Evil
Das Böse
Eugen Roth (1895-1976)
Das Böse
Ein Mensch pflückt, denn man merkt es kaum,
Ein Blütenreis von einem Baum.
Ein andrer Mensch, nach altem Brauch,
Denkt sich, was der tut, tu ich auch.
Ein dritter, weils schon gleich ist, faßt
Jetzt ohne Scham den vollen Ast
Und sieh, nun folgt ein Heer von Sündern,
Den armen Baum ganz leer zu plündern.
Von den Verbrechern war der erste,
Wie wenig er auch tat, der schwerste.
Er nämlich übersprang die Hürde
Der unantastbar reinen Würde.
Evil
A man plucks, as you’d hardly see,
A sprig of blossom from a tree.
Another man, by long-preceded
Custom, thinks: I shall do as he did.
A third man, since it’s all the same,
Takes the full branch, and feels no shame.
And look, a whole rogues’ gallery
Joins in to strip the wretched tree.
Of all these miscreants, the first,
Though he did little, was the worst:
He was the one who jumped the fence,
Encroached on moral innocence.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Eugen Roth...
Because Deep Down I Glorified…
Γιατί βαθιά μου δόξασα και πίστεψα τη γη
Ángelos Sikelianós (1884-1951)
Γιατί βαθιά μου δόξασα και πίστεψα τη γη
Γιατί βαθιά μου δόξασα και πίστεψα τη γη
και στη φυγή δεν άπλωσα τα μυστικά φτερά μου,
μα ολάκερον ερίζωσα το νου μου στη σιγή,
να που και πάλι αναπηδά στη δίψα μου η πηγή,
πηγή ζωής, χορευτική πηγή, πηγή χαρά μου…
Γιατί ποτέ δε λόγιασα το πότε και το πώς,
μα εβύθισα τη σκέψη μου μέσα στην πάσαν ώρα,
σα μέσα της να κρύβονταν ο αμέτρητος σκοπός,
να τώρα που, ή καλοκαιριά τριγύρα μου είτε μπόρα,
λάμπ' η στιγμή ολοστρόγγυλη στο νου μου σαν οπώρα,
βρέχει απ' τα βάθη τ' ουρανού και μέσα μου ο καρπός!…
Γιατί δεν είπα: «Εδώ η ζωή αρχίζει, εδώ τελειώνει…»
μα «Αν είν' η μέρα βροχερή, σέρνει πιο πλούσιο φως…
μα κι ο σεισμός βαθύτερη τη χτίση θεμελιώνει,
τι ο ζωντανός παλμός της γης που πλάθει είναι κρυφός…»
να που, ό,τι στάθη εφήμερο, σα σύγνεφο αναλιώνει,
να που κι ο μέγας Θάνατος μου γίνηκε αδερφός!…
Because Deep Down I Glorified…
Because deep down I glorified and gave the earth my trust,
And never spread my secret wings to flee,
But rooted deep in silence my soul unstintingly,
Till the fresh waters once again came surging for my thirst,
A spring of life, a dancing spring, my spring of ecstasy;
Because I never gave a thought to When and How at all,
But steeped in each last hour my thoughtfulness,
As if it held within it the immeasurable goal –
No matter then, if summer smiles, or round me roars the gale:
The moment dreams inside me like an apple round and full,
And heights of heaven shower me with fruitfulness.
Because I never said: - Here life begins and here it ceases,
But: - If there comes a rainy day, the light will be the richer,
Even the earthquake roots the house more firm and deep than ever,
For hidden deep in earth it drives the life-creating tremor, -
Behold! how the ephemeral dissolves among the breezes,
And Death himself, the mighty one, Death has become my brother.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Ángelos Sikelianós...
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
More poems by Hermann Hesse...
That Road, I Trod It Not
The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
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!
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Robert Frost (1874-1963)...
The Cabbie’s Nag
Der Droschkengaul
Christian Morgenstern (1871-1914)
Der Droschkengaul
Ich bin zwar nur ein Droschkengaul, –
doch philosophisch regsam;
der Freß-Sack hängt mir kaum ums Maul,
so werd ich überlegsam.
Ich schwenk ihn her, ich schwenk ihn hin,
und bei dem trauten Schwenken
geht mir so manches durch den Sinn,
woran nur Weise denken.
Ich bin zwar nur ein Droschkengaul, –
doch sann ich oft voll Sorgen,
wie ich den Hafer brächt ins Maul,
der tief im Grund verborgen.
Ich schwenkte hoch, ich schwenkte tief,
bis mir die Ohren klangen.
Was dort in Nacht verschleiert schlief,
ich konnt es nicht erlangen.
Ich bin zwar nur ein Droschkengaul, –
doch mag ich Trost nicht missen
und sage mir: So steht es faul
mit allem Erdenwissen;
es frisst im Weisheitsfuttersack
wohl jeglich Maul ein Weilchen,
doch nie erreicht's – o Schabernack –
die letzten Bodenteilchen.
The Cabbie’s Nag
I may be just a cabbie’s nag:
I’m busy with a puzzle.
Philosophy! My dinner-bag
hangs almost off my muzzle.
I swing it here, I swing it there,
swing back and forth for ages:
I think my thoughts, and they compare
with thoughts of saints and sages.
I may be just a cabbie’s nag.
I think about the bottom,
the last oats in my dinner-bag:
it’s ages since I got ’em.
I’ve swung it high, I’ve swung it low,
I’ve set my eardrums humming:
what’s veiled in darkness down below
is never, ever, coming.
