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
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.
September Song by Geoffrey Hill © 1994 taken from Selected Poems (Viking) at £9.99
Stephen Crane, 1871 – 1900
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”
In the name of the Bee –
And of the Butterfly –
And of the Breeze – Amen!
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
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 – (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.
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“.
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
Nor any Placard boast me—
It’s full as Opera—