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Music makes his poetry; without it - in translation - the lyrics seem flat and the heart-aching beauty of the original is gone. Some do manage to 'survive' quite nicely, like "Moonlit Night"; others, like "Melancholy II", lose all. The German landscape paintings below are by Caspar David Friedrich, the fitting illustrations, if you will, to the moods and feelings in the poems.

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Translation of "Night" is by John Bernhoff perhaps the only rhymed English translation I've seen that stays so faithful to the original. In a Foreign Land From home, behind the red lightning-flashes Come the clouds, But father and mother are long dead; No one there knows me any more. How soon, oh how soon will the quiet time come When I also shall rest, and above me The beautiful solitude of the forest will rustle And no one here will know me any more.


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Spring Night In the breezes above the garden I heard migrant birds passing - That betokens the fragrance of spring; Underfoot the flowers are beginning to bloom. I want to rejoice, I want to weep, Yet I feel it cannot be so! Old miracles shine in again With the moonlight. And the moon, the stars say it, And the grove murmurs it in a dream, And the nightingales sing it: "She is yours, she is yours! Alte Wunder wieder sheinen Mit dem Mondesglanz herein. Secret Love. Over tree-top and cornfield, into the glowing light, who may guess them, who may seize them?

Thoughts sway gently, night is silent, thoughts are free.

Aus meinem Königreich

One alone might guess who was thinking of her amid the rustling of the glade when none still keeps watch but the clouds flying past; my love is as silent and lovely as the night. Gedanken sich wiegen, Die Nacht ist verschwiegen, Gedanken sind frei. Night Magic. Do you not hear the streams making their way between rocks and flowers to the silent woodland lakes, where the marble statues stand in lovely solitude?

Down from the mountains, wakening the age-old songs, gently falls wondrous night, and the earth glistens again as you have often dreamt of it. Do you know the flower that has sprung up in the moonlit earth? From the half-open bud young limbs are sprouting, blooming, white arms, red lips. And the nightingales trill, ah, fatally wounded by love, and all around raise their lament of the beautiful days gone by -- Come, O come to this silent spot! Moonlit Night It was as if heaven had quietly kissed the earth, so that earth with its shimmering blossoms could only dream of heaven.

And my soul spread its wings out wide, flew through the quiet lands as if it were flying home. Melancholy Sometimes indeed I can sing as if I am happy; but tears well up secretly, then my heart becomes free. Nightingales, when a spring breeze is playing outside, sound the song of yearning from the depths of their prison.

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Then all hearts listen, everyone is glad, yet no one feels the sorrows, the deep pain in the song. Melancholy II I ramble through valley and grove in the cool evening hour, Oh, to weep I want, to weep from the bottom of my heart. And old times' greetings awaken there, in the valley, just as the splashing of the faraway streams goes through the night.

The sun comes down, the world hardly rustles; only I remain awake, alone in the quiet field. Night Night is like a sea that heaves, Joy and grief and love's entreating Sound like voices o'er the waves On the shore incessant beating. Wishes, light as clouds in air, Float beneath the star's bright gleaming, Heav'n- sent message each doth bear: Are we waking?

Are we dreaming? Though I bear the secret smart, Though fond love has ceased entreating; Softly, deep within my heart, I can hear those waves still beating. Many men and women pass by, all seeming so happy as they go, as they laugh, and as they work, that I lose my senses.

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Twilight Dusk is about to spread its wings, The trees stir eerily, Clouds pass like oppressive dreams: What should this dread mean? If you have a deer, your favorite, Let it not graze alone; Huntsmen blowing horns pass in the forest, Voices range to and fro. If you have a friend here below, Do not trust him at this hour, Though friendly in looks and words, He is planning war in the treacherous peace.

