The Willow Catkin

Das Weidenkätzchen

Das Weidenkätzchen
Kätzchen ihr der Weide, wie aus grauer Seide, wie aus grauem Samt! O ihr Silberkätzchen, sagt mir doch, ihr Schätzchen, sagt, woher ihr stammt. Wollen's gern dir sagen: Wir sind ausgeschlagen aus dem Weidenbaum, haben winterüber drin geschlafen, Lieber, in tieftiefem Traum. In dem dürren Baume in tieftiefem Traume habt geschlafen ihr? In dem Holz, dem harten war, ihr weichen, zarten, euer Nachtquartier? Mußt dich recht besinnen: Was da träumte drinnen, waren wir noch nicht, wie wir jetzt im Kleide blühn von Samt und Seide hell im Sonnenlicht. Nur als wie Gedanken lagen wir im schlanken grauen Baumgeäst; unsichtbare Geister, die der Weltbaumeister dort verweilen lässt. Kätzchen ihr der Weide, wie aus grauer Seide, wie aus grauem Samt! O ihr Silberkätzchen, ja, nun weiß, ihr Schätzchen, ich, woher ihr stammt.  
The Willow Catkin
You catkins of willow, silk-grey, velvet-grey, silver catkins, o say: my sweetings, o tell me, how came you this way? We’ll happily say: the willow’s our home, and from it we come; we slept winter away, deep, deep was our dream. In bare trees to sleep, and dreaming so deep? You are tender! How could that be? Was it good, hard night in the wood? Consider aright: we dreamed in the glade, not yet so arrayed as now we’re displayed, silk, velvet, grey shade, by sun shining bright. Like pure meditation in bare boughs we lay, boughs narrow and grey, unseen inspiration: the Lord of creation allowed us to stay. You catkins of willow, silk-grey, velvet-grey, silver catkins, I pay respects to you, sweetings: you’ve told me the way you came here, today.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

Binsey Poplars

Binsey Poplars

Gerard Manley Hopkins

The poplars were felled in 1879. My Latin..
Binsey Poplars
My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled, Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun, All felled, felled, are all felled; Of a fresh and following folded rank Not spared, not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow & river & wind-wandering weed-winding bank. O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew — Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being só slender, That, like this sleek and seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all, Where we, even where we mean To mend her we end her, When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene, Rural scene, a rural scene, Sweet especial rural scene. [Campaigning against a housing estate that would have scarred the view of Highgate from Hampstead Heath, I wrote: 'Witan, the ancient council. Hurst, a wooded hill. Not since the Binsey Poplars, those Hopkins-harrowing topplers, Fell or were felled by the fiend of eld that wishes old England ill, And the trains stopped stopping at Adlestrop, and at Grantchester time stood still, Has anything worse been heard in verse, including, if you will, The nefarious, unhilarious, Dissolution of Halnaker Mill.' ...]
Binsey Poplars
o quantum amatae vos mihi populi! Titana textis frondibus obrui ~~vidi refrenarique in auris; ~~~~praecipites cecidistis omnes, haud una sospes caede trucissima. intactus ordo duplicis agminis ~~occisus, umbrosis puellas ~~~~vel pueros recreare alutis gnarus, per agros, flumina, flamina, ventos vagantes, litora, harundines ~~per prata procurvas, per undas ~~~~nantibus his, aliis caducis. o stirps molesti nescia criminis, prompta ad fodendum, scindere promptior! ~~~torquemus increscens, virescens ~~~~ dilaniamus, in omne damnum. rus tenue tactu, rus tenerum ambitu! levis videndi fixus acu globus: ~~ instanter, heu! non est ocellus. ~~~~sic etiam reparare nisi pala et securi, deruimus modo saltus amoenos : nesciet advena ~~quantum venustatis fuisset: ~~~~undecimus decimusve tantum stragi sat ictus: conficit eripit prospectum agrestem, gaudia rustica ~~dejecta: prospectum placentem ~~~~destruit egregium, placentem.
Classical Verse Challenge for April 2024.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Autumn

Automne

René-Guy Cadou (1920-51)

