Categories
German Matters Poetry Uncategorized

Irving Berlin – Spiel mir eine alte Melodie

Spiel mir eine alte Melodie
voll Gefühl und Harmonie
Himmelblau und rosa möcht ich sie
zärtlich und voll Poesie

Spielen auch heut ganz andre Lieder die Leut als in der Postkutschenzeit
nichts auf der Welt war so schön als sich zur Polka zu drehn
Man steckte Veilchen ans Kleid die Röcke waren ganz weit o Gott war das eine Zeit
die alte Bahnmelodie ja die vergesse ich nie

Spiel mir eine alte Melodie
voll Gefühl und Harmonie
Himmelblau und rosa möcht ich sie
zärtlich und voll Poesie

Man steckte Veilchen ans Kleid die Röcke waren ganz weit o Gott war das eine Zeit
die alte Bahnmelodie ja die vergesse ich nie

Spielen auch heut ganz andre Lieder die Leut als in der Postkutschenzeit
nichts auf der Welt war so schön als sich zur Polka zu drehn
Man steckte Veilchen ans Kleid die Röcke waren ganz weit o Gott war das eine Zeit
die alte Bahnmelodie ja die vergesse ich nie

Irving Berlin
Irving Berlin

 

Categories
Literature Poetry

Keats and Meg Merriles

Meg Merrilies

 

Old Meg she was a gipsy;
And liv’d upon the moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants, pods o’ broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a church-yard tomb.Her brothers were the craggy hills,
Her sisters larchen trees;
Alone with her great family
She liv’d as she did please.No breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon,
And ‘stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the moon.But every morn, of woodbine fresh
She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen yew
She wove, and she would sing.And with her fingers old and brown
She plaited mats o’ rushes,
And gave them to the cottagers
She met among the bushes.Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,
And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore,
A chip hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere–
She died full long agone!
John-Keats-
Categories
Book Reviews Classics Literature Poetry

Letters to Poseidon by Cees Nooteboom

A serviette, a glass of champagne taken outside a fish restaurant in the open-air Viktualienmarkt in Munich, all taken to celebrate the first day of spring, prompt Cees Nooteboom into Proustian reverie. Upon the paper napkin is written in blue capitals the word POSEIDON, the Greek god who has preoccupied Nooteboom’s thoughts for several summers. The blue colour reminds him of the sea viewed from Mediterranean garden of his villa in Menorca. Taking this prompting as a moment of benign synchronicity, he later begins a correspondence with this sea-deity. He seeks to inquire how this somewhat unreliable ancient Greek Olympian sees aeons of time and sends him letters and legenda; meditations and stories to be read, both poetic and tragic, from the arts and the contemporary world. He is not expecting a reply.

In the Odyssey, Poseidon is renowned for hating Odysseus who had blinded the Cyclops, Polyphemus who happened to be the god’s son. This is Homer’s view. Ovid would have known the god as Neptune and wrote about him in the ‘’Metamorphoses’’. Kafka wrote an essay in which he imagines Poseidon constantly submerged. So, Nooteboom wonders, in a notably poetic passage, how would he have viewed the first passage of the first boat on the surface above him. How does he feel about the decline of those very Greeks who worshipped him? Is he melancholy about his timeless vigil already an old man beneath the sea with only occasional excursions pulled about by tiny sea-horses, nature’s experiment in trans-gender parturition? Fascinated by the rhythms of animal behaviour and curious plants, Nooteboom’s meditative writing is enlivened by his close observation of the natural world.

Letters to Poseidon juxtaposes thoughts which are essentially theological with ponderings on inexplicable tragedies in the contemporary world from the Challenger disaster to the Arab spring. Uncomfortable topics of puzzling cruelty are subject to persistent interrogation which is addressed to an ancient deity- often depicted in statuary with his face turned away. However, there is also an interesting wrestle between belief and doubt beneath the surface. Here is an attempt to figure the Christian deity in relation to the ancient gods. It is almost that the averted gaze of the sea-god makes him more accessible to questioning. Dante and the early-German Christian mystic, Seuse are invoked and discussed whilst the reader is provided with routes to his own investigations from Nootebbom’s well-stocked mind.

