understand what’s been said about him stepping back in this poem. 

It’s like Hans needed - wanted, us to know what he saw and felt. This was quite effective. 

Thank you, Def. I think you are right about Hans needing us to see and feel what he felt. The best of poetry is able to do that every time a person reads it. Thanks for your continued support and comments on my work. It means a great deal to me :)

 

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He writes with such detail … like someone sure he will not be able to tell us his story in person … like he knows he will not live. 

Sad but beautiful. 

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On 9/10/2019 at 6:49 PM, MichaelS36 said:

He writes with such detail … like someone sure he will not be able to tell us his story in person … like he knows he will not live. 

Sad but beautiful. 

Sad but beautiful, I agree. The wispy sounds of nature intruding on this man-made destruction (and the sight of the asters still fresh) are hard to put out of your mind. I hope for Hans the act of writing this down helped him forget some of what he saw. 

Thank you again, Mike

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