Automne
Odeur des pluies de mon enfance Derniers soleils de la saison! A sept ans comme il faisait bon, Après d’ennuyeuses vacances, Se retrouver dans sa maison! La vieille classe de mon père, Pleine de guêpes écrasées, Sentait l’encre, le bois, la craie Et ces merveilleuses poussières Amassées par tout un été. O temps charmant des brumes douces, Des gibiers, des longs vols d’oiseaux, Le vent souffle sous le préau, Mais je tiens entre paume et pouce Une rouge pomme à couteau.
Autumn
My childhood: fragrances of rain, The season’s final sunny days, When I was seven years of age After the boring holidays, How pleasant to be home again! Old schoolroom of my dear Papa, The horde of wasps unkindly killed, The ink and chalk and wood I smelled, The wondrous dust, the plethora That all the summer months had piled… O charming time of gentle mist, Long flights of birds that hunters felled, Wind in the courtyard roof that hissed, Yet in my palm and thumb I held A bright red apple to be sliced!
My words have kindly been added to the video.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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A Year Later

Ein Jahr später

Otto Reinhards (1911-?)

Ein Jahr später
Es sind noch immer die gleichen Wellen, die gleichen Muscheln, was immer ich find. Es sind noch immer die gleichen Dünen, die Gräser, die Halme und auch der Wind. Es ist noch immer der Zug in den Wolken. Ein Hauch weht wieder durch mein Haar. Es sind noch immer die gleichen Brücken am Himmelsbogen wie damals es war.
A Year Later
Still the same waves And still the same mussels As ever I find. Still the same dunes And grasses and rushes And also the wind. Still the clouds pass. Again a breeze ruffles, Blows over my hair. Still the same bridges In high-vaulted heaven As ever were there.
Nothing else known of this poet. Painting by Hermann Seeger.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Autumn

L'automne

Maurice Carême (1899-1978)

L'automne
L’automne au coin du bois Joue de l’harmonica. Quelle joie chez les feuilles! Elles valsent au bras du vent qui les emporte. On dit qu’elles sont mortes, Mais personne n’y croit. L’automne au coin du bois Joue de l’harmonica. Quelle joie chez les feuilles!
Autumn
Autumn plays on his mouth-organ in woodland ways. They love it, the leaves! Away they waltz on the arm of the breeze. Someone said they are dead which no-one believes. Autumn plays on his mouth-organ in woodland ways. They love it, the leaves!

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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May

Der Mai

Erich Kästner (1899-1974)

Der Mai
Im Galarock des heiteren Verschwenders, ein Blumenzepter in der schmalen Hand, fährt nun der Mai, der Mozart des Kalenders, aus seiner Kutsche grüßend, über Land. Es überblüht sich, er braucht nur zu winken. Er winkt! Und rollt durch einen Farbenhain. Blaumeisen flattern ihm voraus und Finken. Und Pfauenaugen flügeln hinterdrein. Die Apfelbäume hinterm Zaun erröten. Die Birken machen einen grünen Knicks. Die Drosseln spielen, auf ganz kleinen Flöten, das Scherzo aus der Symphonie des Glücks. Die Kutsche rollt durch atmende Pastelle. Wir ziehn den Hut. Die Kutsche rollt vorbei. Die Zeit versinkt in einer Fliederwelle. O, gäb es doch ein Jahr aus lauter Mai! Melancholie und Freude sind wohl Schwestern. Und aus den Zweigen fällt verblühter Schnee. Mit jedem Pulsschlag wird aus Heute Gestern. Auch Glück kann weh tun. Auch der Mai tut weh. Er nickt uns zu und ruft: „Ich komm ja wieder!“ Aus Himmelblau wird langsam Abendgold. Er grüßt die Hügel, und er winkt dem Flieder. Er lächelt. Lächelt. Und die Kutsche rollt.
May
GLAD RAGS adorn this big and merry spender; A flower sceptre fills his gentle hand. This Mozart of (in German) the ‘KaLENder’ Spreads greetings from his coach across the land. A glut of blooms! He waves, that’s all he’s needing: He waves, and rolls through groves of every hue, Fluttering finches, bluetits too, preceding, Then peacock butterflies: his retinue. Green birch-trees dip their boughs and bow and curtsey, Apple-trees at the fence blush tints of rose. A Scherzo penned by Bliss, with other Scherzi, Is played by thrushes on their piccolos. This art’s alive and breathing, beyond lifelike: We raise our hat. The coach rolls on its way. Time is sucked under in a wave of lilac. O for a year of nothing else but May! Melancholy and ecstasy are sisters, And faded blossoms fall from boughs, like snow. Each heartbeat fashions yesterdays from this-days. And happiness can hurt. May too, you know. ‘I’m back! I’m here!’ he cries. He’s welcoming us! The gold of eve replaces heaven’s blue. He greets the hills, he nods to the syringas, He smiles and smiles. The coach goes rolling through.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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All Things Pass

