More Rilke

[ishmael]

Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.

And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.

And another man, who remains inside his own house,
stays there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.

Rainer Maria Rilke
(Bly)

Manchmal stecht einer auf beim Abenbrot,
und geht hinaus und geht und geht und geht--
weil eine Kirsch wo im Osten steht.

Und seine Kinder segnen ihn wie tot.

Und einer, weicher stribt in seinem Haus.
bleibt drinnen whohnen, bleibt in Tish und Glas,
so dass die Kinder in die Weit hinaus
zu jener Kirche ziehn, du er vergass.

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

Man, German is no picnic to type! I hope I got that right. The English translation is available, but not the original German. Even though pronunciations are terrible, it's good to read it in German

[Paul Pless]

Not on the subject of the verse, but on the subject of German as a language. I've been visiting with my sister again for some time now, she has a few young german woman that work for her. I love to listen to them speak it. Its a beautiful language when spoken by women.

[ishmael]

People say German is harsh. It does have a more than usual compliment of hard K sounds.

I've been trying to read that poem.

"Und seine Kinder segnen ihn wie tot."

And your children will speak of you as dead?

Bly's translations are those of a poet. Some are the best I've read in English, but he doesn't hesitate to take a little poetic license.

[ishmael]

I know I've posted this before, but good things bear repeating.

I don't read German, so I can't say how much this is Bly. It's very fine, in anycase.

The Panther

From seeing the bars, his seeing is so exhausted that it no longer holds anything anymore. To him the world is bars, a hundred thousand
bars, and behind the bars, nothing.

The lithe swinging of that rhythmical easy stride
which circles down to the tiniest hub
is like a dance of energy around a point
in which a great will stands stunned and numb.

Only at times the curtains of the pupil rise
without a sound . . . then a shape enters, slips though the tightened silence of the shoulders,
reaches the heart, and dies.

[martin schulz]

Rilke, Rilke...

a bit overrated I think.

Too bad you guys can't read poems by Morgenstern or Ringelnatz (who, by the way started out as shipboy).

„Wie singt im nahen Röhricht die Unke gar so töricht!“ (Morgenstern)

This one is already a favorite german one-liner:

Weil, so schließt er messerscharf
Nicht sein kann, was nicht sein darf"

(For, he reasons pointedly
That which must not, can not be.)


On Morgenstern:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christian_Morgenstern
On Ringelnatz:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ringelnatz

[ishmael]

Hi Martin.

I hoped you'd weigh in.

Why is German so difficult to type? Is it just lack of familiarity? Probably, but typing that poem was agony! I'm not sure why, aside from obvious reasons.

Thanks for the links. I'll look into them.

I like some of Bly's translations out of Rilke very much, but since I don't read German it's difficult to know. How much am I reading Bly?

Bly, BTW, is just a bit more than minor American poet. He made a splash with the "mens movement" fifteen years back. He's written some worthy stuff, but I think his best work is his translation and commmentary on Rilke.

[martin schulz]

Now back to my favorite german poet Ringelnatz.

His autobiography about his time on squareriggers where be was beaten constantly or his time during WWI, his well told sailor-stories and his reflections of his unhappy/unhealthy life because of his ugly appearance have made him my favorite author. In Germany I think he is much underestimated. People usually know his nonsense rhymes but fail to see the hurt behind some of his funny poetry.

I found a site with some translations.

I Love You So

I love you so!
I would, without any regret
Give you a mattress spring
Of my bed.

I've not been untrue
Now I am quite low.
Aslant of the railroad berm new
Yellow the gorse bushes glow.

Past, gone without woe
Though never forgotten.
I rove.
Long lasting things are slow
And mauve.

Time disbowels
The living breed.
A dog growls.
He cannot read.
He cannot write
We cannot sit tight.

I laugh.
Caviar is an epitaph
On sturgeon's roe.
I love you so.

[ishmael]

It may not be translating well, but what an ugly, juevenile attempt. Sorry, not liking it.

Rilke, and other great poets, create a space in the atmosphere that we at least like, if not love. As with so much modern anger poetry, I don't like the space he's created. And the language is so...so bad.

[martin schulz]

Perhaps you'll like this one?

The Snuff Box

A snuff box once was made
By King Frederick the Great,
Who carved it from a walnut log
Which made the box prideful agog.

A wood worm, smelling walnut chip,
came crawling at its fastest clip.
The snuff box spoke in tedious rhymes
About this Frederick and his times.

It praised Old Fritz' generosity,
Which heightened the worm's nervosity.
And drilling away said the maverick:
"I don't give a damn about Frederick!"

[ishmael]

I like that one better, but it still isn't very likable.

"And all the lousy little poets coming 'round, trying to sound like Charlie Manson, and the white man dancing."

[martin schulz]

Perhaps that's a classic cultural diversity.

While Rilke is very romantic and appeals to almost everybody (perhaps that's the reason I don't like him as much) those poets Ringelnatz and Morgenstern were more or less authors that wrote and sold nonsense rhymes and were just simple honest down-to-earth people.

Poetry by Ringelnatz is often very crude and appears to be simplistic. Knowing his troubled background and his seafaring past one can read much between the lines.

Jack, perhaps you'll like this more:

Ev'rywhere

Ev'rywhere is wonderland
Ev'rywhere is life,
In Auntie's rubber garter-band
As in the whole wide land.
Ev'rywhere obscurity.
The child becomes a father.
Not much later, maybe five
Minutes later ends the strife.
Ev'rywhere eternity.

Blowing softly on a snail
Makes him shrink into his shell,
Dropped in cognac, mixed with ice
Lets him think he saw white mice.