I may be just a cabbie’s nag,
and yet I seek for solace.
I tell myself: here is the snag
about all earthly knowledge.
In wisdom’s nosebag, eager lips
go seeking wholesome fare,
but never, as the muzzle dips,
get to the lowest layer.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Christian Morgenstern...
In Peace
En Paz ~ Artifex vitae, artifex sui
Amado Nervo (1870-1919)
En Paz ~ Artifex vitae, artifex sui
Muy cerca de mi ocaso, yo te bendigo, Vida,
porque nunca me diste ni esperanza fallida,
ni trabajos injustos, ni pena inmerecida;
porque veo al final de mi rudo camino
que yo fui el arquitecto de mi propio destino;
que si extraje la miel o la hiel de las cosas,
fue porque en ellas puse hiel o mieles sabrosas:
cuando planté rosales coseché siempre rosas.
Cierto, a mis lozanías va a seguir el invierno:
¡mas tú no me dijiste que mayo fuese eterno!
Hallé sin duda largas las noches de mis penas;
mas no me prometiste tan sólo noches buenas;
y en cambio tuve algunas santamente serenas…
Amé, fui amado, el sol acarició mi faz.
¡Vida, nada me debes! ¡Vida, estamos en paz!
In Peace
Very near my sunset
My blessings on you, Life,
Because you never told me
Of hopes that would deceive
Nor of unjust labours
Nor undeserving grief.
For I see at the finish
Of my uneven journey
That I was the designer
Deviser of my destiny;
I drew out gall or honey
As much as I inserted:
If rosebushes I planted,
Then roses were my harvest.
For sure my horn of plenty
Will soon give way to winter,
But then you never told me
That May would last for ever!
Certainly I encountered
Long nights, my nights of sorrow:
But then you never promised
My nights would all be good ones;
Some were a benediction…
I loved and I was loved,
The sun caressed my face.
Life, you owe me nothing!
Life, we are at peace!
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Amado Nervo...
Making the Life, Making the Self
Artifex vitae, artifex sui
Amado Nervo (1870-1919)
Artifex vitae, artifex sui
Muy cerca de mi ocaso, yo te bendigo, Vida,
porque nunca me diste ni esperanza fallida,
ni trabajos injustos, ni pena inmerecida;
porque veo al final de mi rudo camino
que yo fui el arquitecto de mi propio destino;
que si extraje la miel o la hiel de las cosas,
fue porque en ellas puse hiel o mieles sabrosas:
cuando planté rosales coseché siempre rosas.
Cierto, a mis lozanías va a seguir el invierno:
¡mas tú no me dijiste que mayo fuese eterno!
Hallé sin duda largas las noches de mis penas;
mas no me prometiste tan sólo noches buenas;
y en cambio tuve algunas santamente serenas…
Amé, fui amado, el sol acarició mi faz.
¡Vida, nada me debes! ¡Vida, estamos en paz!
Making the Life, Making the Self
As I come near my setting, I give you, Life, my blessing,
Because you never gave me disappointed expectation,
Nor labours of injustice nor unmerited vexation;
For being at the finish of my rocky road I see
That I myself was architect of all my destiny:
That if I wrested out of things the honey or the gall,
’Twas I who put the sourness or the sweetness in them all.
Each time I plant a rose-bush, rose-blooms galore I gather;
’Tis certain my resplendence must yield to wintry weather,
But no, you never said to me that May would last for ever!
For sure I found them lengthy, my nights of misery,
But nights of constant comfort you never promised me;
And some indeed were blessings of pure serenity…
I loved and I was loved: the mighty sun caressed my face.
O Life, you owe me nothing! O Life, we are at peace!
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Amado Nervo...
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
More poems by Giovanni Pascoli...
Solitudo - my Latin
Solitude
Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919)
Solitude
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all,—
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
Solitudo - my Latin
si rides, rident omnes: flens unicus ibis.
gaudia Terra cupit: tristia plena tenet.
quod canis, en colles reboant, sed in aere marcet
quod gemis; ars resonat, mutus inersque dolor.
gratus ovas cunctis, refugit te turba dolentem:
ad gaudenda ruunt: commiseranda negant.
stant hilari plures, tristi perduntur amici;
Massica das cunctis, fel modo solus habes.
turba dapes celebrat, vitant jejunia cuncti;
da felix, vives; fratris egenus obis.
aede voluptatis stat turba superba; doloris
omnibus angustas sors dabit ire vias.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox...
Wisdom
Sagesse
Paul Verlaine (1844-96)
Sagesse
Le ciel est, par-dessus le toit,
Si bleu, si calme !
Un arbre, par-dessus le toit,
Berce sa palme.
La cloche, dans le ciel qu’on voit,
Doucement tinte.
Un oiseau sur l’arbre qu’on voit
Chante sa plainte.
Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, la vie est là,
Simple et tranquille.
Cette paisible rumeur-là
Vient de la ville.
– Qu’as-tu fait, ô toi que voilà
Pleurant sans cesse,
Dis, qu’as-tu fait, toi que voilà,
De ta jeunesse ?
Wisdom
There is the sky above the tiles,
Blue and at rest.
There is a tree above the tiles,
Rocking its crest.
The belfry in the sky we see
Pleasantly rings.
A bird upon the branch we see
Tunefully sings.
Dear God, dear God, life’s easy here,
Winds gently down.
The quiet murmur that we hear
Comes from the town.
How did you use them, you who now
Shed ceaseless tears,
How did you use them, tell me now,
Those youthful years?
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by Paul Verlaine...