I am afraid
Angst packt mich an
Erich Mühsam (1878-1934)
Angst packt mich an
Angst packt mich an,
Denn ich ahne, es nahen Tage
voll großer Klage.
Komm du, komm her zu mir! –
Wenn die Blätter im Herbst ersterben
und sich die Flüsse trüber färben
und sich die Wolken ineinander schieben –
dann komm, du, komm!
Schütze mich –
stütze mich –
fass meine Hand an.
Hilf mir lieben!
I am afraid
I am afraid, I’m gripped by fear.
I sense a time of laments is near.
Come with great love, come to me here!
When leaves in autumn fail and fade
When streams show off a sadder shade
When clouds in close crowds shift and shove –
Then come! Come with great love!
Escorting
Supporting
Grip my hand –
Help me to love!
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Erich Mühsam...
Evening
Der Abend
Camill Hoffmann (1878-1944)
Der Abend
Der Abend spannt sein Schattenzelt
Unmerklich in die Welt.
Der Mond schwebt auf, der Baum geht leis,
Das Haus steht leuchtend weis.
Das Haus, der Mond, der Ahornbaum
Sind alle nun ein Traum.
Evening
Evening comes, reticent,
Spreads on the world its shadow-tent.
Moon climbs, tree withdraws,
House remains, shining, wise.
Oak-tree, house, moonbeam,
All are now a dream.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Camill Hoffmann...
So many nights have hung star-laden, full
Nach all den Nächten, die voll Sternen hingen
Erich Mühsam (1878-1934)
Nach all den Nächten, die voll Sternen hingen
Nach all den Nächten, die voll Sternen hingen,
nun diese dumpfe, trübe, nasse Nacht,
als wär die Arbeit aller Zeit vollbracht
und niemals wieder Hoffnung auf Gelingen.
Wohin die Schritte weisen, da das Ziel
ertrank im nebeligen Grau der Wege?
Ich such nur noch, wo ich mich niederlege,
den stillen Platz. Verloren ist das Spiel.
Ich höre vieler Menschen Schritte tasten –
verirrte Menschen, einsam, müd und arm –
und keiner weiß, wie wohl ihm wär und warm,
wenn wir einander bei den Händen faßten.
So many nights have hung star-laden, full
So many nights have hung star-laden, full:
And now this night, damp, sorrowful, and dull,
as if the whole of Time’s worked out its toil
and we have no more hope of doing well.
Where are the footsteps headed? What’s their aim?
In trails of murky grey they’re drowned and dead.
I only seek where I can lay my head,
a tranquil resting-place. We’ve lost the game.
I heard their groping steps, the hopeless band
Lost and bewildered, weary, lonely, poor:
none of them knows the warmth that we could share
if we just grasped each other by the hand.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Erich Mühsam...
Quo sitis ire mihi
Sea Fever
John Masefield (1878-1967)
Sea Fever
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
Quo sitis ire mihi
quo sitis ire mihi, nihil est nisi pontus et aer.
~~ nave petam celsa sidere fisus aquas!
vela tremant, sonet Eurus, agat vis torva gubernum,
~~sit nova pulla dies, acre vapore mare.
exagitant clarae surgenti gurgite voces:
~~Tethyos infaustum iussa negare deae!
hoc satis est: canis moveantur nubibus aurae,
~~spuma volet ventis, carmine mergus ovet.
me, Neptune, iuvant via mergi parsque balaenae,
~~ vita peregrini, saevior Eurus acu.
sint mihi sermones hilares comitisque cachinni,
~~et, cum res fuerit, somnia amoena, sopor.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by John Masefield...
My Latin version
Adlestrop
Edward Thomas (1878-1917)
Adlestrop
Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
My Latin version
non mihi mente tuum cadit indelebile nomen,
~~Selda, ubi inassueta compede currus iter
sisterat. excelso tempestas torrida sole,
~~deficiens mensis Junius, alta dies.
sibilat aere vapor, purgat mala gutture tussis;
~~nullus homo venit limine, nullus abit.
solum, Selda, tuum nomen, tu portus amoene,
~~nil aliud visumst! herba humilisque salix
et grandes salices, ulmaria pendula filis
~~flos redolens, foeni plurima congeries,
arida, sola, nitens, immota ut in aere nubes
~~exiguae; gaudes voce propinqua brevi
tu, merula! et procul hinc, ubi iam nebulosior aer,
~~pinnati numerant carmina grata chori,
argutas volucrum quot habes, Oxonia, turbas,
~~quot regio Glevi Nervia condit aves.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Edward Thomas...
Adistrop
Adlestrop
Edward Thomas (1878-1917)
Adlestrop
Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.
The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name
And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.
And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
Adistrop
D’you think I forgot about Adistrop?
Not a bit of it! what?
It was half-past two and it was hot,
Almost July, and unusually
My rapid train was brought to a stop.
Sibilant vapour. Throaty cough.
Nobody got on or off.
Anybody on platform? Not.
All I saw was a big signboard
Saying ‘Adistrop’: just that word,
And willows and grass and a plant too spry,
Pink, and a fragrant ulmaria (? try
‘Wool of Mary’?) and haycocks, dry,
Still and sightly as clouds on high,
Solitary, stuck in a sunny sky;
And a blackbird singing, but not for long,
Not far off; all around, birdsong,
From distant, hazily vaporous
Avian byways of Oxon and Glos.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Edward Thomas...
