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

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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—