The author is prominent as a novelist, art historian and as a traveller. Successive pieces are situated in, for example, in Seoul Museum of Art, a Zen garden in Kyoto, back in his study in Menorca, an island of the Dutch East Indian company in Nagasaki and back once more to Menorca to watch a blood moon. This continuous movement appears to have given rise to a certain Weltschmerz  and in particular to a fascination with time and memory. This connection between time and space fascinates him as do geological aeons. He uses the Poseidon figure as a means to attempt to grasp the manner in which rocks are metamorphosed and ground to sediment over aeons. This is done in a leisurely discursive style that produces its own poetry. It requires that the reader find the patience to enjoy such digressions.

Here is a small example:-

‘’The curlews begin to call. I know they are close to the sea, but I have not yet seen them. Their Dutch name ‘’griel’’ is a much better match than ‘’curlew’’ for that drawn out, pleading sound they make. The owl I can hear nearby is another member of the secret service; it wears the darkness like a uniform and makes itself invisible.’’

The relaxed and tentative tone of the writing is at times penetrated by an image carrying anxiety which frequently refers to contemporary concerns. This is shown above where even an owl might appear as a Stasi interrogator. Despite its metaphysical tone, the prose mostly remains vivid. The issues addressed are the concerns of a man, possibly an elderly man, in search of a soul.Cees

An unexpected feature of this book is the fifty or so pages at the end which provide photographs and reference material. I was some 30 pages into the book before I discovered these. This brought to mind the work of W.G.Seebald whose elegiac tone, Nooteboom’s travel memoir sometimes resembles. There are touches which reminded me of Lawrence Durrell’s ‘’The Alexandrian Quartet’’ and of the mysterious symmetries of Anne Michael’s ‘’Fugitive Pieces’’. This book will not be to everyone’s taste, as by nature, it is inconclusive but thought provoking. It asks fundamental questions about human behaviour ‘’’sub specie aeternitatis’’’-Baruch Spinoza’s term for the eternal perspective.

Nooteboom’s previous book on the fall of the wall can be found at Roads to Berlin by Cees Nooteboom and Laura Watkinson (Translator) and another discussion of a fruitful Greek myth is discussed at Orpheus, The Song Of Life by Ann Wroe.

Nooteboom’s own website is at http://www.ceesnooteboom.com/?lang=en

Categories
Classics Literature Poetry

A Review of “The Ancient Greeks” by Prof Edith Hall

Reading Edith Hall’s book on the Ancient Greeks, develops a deep respect for the power of poetry. No poet was more effective in this regard than Homer recounting the sea adventures contained in the ‘’The Odyssey’’. It shaped the self-definition of a nation and engendered self-confidence. The mariners set out in their beautiful ships across the Aegean and established colonies to the West, in the Mediterranean as far as the Pillars of Hercules, to the East as far as the Levant and built trading cities in natural harbours along the fertile edges of the Black Sea. They were, as Plato wrote in the Phaedo, “around the sea, like frogs and ants around a pond.” They were encouraged by Delphic oracles and inspired by the company of diving dolphins.

The structure of Hall’s account is clearly set down at the start with a useful chronology from the Myceneans in 1500 B.C. to the close of the Delphic oracle in 395 A.D. providing a clear context for the following text. It also gives a framework that neatly conveys the interaction between individuals, resources, military conflicts, the arts, sports, social upheavals and importantly the contributions of recent research. Anyone reading this book will discover how much our understanding of the Greeks has developed currently from new excavations, discoveries and recent scientific techniques. The first four strongly interconnected qualities that Hall ascribes to the Greeks are that they were seagoing, suspicious of authority, individualistic and inquiring. Further, they were open to new ideas, witty, competitive, admired excellence in people of talent, were exceptionally articulate and were also addicted to pleasure.

This is, perhaps, an ideal book to take upon a Mediterranean cruise. Reading it is arguably a cheaper but comfortable substitute and it will certainly improve your geographical understanding. Some of the ancient names may well be unfamiliar to us today. Most will have heard of Knossos on Crete where back in the early Mycenean period the cattle were called by ironic names like Swift and Talkative or ‘’Oinops’’ which means wine-dark, just as Homer describes the sea. Then there is Massalia where the Greeks imported the vine and thus founded the French wine industry. Sicily, however, provided the setting for particularly notorious tyrants. Olbia, on the Black Sea, which is situated in Ukraine today, was difficult to colonise but eventually provided a sanctuary area for the worship of ‘’Apollo Delphinios’’, a sea-god of music, healing and prophecy.