Vergänglichkeit

Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)

Vergänglichkeit
Vom Baum des Lebens fällt mir Blatt um Blatt, O taumelbunte Welt, wie machst du satt, wie machst du satt und müd, wie machst du trunken! Was heut noch glüht, ist bald versunken. Bald klirrt der Wind über mein braunes Grab, über das kleine Kind beugt sich die Mutter herab. Ihre Augen will ich wiedersehn, ihr Blick ist mein Stern, alles andre mag gehn und verwehn, alles stirbt, alles stirbt gern. Nur die ewige Mutter bleibt, von der wir kamen, ihr spielender Finger schreibt in die flüchtige Luft unsre Namen.
All Things Pass
Leaf after leaf, from life's tree, fall. Bright whirling world, you cloy, you pall. You pall and you tire, You make us drunken! Today's glowing fire Will soon be sunken. At my brown grave The wind shall blow; Over the babe Mother bends low. May my star be bright, The glance of her eyes! On all else be blight! All readily dies. The great Mother stays, From whom we came: On the winds she plays, As she scrawls our name.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Early Spring

Vorfrühling

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)

Vorfrühling
Härte schwand. Auf einmal legt sich Schonung an der Wiesen aufgedecktes Grau. Kleine Wasser ändern die Betonung. Zärtlichkeiten, ungenau, greifen nach der Erde aus dem Raum. Wege gehen weit ins Land und zeigens. Unvermutet siehst du seines Steigens Ausdruck in dem leeren Baum.
Early Spring
Stiffness, gone. And now a softness settles on the fields’ grey cover. Little streams try out new noises. Indeterminate caresses reach for Earth from somewhere over. Lanes run clear across the land. Spring is suddenly at hand: on the bare tree, see its traces.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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The Wind’s a Whistler

Es pfeift der Wind . . .

Christian Morgenstern (1871-1914)

Es pfeift der Wind . . .
Es pfeift der Wind. Was pfeift er wohl? Eine tolle, närrische Weise. Er pfeift auf einem Schlüssel hohl, bald gellend und bald leise. Die Nacht weint ihm den Takt dazu mit schweren Regentropfen, die an der Fenster schwarze Ruh ohn End eintönig klopfen. Es pfeift der Wind. Es stöhnt und gellt. Die Hunde heulen im Hofe. Er pfeift auf diese ganze Welt, der große Philosophe.
The Wind’s a Whistler
The wind’s a whistler. His will be a melody mad and mental, all in a single dismal key, now bellowing, now gentle. Night weeps the pulse that he maintains, sends heavy raindrops pounding on the black peaceful window-panes, relentlessly resounding. A roaring, groaning sibilant, In all the world he’ll whistle. Let yard-dogs rant: he’s Newton, Kant, Socrates, Bertrand Russell.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Ver hiemem indagat...

