In dubiis

In dubiis

Hermann Hesse (1877-1962)

In dubiis
I Es dringt kein Laut bis her zu mir von der Nationen wildem Streite, ich stehe ja auf keiner Seite; denn Recht ist weder dort noch hier. Und weil ich nie Horaz vergaß bleib gut ich aller Welt und halte mich unverbrüchlich an die alte aurea mediocritas. II Der erscheint mir als der Größte, der zu keiner Fahne schwört, und, weil er vom Teil sich löste, nun der ganzen Welt gehört. Ist sein Heim die Welt; es misst ihm doch nicht klein der Heimat Hort; denn das Vaterland, es ist ihm dann sein Haus im Heimatsort.
In dubiis
I No sound till now assails my ear Of nations who in strife collide; I do not stand on either side; Justice is neither there nor here. Mindful of Q. Horatius, I’m friends with all the world, and hold Irrevocably to the old Aurea Mediocritas. II He stands out as most great-hearted, Loyal to no flag unfurled, Who, from one small fragment parted, Now belongs to all the world. If his home’s the world, his homeland Measures to no little space: For his fatherland’s his cottage, In his own familiar place.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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That Road, I Trod It Not

The Road Not Taken

Robert Frost (1874-1963)

He never needed the letter E !
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
That Road, I Trod It Not
Two roads! At a fork in an autumn wood I was sorry I could not go down both Without bifurcating. Long I stood looking down road X as far as I could till it slank out of sight in that sylvan growth. And I took road Y, which could turn a trick, Alluring, and angling for priority, That is, it was grassy and in good nick, Though I must say footfall and walking-stick Had worn both roads with comparability. And both that morning similarly lay Intact, no taint of any trampling black. I put off Road X for a distant day, Though, knowing how way links up with way, I hardly thought that I would go back. I shall spout this story and I shall sigh, Who knows how soon, or in what locality: Two roads at a fork in a wood, and I – Shunning busy road X, I took road Y! – With what upshot? A thoroughgoing dissimilarity!
The story behind this poem: Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" is both humorous and ironic, reflecting the poet's playful side. In the early 20th century, Frost became close friends with the English writer Edward Thomas. They often took long walks together through the countryside, where Thomas would frequently express regret over not choosing a different path once they had gone a certain way. Frost, amused by Thomas's indecision and tendency to second-guess himself, decided to write a poem as a gentle parody of his friend. In 1915, Frost penned "The Road Not Taken," intending it as a playful mockery of Thomas’s indecisiveness. The poem's narrator stands at a fork in the woods, choosing one path over another, only to later claim that the choice made "all the difference," despite the paths being equally worn. Frost sent the poem to Thomas, expecting his friend to catch the humor. However, Thomas did not realize that the poem was meant to be lighthearted and instead interpreted it as a serious reflection on choice and consequence. This misunderstanding disappointed Frost but also deepened the poem’s legacy, as it highlighted how easily people can misconstrue intentions based on their perspectives. Interestingly, this poem, which Frost intended as a joke, became one of his most famous and is often quoted as an inspiring message about individualism and the significance of choices in life. Yet, Frost’s original intent was more about poking fun at the human tendency to overthink and attribute deep meaning to decisions that, in hindsight, may not have been as significant as we believe. This story not only sheds light on the poem’s true meaning but also adds a layer of irony, as the world continues to interpret the poem in a way that differs from Frost’s original playful intent.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Wisdom

Sapienza

Giovanni Pascoli (1855-1912)

Sapienza
Salì pensoso la romita altura ove ha il suo nido l’aquila e il torrente, e centro delle lontananza oscura sta, sapїente. Oh! scruta intorno gl’ignorati abissi: più ti va lungi l’occhio del pensiero, più presso viene quello che tu fissi: ombra e mistero.
Wisdom
Climb pensive up the lonely height, nest of the eagle and the spate, and in remoteness like the night stand, contemplate. Oh, cast your gaze on depths unknown : the further strays your mental eye, the nearer come these things you settle on: shade, mystery.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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The Dawn is Alight

L'aurore s'allume

Victor Hugo (1802-85)