Spartan Girls challenge Boys by Edgar Degas
Spartan Girls challenge Boys by Edgar Degas

In an interesting chapter on the Spartans, Edith Hall writes of the famous battle at Thermopylae where the courage of 300 sacrificed warriors, led by King Leonidas, created the conditions whereby Greece was saved from the influx of marauding Persians. The excellence of these Spartans consisted in their stern self-discipline and their blunt and pithy sense of humour which is therefore referred to as laconic. In a similar manner, the admiration of the Spartans is called Lacophilia after the area of Laconia which these Dorian Greeks subdued in the eighth century B.C. Spartan women appeared to have attained a degree of independence from their men folk and cultivated the worship of Artemis and festivals involving hyacinths. However, when you read of the treatment meted out to the wretched helots (slaves), recorded by Plutarch and also from Xenophon and Herodotus of the vicious clash of the armoured scrum that constituted hoplite battles, the reader begins to understand why the Spartans are summed up by the author in one adjective-inscrutable.

The adventurous Greek mind appears to have exerted its strength when the kingdom of Macedonia fell to Roman power after AD168. But as Horace wrote, ‘’Graecia captum ferum victorem cepit’’ –captive Greece took her fierce conqueror captive. It was the fluency of the Greek which made it not only the language of business but dominated both rhetoric and prose. Hegemony is after all a Greek word. Recounting these later times the account becomes even more vivid. The writings of the self-assured physician Galen were influenced the development of medicine for many centuries to come. The touching story of rhetorical superstar, as Hall terms Aristides, the inventor of the personal memoir but also a hypochondriac, has a contemporary appeal. It is nice to know that his faith in the benevolent healing deity, Asclepius, quieted his inner turmoil.

Classical Head by John Emanuel
Classical Head
by
John Emanuel

Reading Edith Hall on the Ancients is a stirring adventure; a contemporary correspondence to what Keats must have felt when he opened Chapman’s translation of Homer. The experience is reminiscent too of a poem from the classicist Louis MacNeice who in his poem about the maritime mercenary Greek cry ‘’Thalassa, Thalassa’’ penned the following:-

’Put out to sea, ignoble comrades,

Whose record shall be noble yet;

Butting through scarps of moving marble

The narwhal dares us to be free;

By a high star our course is set,

Our end is Life.  Put out to sea.

 

Categories
German Matters Literature Penwith Poetry St Ives

Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen (Heute und Damals)

This poem by Heinrich Heine is simple and clever. It is maybe the kind of poem to which Karl Krauss might have taken exception. It has also been set to music by Robert Schumann in Dichterliebe, op. 48 Nr. 11.

Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen,
Die hat einen Andern erwählt;
Der Andre liebt eine Andre ,
Und hat sich mit dieser vermählt.

Das Mädchen heiratet aus Ärger
Den ersten besten Mann,
Der ihr in den Weg gelaufen;
Der Jüngling ist übel dran.

Es ist eine alte Geschichte,
Doch bleibt sie immer neu;
Und wem sie just passieret,
Dem bricht das Herz entzwei.

It is analysed in German at https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ein_J%C3%BCngling_liebt_ein_M%C3%A4dchen where they comment  DasMetrum ist nicht regelmäßig, es wechselt ständig zwischen Jamben und Anapästen. Männliche und weiblicheKadenzen wechseln sich hingegen ab, wobei es sich beim ersten Vers der jeweiligen Strophe immer um eine weibliche Endung handelt. This might be translated:-

The meter is not regular and alternates between iambs and anapests. Masculine and feminine cadences are interwoven and the first verse of each stanza  always has  a feminine ending.GE

For some reason this reminded me of one of the amusing poems by Gavin Ewart whom I heard one delightful evening during the St Ives Festival at the Penwith Gallery in the early nineties. The poem is called “Office Politics”.

Eve is madly in love with Hugh
And Hugh is keen on Jim.
Charles is in love with very few
And few are in love with him.

Myra sits typing notes of love
With romantic pianist’s fingers.
Dick turns his eyes to the heavens above
Where Fran’s divine perfume lingers.

Nicky is rolling eyes and tits
And flaunting her wiggly walk.
Everybody is thrilled to bits
By Clive’s suggestive talk.

Sex suppressed will go berserk,
But it keeps us all alive.
It’s a wonderful change from wives and work
And it ends at half past five.