When the Hounds of Spring Are on Winter's Traces

Algernon Swinburne (1837-1909)

Latin by Timothy Adès
When the Hounds of Spring Are on Winter's Traces
💜When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,       The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places       With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces,       The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. 💜Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers,       Maiden most perfect, lady of light, With a noise of winds and many rivers,       With a clamor of waters, and with might; Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet, Over the splendor and speed of thy feet; For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers,       Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night. 💜Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her,       Fold our hands round her knees, and cling? O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her,       Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring! For the stars and the winds are unto her As raiment, as songs of the harp-player; For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her,       And the southwest wind and the west wind sing. 💜For winter's rains and ruins are over,       And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover,       The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover       Blossom by blossom the spring begins. 💜The full streams feed on flower of rushes,       Ripe grasses trammel a traveling foot, The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes       From leaf to flower and flower to fruit; And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire, And the oat is heard above the lyre, And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes       The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root. 💜And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night,       Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid, Follows with dancing and fills with delight       The Maenad and the Bassarid; And soft as lips that laugh and hide The laughing leaves of the trees divide, And screen from seeing and leave in sight       The god pursuing, the maiden hid. 💜The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair       Over her eyebrows hiding her eyes; The wild vine slipping down leaves bare       Her bright breast shortening into sighs; The wild vine slips with the weight of its leaves, But the berried ivy catches and cleaves To the limbs that glitter, the feet that scare       The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies.
Ver hiemem indagat...
ver hiemem indagat: latrans vestigia pellit: ~~ nutrit prata Ceres et novus annus agros: murmura crebrescunt pluviae frondisque susurri, ~~ dum repleant tenebras aeriosque locos: fuscaque rursus amans minuit Philomela dolorem, ~~ clara nitens, neque Ityn iam velut ante gemit: mente cadunt Thressae naves et barbara turba ~~ et quantus vigili lingua resecta dolor. at venias, virgo sanctissima, lucis origo: ~~ tende ferox arcum: prompta sagitta micet! detque sonum surgens multo cum flumine ventus: ~~ detque sonum raucae vis resonantis aquae. indue tu soleas, o velocissima cursu: ~~ ornetur rapidi splendida forma pedis: nam veniente die veniente et nocte tremescit ~~ pallidus, en! Zephyrus, regna et Eoa nitent. queis quaerenda locis numerisve adfanda puella est? ~~ haereat apprendens qua manus arte genu ? o si cor nostrum saliens ceu flamma salutet, ~~ flamma, vel exortae mobile robur aquae ! sidera enim et venti sunt illi talis amictus, ~~ psallentem fertur qui decorasse Linum : illam oriens sidus, delapsum amplectitur illam : ~~ Africus Orpheos dat Zephyrusque sonos. nam sat hiems dederat stragis : iam desiit imber: ~~ diffugere nives: tollitur omne nefas : iam perit et tempus quod amantibus abdit amantes, ~~ quod noctes auget deminuitque dies. iam est memor horarum, maeroris et immemor, idem: ~~ confectum nascens flos fugat acre gelu: iam virgulta virent, frondescunt germina gemmis : ~~ verna sub arbustis incipit ipsa dies. crescit arundinibus pinguis cum floribus amnis: ~~ gramen opimum obstat, quin vetat ire pedem : vix rubet igne novo tener annus, et impiger heres ~~ flos folio, flori denique fructus adest : fructusque et folium splendent velut ignis et aurum, ~~ rustica dum cultam vincit avena lyram, cornipedi et Satyrus contundit calce sub umbra ~~ castaneam siliquam castaneamque nucem. et pede Pan rapido – non acrior haedus eundo! – ~~ tuve movens noctu, Liber, ut ille die, saltibus exagitans mirabilibusque choreis ~~ Maenadas oblectas Bassaridumque comas : et, ceu dissiliunr risu mollita labella, ~~ arboreae molles dissiluere comae : nec latet ille sequens Bacchantem divus amandam, ~~ nec patet adsiduo tecta puella deo. delapsi crines, hedera et delapsa puellae : ~~ cumque superciliis lumina clara latent: labitur et vitis: pectus nudatur anhelum : ~~ occultant nitidum tegmina nulla sinum. sub pede procumbunt oneroso palmite vites: ~~ ipsa hedera haere nti baccare membra capit, membra corusca et turbantes animalia plantas, ~~ seu lupus insequitur, seu cita cerva fugit.
For Swinburne as translator, see Victor Hugo, 'Penniless Children'

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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