The Rebel
The Rebel
Don Marquis (1878-1937)
The Rebel
NO DOUBT the ordered worlds speed on
With purpose in their wings;
No doubt the ordered songs are sweet
Each worthy angel sings;
And doubtless it is wise to heed
The ordered words of Kings;
But how the heart leaps up to greet
The headlong, rebel flight,
Whenas some reckless meteor
Blazes across the night!
Some comet--Byron--Lucifer--
Has dared to Be, and fight!
No doubt but it is safe to dwell
Where ordered duties are;
No doubt the cherubs earn their wage
Who wind each ticking star;
No doubt the system is quite right!--
Sane, ordered, regular;
But how the rebel fires the soul
Who dares the strong gods' ire!
Each Byron!--Shelley!--Lucifer!--
And all the outcast choir
That chant when some Prometheus
Leaps up to steal Jove's fire!
The Rebel
scilicet instructos cantat pius angelus hymnos;
~~scilicet instructa est finis ad orbis iter;
scilicet et regum fas iussa instructa tueri;
~~scilicet ut volitant sidera, meta datur.
at bene praecipitem gaudemus adesse rebellem,
~~acris uti caeca nocte cometa nitet:
ausus qui tranare Tagum subit Hellespontum,
~~ausus item vivo proelia ferre Deo!
scilicet incolumes, instructa ubi pensa, manemus ;
~~scilicet angelici munera rite merent,
machina queis cura est stimulanda ut sidera currant:
~~scilicet imperio lex bona, firma salus!
cordibus at quales fovet ille rebellibus ignes,
~~ausus et irato probra adhibere deo!
liberat hic Graecos; comes alter flebilis oras
~~mersus ad Italicas, ceu Palinurus, obit;
necnon Lucifer ipse, Promethea quisquis et exsul
~~concelebrat flammam subripuisse Jovi!
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Don Marquis...
Butterfly in the Wine
Falter im Wein
Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)
Falter im Wein
In meinen Becher mit Wein ist ein Falter geflogen,
Trunken ergibt er sich seinem süssen Verderben,
Rudert erlahmend im Naß und ist willig zu sterben;
Endlich hat ihn mein Finger herausgezogen.
So ist mein Herz, von deinen Augen verblendet,
Selig im duftenden Becher der Liebe versunken,
Willig zu sterben, vom Wein deines Zaubers betrunken,
Wenn nicht ein Wink deiner Hand mein Schicksal vollendet.
Butterfly in the Wine
Into my wine-glass a butterfly flew.
Dazed, he submits to the sweet by-and-by,
Flailing, and failing, and willing to die;
Whom from his doom on my finger I drew.
You with your bright eyes bedazzled my seeing,
Deep in love’s nectar-bowl blissfully sunken,
Willingly doomed, with your wine-magic drunken,
Had not your hand set the seal on my being.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Hermann Hesse...
Love-song
Liebeslied
Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)
Liebeslied
Betty, schöne Kellnerin,
Lach nicht so gemein!
Du sollst meine Königin
Und mein Engel sein.
Ach, du weisst nicht, wie ich litt,
Als mit Worten und mit Gesten
Du mir ferneren Kredit
Weigertest vor allen Gästen!
Wenn du heut nicht reagierst,
Ja dich strenger zeigst und kälter,
Wisse, dass du dann verlierst
Deinen Freund und deine Gelder!
Love-song
Betty pretty bar-girl
Oh your laugh is mean
You should be my angel
You should be my queen.
You were hurtful heedless
Waved your arms and said it
Heard by all the regulars
You cut off my credit.
If you’re stern and frozen
If you don’t relent
You are going to lose one
Friend and every cent.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Hermann Hesse...
To a Chinese Singing-Woman
An eine chinesische Sängerin
Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)
An eine chinesische Sängerin
Auf dem stillen Flusse sind wir am Abend gefahren,
Rosig stand und beglänzt der Akazienbaum,
Rosig strahlten die Wolken. Ich aver sah sie kaum,
Sah nur die Pflaumenblüte in deinen Haaren.
Lächelnd saßest du vorn im geschmückten Boote,
Hieltest die Laute in der geübten Hand,
Sangest das Lied vom heiligen Vaterland,
Während in deinen Augen die Jugend lohte.
Schweigend stand ich am Mast und wünschte mir, ohne Ende
Dieser glühenden Augen Sklave zu sein,
Ewig dem Liede zu lauschen in seliger Pein
Und dem beglückenden Spiel deiner blumenhaft zarten Hände
To a Chinese Singing-Woman
We went at evening on the quiet river.
Rosy-pink glittered the acacia-tree,
Rosy-pink shone the clouds. But not for me:
I saw just your hair, and in it the damson-flower.
Smiling you sat at the prow of our boat adorned,
Holding the lute in your proficient hand,
Singing a song of your happy motherland,
While youth in your bright eyes burned.
Silent I stood at the mast, and wished for ever
I could be the slave of your glowing glance,
Hark to the song in ecstatic pain for ever,
And the entrancing play of those petals, your hands.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Hermann Hesse...