An obituary for Gavin Ewart appears here-http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/obituary-gavin-ewart-1579164.html  Also this video by Ewart is wryly amusing too:-

Categories
German Matters Poetry

Dein Kuß hat mir den Frühling gebracht. -Max Raabe

Liebesleid

Dein Kuß hat mir den Frühling gebracht. Denk’ an dich bei Tag und bei Nacht,
denk’ an dich, an dich immerzu. All mein Träumen bist nur du!
Und gehst du eines Tages von mir, geht auch meine Sehnsucht mit dir.
Herbstwind wird die Blätter verweh’n – unsre Liebe wird besteh’n.

Ich fühle mehr und mehr daß ich nur dir gehör’,
daß ich dir ganz verfalle, daß ich von allen dich nur begehr’.
Ich höre dein helles Lachen, und mir wird ums Herz so weh.
Sag mir, was soll ich machen, daß ich vor Sehnsucht nicht vergeh’?

Die Liebe kommt, die Liebe geht, solang’ ein Stern am Himmel steht,
solang am Strauch die Rosen blüh’n, wird stets ein Herz in heißer Lieb’ erglühn.
Und fühlst du dich geliebt, dann frag’ nicht. Und bist du mal betrübt, verzag nicht,
denn immer wird’s so sein wie heut’: Auf Liebesleid folgt Liebesfreud’!

Dein Kuß hat mir den Frühling gebracht. Als du mir entgegengelacht,
lag in deinem zärtlichen Blick eine ganze Welt voll Glück.
Nur du bist für mich das Leben. Kann nicht mehr ohne dich sein.
Alles will ich dir geben, denn dir gehör’ ich, dir allein!

Die Liebe kommt, die Liebe geht, …
Genau wie heut, für alle Zeit.

Translation at

http://lyricstranslate.com/en/max-raabe-liebesleid-lyrics.html#ixzz3qf9qISJG

Herr Max Raabe
Herr Max Raabe

 

Categories
German Matters Literature Poetry

September-Hermann Hesse

images

September

Der Garten trauert,
kühl sinkt in die Blumen der Regen.
Der Sommer schauert
still seinem Ende entgegen.

Golden tropft Blatt um Blatt
nieder vom hohen Akazienbaum.
Sommer lächelt erstaunt und matt
in den sterbenden Gartentraum.

Lange noch bei den Rosen
bleibt er stehn, seht sich nach Ruh.
Langsam tut er die großen,
müdgewordenen Augen zu.

(Hermann Hesse, 1927)

The part of this poem which interests me, as I seek to improve my German, is at the end of the 2nd verse. “Sommer lächelt erstaunt und matt” –erstaunt suggests amazement but carries the feeling of marvelling as well. It has the feeling perhaps of being suddenly halted or cut short. matt can mean faint, soft and even languid. Gartenraum is simply within the space of the garden and of course nicely rhymes with Akazienbaum. I am completely taken with müdgewordenen and finishes the poem sweetly.

Categories
Art and Photographic History German Matters Poetry

Kopfkino from Shakespeare

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired:
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo, thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

From Max Radler, Radio Listener, 1930
From Max Radler, Radio Listener, 1930

One translation of which into German is:-

Sonett 27

Von Müh’n erschöpft such’ ich mein Lager auf,
Die holde Ruhstatt reisemüder Glieder,
Doch dann beginnt in meinem Kopf ein Lauf,
Wach wird der Geist, sinkt schwach der Leib danieder.

Denn sehnsuchtsvoll sucht mein Gedanke Dich
Aus weiter Fern’ auf frommer Pilgerfahrt.
Die müden Augenlider öffnen sich
Und sehn nur, was der Blinde auch gewahrt.

Nur daß der Seele einbildsame Macht
Dem innern Auge Deinen Schatten beut,
Der wie ein strahlendes Juwel die Nacht
Verschönert und ihr alt Gesicht erneut:

So daß um Deinethalb am Tag die Ruh
Die Glieder flieht und Nachts den Geist dazu.

Übersetzt von Friedrich Bodenstedt (1866)

Kopfkino

and from another source http://gutenberg.spiegel.de/buch/sonette-2186/27 we have:-

Erschöpft werf’ ich mich auf mein Lager nieder
Zur Rast, die wohl nach langer Reise tut,
Doch dann beginnt in meinem Haupte wieder
Die Wanderschaft, ob auch der Körper ruht.
Zu dir gehn die Gedanken dann zurück
Von hinnen auf der Sehnsucht Pilgerfahrt,
Sie halten offen meinen müden Blick,
Der, wie der Blinde, Dunkel rings gewahrt;
Nur daß der Blick der traumbeschwingten Seele
Dein Bild vor meines Geistes Auge stellt,
Das in dem Graun gleich flammendem Juwele
Die Nacht verschönt und jugendfroh erhellt.
So wird um dich und mich, vom Schlaf gemieden,
Am Tag dem Leib, der Seele nachts kein Frieden.