L'aurore s'allume
I L’aurore s’allume ; L’ombre épaisse fuit ; Le rêve et la brume Vont où va la nuit ; Paupières et roses S’ouvrent demi-closes ; Du réveil des choses On entend le bruit. Tout chante et murmure, Tout parle à la fois, Fumée et verdure, Les nids et les toits ; Le vent parle aux chênes, L’eau parle aux fontaines ; Toutes les haleines Deviennent des voix ! Tout reprend son âme, L’enfant son hochet, Le foyer sa flamme, Le luth son archet ; Folie ou démence, Dans le monde immense, Chacun. recommence Ce qu’il ébauchait. Qu’on pense ou qu’on aime, Sans cesse agité, Vers un but suprême, Tout vole emporté ; L’esquif cherche un môle, L’abeille un vieux saule, La boussole un pôle, Moi la vérité ! II Vérité profonde ! Granit éprouvé Qu’au fond de toute onde Mon ancre a trouvé ! De ce monde sombre, Où passent dans l’ombre Des songes sans nombre, Plafond et pavé ! Vérité, beau fleuve Que rien ne tarit ! Source où tout s’abreuve, Tige où tout fleurit ! Lampe que Dieu pose Près de toute cause ! Clarté que la chose Envoie à l’esprit ! Arbre à rude écorce, Chêne au vaste front, Que selon sa force L’homme ploie ou rompt, D’où l’ombre s’épanche ; Où chacun se penche, L’un sur une branche, L’autre sur le tronc ! Mont d’où tout ruisselle ! Gouffre où tout s’en va ! Sublime étincelle Que fait Jéhova ! Rayon qu’on blasphème ! Oeil calme et suprême Qu’au front de Dieu même L’homme un jour creva ! III Ô Terre ! ô merveilles Dont l’éclat joyeux Emplit nos oreilles, Eblouit nos yeux ! Bords où meurt la vague, Bois qu’un souffle élague, De l’horizon vague Plis mystérieux ! Azur dont se voile L’eau du gouffre amer, Quand, laissant ma voile Fuir au gré de l’air, Penché sur la lame, J’écoute avec l’âme Cet épithalame Que chante la mer ! Azur non moins tendre Du ciel qui sourit Quand, tâchant d’entendre Je cherche, ô nature, Ce que dit l’esprit, La parole obscure Que le vent murmure, Que l’étoile écrit ! Création pure ! Etre universel ! Océan, ceinture De tout sous le ciel ! Astres que fait naître Le souffle du maître, Fleurs où Dieu peut-être Cueille quelque miel ! Ô champs ! ô feuillages ! Monde fraternel ! Clocher des villages Humble et solennel ! Mont qui portes l’aire ! Aube fraîche et claire, Sourire éphémère De l’astre éternel ! N’êtes-vous qu’un livre, Sans fin ni milieu, Où chacun pour vivre Cherche à lire un peu ! Phrase si profonde Qu’en vain on la sonde ! L’oeil y voit un monde, L’âme y trouve un Dieu ! Beau livre qu’achèvent Les coeurs ingénus ; Où les penseurs rêvent Des sens inconnus ; Où ceux que Dieu charge D’un front vaste et large Ecrivent en marge : Nous sommes venus ! Saint livre où la voile Qui flotte en tous lieux, Saint livre où l’étoile Qui rayonne aux yeux, Ne trace, ô mystère ! Qu’un nom solitaire, Qu’un nom sur la terre, Qu’un nom dans les cieux ! Livre salutaire Où le cour s’emplit ! Où tout sage austère Travaille et pâlit ! Dont le sens rebelle Parfois se révèle ! Pythagore épèle Et Moïse lit !
The Dawn is Alight
I The dawn is alight; Thick shadows desist; The dream and the mist Are fled with the night. Each eyelid and rose Half open, half close: All’s waking around, We hark to the sound. The song and the murmur As everything chatters, The smoke and the verdure, Nests, rooftops: all noises! The oaks hear the breeze, The springs hear the waters, And each thing that breathes Will turn into voices. The spirit returns: Loud toy to the child, The hearth again burns, The bow’s on the viol. The world so immense, Wild incontinence, All things recommence Their deeds of erstwhile. By thought or by love We ceaselessly move Towards a great goal, And soar up above. The skiff seeks a mole, The bee a safe hole, The compass a pole; The Truth is my love! II The truth, the profound, Well-tried granite ground My anchor has found Beneath any wave; This world sad and sombre Where dreams beyond number In shadows abound, High vault and low pave! Truth, clear watercourse That never is sullied! The life-giving source, The stalk ever florid! Lamp God will dispose To light every cause, The radiance that goes From matter to spirit! The tree of rough bark, The oak of broad brow, We bend it or break, As strength may allow. In that spreading shade We lean and have laid Ourselves on the trunk, Or lulled on the bough! High torrents that teem! Devouring abysses! The sparkle sublime Jehovah devises! The ray we blaspheme! Eye calm and supreme, By man scarred and scored On the brow of the Lord! III O wonders of earth Whose joyful surprise Resounds in our ears, Bedazzles our eyes! Shores where the wave dies, Woods pruned by the breeze, Mysterious plies Of vague distances! Azure are the veils Of the sea-chasm’s brine: I set free my veils, Winds’ toy, they are gone. On a billow I lean And hear with my spirit A wedding-refrain, The sea sings, I hear it! Azure no less tender Of genial sky, When, keen to discover, O Nature! I try: The spirit may utter The watchword obscure, The word the winds whisper, That’s writ by the star! Unsullied creation! Totality, living! Great girdle, the ocean Of all below heaven! The stars, generation Of God the Lord’s breathing, The flowers, occasion Of God’s honey-reaping! O foliage, fields, O brotherly world! O village church-bells, Sincere and unspoiled! The eyrie high-hurled! Clear daybreak that chills! The star of brief smiles That never grows old! Mere book with no end, Maybe, and no middle, For life we intend To read you, a little! A phrase so profound, Depth no-one can sound, World seen by the pupil, God by the soul found! Fine book that is wrought By innocent hearts, Where pondering starts New vision, new thought: Where those whom God gave A great and broad brow In the margin engrave: ‘We came, here and now!’ Blest book where the veil That everywhere flies, Blest book where the star That shines in our eyes, Finds, wondrous to tell, One name and no more, One name on earth’s ball, One name in the skies! The life-giving page Where all hearts are feeding! Where each austere sage Toils nobly, and pales! Whose meaning rebels And, timely, reveals! Pythagoras spells, And Moses is reading!
Published in Long Poem Magazine 32, Winter 2024

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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