Englisch

September Song

Geoffrey Hill

September Song
born 19.6.32 – deported 24.9.42

Undesirable you may have been, untouchable
you were not. Not forgotten 
or passed over at the proper time.

As estimated, you died. Things marched, 
sufficient, to that end.
Just so much Zyklon and leather, patented 
terror, so many routine cries.

(I have made
an elegy for myself it 
is true)

September fattens on vines. Roses 
flake from the wall. The smoke 
of harmless fires drifts to my eyes.

This is plenty. This is more than enough.

Geoffrey Hill
September Song by Geoffrey Hill © 1994 taken from Selected Poems (Viking) at £9.99

Ver“gift“et

Ein kurzes Gedicht reicht, um ein wahrhaft vergiftetes Geschenk zu machen. Emily Dickinson #1195 (1871):

Society for me my misery
Since Gift of Thee –

Gunhild Kübler übersetzt:

Elend kommt mir die Gesellschaft vor
Beschenkt mit Dir –

Emily Dickinson: Sämtliche Gedichte. Zweisprachig. Übersetzt, kommentiert u. m.e. Nachwort von Gunhild Kübler. München: Hanser Verlag, 2015. 1403 Seiten, 49,90 Euro

Faintheart In A Railway Train

Faintheart In A Railway Train

Poem by Thomas Hardy

At nine in the morning there passed a church,
At ten there passed me by the sea,
At twelve a town of smoke and smirch,
At two a forest of oak and birch,
   And then, on a platform, she:
A radiant stranger, who saw not me.
I said, "Get out to her do I dare?"
But I kept my seat in my search for a plea,
And the wheels moved on. O could it but be
   That I had alighted there!

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314)
BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

I cannot dance upon my Toes—

Ein wunderbar ironisches Gedicht. Eine Meisterin schlüpft in die Rolle der Elevin, die Ratschläge vom Herrn Tanzlehrer braucht. Auch ein poetologisches Gedicht über „Ballet knowledge“.

Emily Dickinson.

326

I cannot dance upon my Toes—
No Man instructed me—
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,

That had I Ballet knowledge—
Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe—
Or lay a Prima, mad,

And though I had no Gown of Gauze—
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air,

Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,
Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound,
The House encore me so—

Nor any know I know the Art
I mention—easy—Here—
Nor any Placard boast me—
It’s full as Opera—

Zwitschermaschine

Neulich habe ich erst beschlossen, nicht nur Gedichte sondern Splitter zu posten, eine Woche später habe ich mich bei Twitter angemeldet. Ich probiere das Medium aus. Freunde empfahlen mir den Ulysses Reader

@UlyssesReader
Reads Ulysses by James Joyce. Slowly. Eighth reading in progress. Check also @Finnegansreader and @raphanasuan Run by @tkoola

und den FinnegansReader

@finnegansreader
Sister of @Ulyssesreader – reads Finnegans Wake line by line. Run by @tkoola

Da ich bislang nur wenige Tweets abonniert habe, ein paar politische und ein paar poetische, entstehen die schönsten Dialoge (dazu vielleicht später mehr).

Ich hab mir was überlegt – es gibt zahlreiche Zitate von Emily Dickinson, aber warum nicht den Gesamttext von über 1700 Gedichten posten, Wort für Wort in chronologischer Reihenfolge? Zunächst nicht separat, sondern mit meinen Lyriknachrichten und – was sonst anfällt – Splittern aus dem politischen Greifswald in einen Topf. Ob es so bleibt, weiß ich nicht. Hier mein Account (@gratz13 – die ersten 12 warn belegt).

Emily Dickinson läuft nun den dritten Tag mit. Eins ihrer wenigen längeren, vielleicht das längste überhaupt, ist ihr erstes, ein Scherzgedicht von 1850. Soweit bin ich bis jetzt:

Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine,
Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine!

Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain,
For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain.
All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air,
God hath made nothing single but thee in his world so fair!
The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one,
Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun;
The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be,
Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree.

Loggen Sie sich ein und erfahren Sie, wie es weitergeht! 😀

Mowing

Mowing

Robert Frost, 1874 – 1963

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.