For more information on the fascinating Max Radler go to https://prezi.com/w5qlyzsd6z7y/max-radler-radio-listener-1930/


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Categories
German Matters Poetry

Selahattin Batu-türkischer Dichter

 

DU20150725_144639
Du – das weiß ich – bist die Stille hier,
Du tratst ein, und nun, ich lausche dir.
Niemand ist im Haus; alleine du .
Selbst dein Atem ist mein Atem nur,
Oh Verströmer, Warten, Sehnsuchtspein:
Du, wie ich, so unsagbar allein,
In der Flöte deiner Stimme Spur
Blick mit meinem Aug, mir: zugewandt,
Weich liegt meine Hand in deiner Hand,
Deine Stimme meines Rausches schwer.
Nur noch du bestehst. Ich bin nicht mehr.

Categories
German Matters Penwith Poetry

Baby, es regnet doch

Evelyn: Ich muss jetzt nach Haus‘
Bully: Baby, es regnet doch
Evelyn: Komm, lass mich hinaus
Bully: Aber, Baby, es regnet doch
Evelyn: Der Abend war schön
Bully: Drum sollst du noch lang‘ nicht geh’n
Evelyn: Ganz wunderbar
Bully: Du läufst im Regen nur Gefahr

Evely: Die Mutter wird sich schon sorgen
Bully; Das gibt sich schon bis morgen
Evelyn: Mein Vater regt sich auf, nicht zu knapp
Bully: Später regt er sich wieder ab
Evelyn: Ich war doch schon hier drei Stunden
Bully: Mir scheint nur drei Sekunden
Evelyn: Ich trinke noch ein letztes Glas Wein
Bully: Muss es denn das letzte Glas sein

Evelyn: Die Nachbarn im Haus
Bully: Ach Baby es hagelt bald
Eyelyn: Die schau’n nach mir aus
Bully: Dafür ist es viel zu kalt
Evelyn: Ich fühl’ mich ganz warm
Bully: Bestimmt nur in meinem Arm
Evelyn: Und wenn es schneit
Bully: Doch nicht um diese Jahreszeit
Evelyn: Ich sollte schon längst nicht mehr hier sein
Bully: Immer sollst du bei mir sein
Evelyn: Warum schaust du so zärtlich mich an
Bully: Weil ich einfach nicht anders kann
Evely: Jetzt hab’ ich schon Angst
Beide: Jetz hab‘ ich schon Angst,
was du verlangst von mir.

Evelyn; Jetzt ist es genug
Bully: Baby, noch lange nicht
Evelyn: Schau, sei doch mal klug
Bully: Baby, die Liebe spricht
Evelyn: Die Liebe macht blind
Bully: Das ist mir egal, mein Kind
Evelyn: Sei doch gescheit
Bully: Aber dafür hab’ ich im Alter Zeit
Evelyn: Was meine Schwester wohl denkt von uns beiden
Bully: Die kann uns doch nur beneiden
Evelyn: Mein Bruder nimmt bestimmt von uns an
Bully: Weißt du was Dein Bruder mich kann
Evely: Die Mädchen im Haus die schwätzeln
Bully; Lass doch die Ziegen hetzen
Evelyn: Auf jeden Fall wird das ein Skandal
Bully: Dann ist doch schon alles egal

Evelyn: Ich muss jetzt nach Haus‘
Bully: Baby es stürmt und blitzt
Evelyn: Egal, ich muss raus
Bully: Wie süß deine Bluse sitzt
Evelyn: Du, ich flieg’ zu Haus raus
Bully: Warum gehst du denn erst nach Haus
Evelyn: Für alle Zeit
Bully: Ich liebe dich in diesem Kleid
Evelyn: Das kommt davon, wenn ich trinke
Bully: Lass doch die Lippenschminke
Evelyn: Die Straßenbahn wird schon lang‘ nicht mehr geh’n
Bully: Wer könnte dir wiedersteh‘n
Evelyn: Jetzt ist‘s mir egal
Beide: Jetzt ist‘s mir egal,
küsse mich tausend Mal.
Bully: Aber Baby, es
Evelyn: Jaaa

IMG_0294e