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    AC Benus
  • AC Benus
  • Author
  • 09/29/2019
  • 219 Words
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  • 8 Comments
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 - 27. "Like splendid scarlet flowers arranged for show"

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26. Mit unseren Leibern, die der Stahl zerriß,

Wir Scharlachblüten prangend hingebreitet,

Hören wir, wie der Donner weiterschreitet

Zu dunklen Fernen bang und ungewiß.

 

Seit uns die mörderischen Kugeln trafen,

Froren uns Blut und Seele langsam ein.

Nun wollen wir ruhig in der Erde schlafen

Und tief im fremden Gau vergessen sein.

 

Wir Namenlose, viele, ungezählte,

Triefende Spur der siegerischen Heere;

Noch ist das Feld von unseren Wunden naß.

 

Du aber Leben löse, was uns quälte:

Das blanke Spiel um unsre helle Ehre,

Und unsern wilden, ungestillten Haß.

 

                              ---

 

26. With our body’s trunk torn apart by blade-steel,

Like splendid scarlet flowers arranged for show,

We hear the thunder drift farther off, onwards

To bleak distances anxious and uncertain.

 

Since murderous bullets first began to rain,

We've had our hearts and souls slowly frozen stiff.

Now we wish to sleep gently still in the earth

And be left in peace in this foreign, green shire.

 

We the nameless, the many, the uncounted,

Left to slow-bleed in the wake of the armies,

Still sodden the triumphant fields with our wounds.

 

But redeem your life, though it tormented ours:

The bankrupt play of our transparent acclaim,

And this yet untamed, unstaunched acrimony.

 

                              ---

 

 

 

_

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I have chosen to list this poem under its second line.

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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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Chapter Comments

Lyssa

An other outstanding translation. With each sonnet Hans seems to be more aware of his near death. It is heartbreaking. The sources I have read say, that Hans edited this collection to its final state (in which it was published later) during his last visit home in the beginning of June 1915. This is also the last time, he saw his partner Murnau. And it is heartbreaking to read how aware he was about his fate, that he had to go back, being that aware. 

 

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AC Benus
22 hours ago, Lyssa said:

An other outstanding translation. With each sonnet Hans seems to be more aware of his near death. It is heartbreaking. The sources I have read say, that Hans edited this collection to its final state (in which it was published later) during his last visit home in the beginning of June 1915. This is also the last time, he saw his partner Murnau. And it is heartbreaking to read how aware he was about his fate, that he had to go back, being that aware. 

 

I am not surprised at all to find source evidence that Hans himself ordered these poems. There is great artistry as unfold to those still moments when he was home again, recovering. All the time he was in uniform, I imagine he was writing non-war poems too. It would be so wonderful to see the wonderful love tokens he undoubtedly put in his letters to Wilhelm...I hope they survive somewhere. But at least some of the other poems in Gedichte must come from after the war started.

Thank you, Lyssa, as always for reading, commenting and supporting me. Muah

   

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AC Benus
16 hours ago, MichaelS36 said:

Gut wrenching. ..I've read a few WWI poets now ... including our own. It's striking how alike they sound.

 

I agree, and I have tried to stick to vocabulary current when these poems were written. But word choices from poets like Sassoon and Rosenberg truly echo Hans' sentiments; that's been a bit eerie to discover. Men across the lines were actually artificial enemies -- many could have been fast friends if circumstances had been different. 

Thank you once again, Mike. I always appreciate you reading and sharing your thoughts  

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Parker Owens

This is another indictment of the terrible waste and tragedy of this war, or any war. Hans’ images remind me of the startling poses of the newly dead (like flowers arranged for show). This is just one of the unhappy images he captures with his all-too-accurate pen. And you have adapted his originals to our English language modern ear, so that we can read and remember. 

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AC Benus
21 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

This is another indictment of the terrible waste and tragedy of this war, or any war. Hans’ images remind me of the startling poses of the newly dead (like flowers arranged for show). This is just one of the unhappy images he captures with his all-too-accurate pen. And you have adapted his originals to our English language modern ear, so that we can read and remember. 

You are right about the flowers. Reading your comment here, I can see them now arrayed into a wreath. A wreath to be placed on a grave, or used in a funeral. That is the wonderful thing about great poetry; the images can be preserved and interpreted fresh each time. No one way is the right way, if the translation is handled sympathetically. (The wreath image ties into the final poem of the series No. 37, incidentally...)

Thank you, Parker, for this. And also for all of your support  

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AC Benus
On 10/1/2019 at 5:04 PM, Mikiesboy said:

this is more heartbreaking than the next one ... the poppies just did me in...

Thank you, Tim. I'm afraid this poem begins the final sequence, and they are all this intense, if not more so. However, Hans does not close the series in bleakness. His inner strength held out the belief in the people's ultimate power of reform and goodness. It's a tradition of hope we must carry forward today. 

Thanks again for reading and commenting on these. Muah 

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