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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. 

Translation Trashbin - 51. Our love's not twisted

.

an Edward "Schmidtlein"

 

Glaub mir, noch denk' ich jener Stunden stündlich,
Wo ich zum erstenmale dir das zarte
Geheimnis deines Sieges offenbarte,
Im Liede kühn, allein verlegen mündlich.

Dein jetz’ger Wille scheint mir unergründlich:
Weil jene Schüchternheit sie nicht bewahrte,
Hör ich dich klagen, unsre Lieb entarte,
Und ihr Verlangen nennst du keck und sündlich.

O daß die Blume nicht umsonst verdüfte,
Laß Wang an Wange hier uns ruhn im Düstern,
Und Brust an Brust gedrängt und Hüft' an Hüfte.

Horch! wie es säuselt in den alten Rüstern!
Durchschwärmt vielleicht ein Elfenchor die Lüfte,
Wollüstig weichen Brautgesang zu flüstern?

—August von Platen,

26. August 1819

 

 

 

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

 

 

 

to Edward "Schmidtlein"

 

Trust me, I yet relive those hours hourly

When I could lay bare to you the subtle

Mystique of your inwardly tender triumph,

Bold in our song, if abashed for its words.

 

Thus your current state of mind leaves me puzzled:

Namely, because your coyness has played turncoat.

Now I hear you complain our love is twisted,

And our love's desire wrong and corrupting.

 

But do not let our flowering be brushed aside;

Let us find solace in the gloom, cheek to cheek,

Resting heart to heart, with hip pressed against hip.

 

Hear how our old song rustles amongst the elms:

Perhaps a choir of Faes wafts it through the skies,

Lovingly melt on the breath of a bridal song.

—August von Platen,

August 26th, 1819

 

 

 

 

 

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Copyright © 2018 AC Benus; All Rights Reserved.
  • Love 2
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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3 hours ago, ReaderPaul said:

Wonderful poetry.  The second and third stanzas -- extra well done.

This is so good I am going to have to think about it more.

I've been making my way through translations of Platen's Sonnets. I've had a break for a while, but a poem like this is inspiring me to get back at it and translate the last few that I still have to go

  • Love 2

These lines echo in our own day, as countless phony Pharisees preach hatred and doubt:

Now I hear you complain our love is twisted,

And our love's desire wrong and corrupting. 

But do not let our flowering be brushed aside;

Let us find solace in the gloom, cheek to cheek,

Resting heart to heart, with hip pressed against hip.

The poet’s reassurance comes to us, too, like the promise of spring. 
 

Hear how our old song rustles amongst the elms:

Perhaps a choir of Faes wafts it through the skies,

Lovingly melt on the breath of a bridal song.

This is a sublime sonnet. 

  • Love 3
On 2/13/2024 at 7:08 PM, Parker Owens said:

These lines echo in our own day, as countless phony Pharisees preach hatred and doubt:

Now I hear you complain our love is twisted,

And our love's desire wrong and corrupting. 

But do not let our flowering be brushed aside;

Let us find solace in the gloom, cheek to cheek,

Resting heart to heart, with hip pressed against hip.

The poet’s reassurance comes to us, too, like the promise of spring. 
 

Hear how our old song rustles amongst the elms:

Perhaps a choir of Faes wafts it through the skies,

Lovingly melt on the breath of a bridal song.

This is a sublime sonnet. 

Thank you, Parker. So many of Platen's Sonnets speak directly to the Gay Experience, and I feel honored to provide some updated translations of them. As you know, I'm working on completing the entire set (well over a hundred). I'm down to the final three or four, and it's hard going. I hope I can bring all of my versions up to the level evident in the poem above. Thanks again  

  • Love 3
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