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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 Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love - Poetry - 84. ...to cherish truths and yet conceal...

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“to cherish truths and yet conceal”

 

 

Misanthropy

 

Unhappy he whose bosom feels thy smart,

Bitter as death itself, Misanthropy!

Youth has no charms for him –

No song can give delight.

 

He stands alone, in conflict with his age –

The joys of thousands are no joys for him:

He casts around on men

Gloomy, contemptuous looks.

 

And woe to him if nature made his soul

Too fine for life in this rude world, and gave

Melodious, flowing words

Only to tell his pain.

 

For senseless chatter plagues him on his way –

He hears the scandal of the vulgar mob;

He hears and, though he scorns,

He feels it in his soul.

 

Bitter to cherish truths and yet conceal,

While folly fastens reason with a chain,

And sycophants bow down

To kiss the tyrant’s rod!

 

Then he grows weary of life’s idle game;

The breath of liberty around him blows,

Ah, like a cumbrous robe,

He lays the body down.

 

“Are there two souls,” he asks, “in all the world

That know and love each other?” None replies:

He asks but for a friend –

He seeks and, seeking, dies!

—August von Platen, [i]

circa 1825

 

 

[Joseph Gostwick]

 

 

 

 


[i] “to cherish truths and yet conceal” August von Platen The Spirit of German Poetry: A Series of Translations from German Poets [Joseph Gostwick, Editor and Translator] (London 1845), p. 105

https://archive.org/details/spiritofgermanpo00gost/page/104/mode/2up

_

as noted
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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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15 minutes ago, Parker Owens said:

I can connect with this one. Platen has studied this character well. I wonder who his subject was?

That's a very astute observation, Parker. Because Platen was Gay, there's a willful streak to see him as the unhappy poster-child for the supposed misery of "choosing" to be such. Lots of hets moralizing on Platen in 20th century books, warning young readers not to be like him . . . 

But actually, Platen left us a detail accounting of his life and loves. His journals were published, so scholars can mostly find out who he was sleeping with and in love with and writing poems to right down to the day. Therefore, the other myth that his "hands were porcelain" and unsullied with actual man-on-man sex is total BS. The man was happy; the man was sad; the man was lonely; the man had abundant company. All it went into his poetry, which is universally reckoned as some of the finest that exists in the German tongue.

So why is so little of it in English? Because it's much too open and honest    

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21 minutes ago, AC Benus said:

That's a very astute observation, Parker. Because Platen was Gay, there's a willful streak to see him as the unhappy poster-child for the supposed misery of "choosing" to be such. Lots of hets moralizing on Platen in 20th century books, warning young readers not to be like him . . . 

But actually, Platen left us a detail accounting of his life and loves. His journals were published, so scholars can mostly find out who he was sleeping with and in love with and writing poems to right down to the day. Therefore, the other myth that his "hands were porcelain" and unsullied with actual man-on-man sex is total BS. The man was happy; the man was sad; the man was lonely; the man had abundant company. All it went into his poetry, which is universally reckoned as some of the finest that exists in the German tongue.

So why is so little of it in English? Because it's much too open and honest    

Thanks very much for this background.  I'd read the poem several times and, though the imagery painted a somewhat dark and vivid picture, I wasn't grasping the meaning well.  One stumbling block was function of one specific word in this line: 

"He stands alone, in conflict with his age". 

Once I grasped that age was the time in which the subject lived and not his calendar years, it made a lot more sense.  These postings make me think.  Sometimes that takes a while :/  

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25 minutes ago, Backwoods Boy said:

Thanks very much for this background.  I'd read the poem several times and, though the imagery painted a somewhat dark and vivid picture, I wasn't grasping the meaning well.  One stumbling block was function of one specific word in this line: 

"He stands alone, in conflict with his age". 

Once I grasped that age was the time in which the subject lived and not his calendar years, it made a lot more sense.  These postings make me think.  Sometimes that takes a while :/  

Thanks for reading and commenting, Backwoods Boy. I've been working my way though Platen's Sonnets, doing translations, and the themes in the poem above are very familiar ones. Many of them are expressed in the man's Sonnets as well, including the idea that Platen belonged in an age where same-sex love was given the honor it deserves, perhaps like in the days of Classical Greece and Rome; or perhaps he imagined a future time when things for us would be better.

Joseph Gotswick, the translator of the work above, praises Platen's poise and sense of philosophic observation, saying he was the modern equivalent of Horace. And that's high praise indeed!     

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