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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. 

Light & Dragonflies: Nature Poems/Love Poems - 15. To quiet loved children

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Sonne putzt die blindbeschlagnen Stunden

Trotzen drängelt rüplich durch die Welt

bläst dem Wollen scharf ins glimme Feuer

drunter-drüber-unter-übermut

Scheine zausen Laub

kühl glucken Schatten

über schlummre Wälder blakt der Wind

Ruhe reicht der Welt das sanfte Händchen

Schäkern schmeichelstreichelt liebes Kind

zärtlich lächelt schläfern atemleise

Kleiner Bubi

kleinem Mädi

dut

 

  ---------------------------------

 

The sun polishes up the blind-slapped hours

audacity forces on the world

crudely blown against the will’s burning coals

under-over, over-under nerves

where glare tangles plants

and cool shade gurgles

above slumbering woods where winds play

and rest reaches for a world’s gentle hand

still able to quiet loved children

smiling tenderly in soft-breathed sleep

dear little boy

dear little girl

thus

 

 

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Copyright © 2023 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 have to say, the final word of this poem ("dut") has me stumped. There's no question of it being a printing mistake, for, besides it appearing dut in Runge's 1918 posthumous volume of poetry, it also appears like this in its original magazine printing from a few years earlier.

I cannot trace down any meaning for dut other than a later 20th century acronym for something unrelated, but that is spelled DUT.

So, is the intended word really duft (scent)? Or something else? If anyone has any ideas, I warmly welcome hearing them :)  

Edited by AC Benus
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I ran this poem through two differing language translation programs, and your translation makes much more sense.

Good poem.

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Thus seems to fit, at least in your excellent translation. Would that there were comfortable, gentle hands in a world too addicted to rough, sneering power. 

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21 hours ago, ReaderPaul said:

I ran this poem through two differing language translation programs, and your translation makes much more sense.

Good poem.

Yay! I'm still beating the machines. One point for Team AC, hehe.

But seriously, thanks for reading and commenting. I'm rather fond of this particular Runge poem. He uses the innocence of children often, and when you consider he was writing from the trenches of World War One, this metaphor takes on great significance. We have only to picture the dirty, frightened faces of kids in Gaza or Ukraine right now to know what the poet felt and intended to convey.

Thanks again  

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12 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

Thus seems to fit, at least in your excellent translation. Would that there were comfortable, gentle hands in a world too addicted to rough, sneering power. 

Thank you, Parker. Yes, sneering power is running rampant in several parts of the world right now, and it's cold comfort to think that at least the Brits got rid of Boris, and Americans got rid of the Dumpster, but other places -- like Hungary; like Italy -- are going more fully to the dark side of the Putins, Xis, Kims and other despots of the world 

Edited by AC Benus
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