What sinks down weary tonight Will rise tomorrow new-born. Much is lost in the night: Take care, be watchful and alert. In the Forest A wedding passed along the hillside; I heard birds singing: There were many glittering riders, the horn sounded, That was a merry hunt! And before I realized, it had all died away; Night covers the horizon, Only the forest still rustles from the hills, And I shudder from the bottom of my heart.

Und eh ich's gedacht, war alles verhallt, Die Nacht bedecket die Runde, Nur von den Bergen noch rauschet der Wald, Und mich shauert's im Herzensgrunde. In a Foreign Land II I hear the little streams rippling to and fro in the forest, in the forest, in the rippling, I do not know where I am. I guess a sailor, he needs an ocean And a mama her baby to hold And I need the hills of Wyoming In the land of the buffalo. Find a new range to ride, new knots to tie In a country where cowboys are king I turn my tail to the wind And the old Double Diamond And disappear into the sage.

Jetzt wird sie verkauft, aber ich ziehe weiter. Ich verlasse sie, aber mit mehr als ich hatte, als ich gekommen war, denn ich habe diesen Sattel und er steht nicht zum Verkauf, und ich habe dieses Lied. Er nahm sie mit zu der Versteigerung der Double Diamond Ranch.


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    • Gary McMahan schrieb dieses Lied aus ihrer Perspektive. Old Diamond Joe was a rich old jay, Had lots of cowboys in his pay; Rode the range with his cowboy band, And many a mav'rick got his brand. Immer weiter, Kumpel, und nicht so langsam, immer weiter, Kumpel, und nicht so langsam, Ki yipee i, yipee ki yi yo,. Es ist mir egal ob ich arbeite oder nicht. My name is Bob Fudge, I was born in Texas Lampassas County back during the war Smallpox and Comanches took most of my family Left my poor mother and my brothers and me.

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    So I headed north for to ride for the Blockers They were contracting herds for the Montana range In the spring of the year '82 we left old Lampassas With steers for the Little Big Horn. Crossing our trails were many great rivers All to be crossed not a bridge could be found In the cold roiling waters and the wild plunging cattle There was many a young man took leave of his life. Well we crossed at Doan's store into the Indian nations Saw the blood on the rocks where those cowboys had died And on to Fort Dodge on the Arkansas River Where gamblers and whores came to welcome us there.

    The great snow cap peaks were on our left side now For many a mile in a great silent land When I first saw Montana I knew I would love her I'd ride her great ranges for the rest of my days. My name is Bob Fudge I died in Montana. Bei Doans Laden gingen wir in die Indianernationen, sahen die blutige Steine, wo jene Cowboys gestorben waren. Nun ist heute alles eindeutig und die alten Pfade sind verschwunden. Im Yellowstone Park bin ich schon mit dem Auto gewesen. Aber ich kann sie noch schwimmen sehen.

    Bob Fudge starb in Biddle, Montana und wurde in Broadus begraben. Mit seinem Gewicht von Pfund war er eine Ausnahme unter den Cowboys. Denver: Big Mountain Press, Beat it, Bo, while your feet are mates. Nichts zu tun, als weiterzuziehen [englischer Text].

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    Ich habe mich herumgetrieben und es ging mit gut. I was there when they opened the boxcar And found him stone dead on the floor Though thumbing and bumming was all of our trade No one had seen him before. He wore the face of a stranger Lost and unseen in a crowd He looked so small as we carried him down Wrapped in a newspaper shroud. His hair was the color of winter All streaked with iron and coal And all you could see in his soft prairie eyes Was the wind and the grass and the snow. The backs of his hands were like roadmaps The lines in his face were the same And on his left arm a faded tattoo Bordered a rose and a name chorus.

    I don't know where he came from His train was a U. So give him a line in your paper And here's what I want you to say "There's some things worse than dying alone And one of them's living that way. Alter Kumpel, Gute Nacht [englischer Text]. Ich war da, als sie den Waggon aufmachten und ihn tot auf dem Boden fanden. Obwohl Trampen und Herumtreiben unser aller Berufung war, hatte keiner ihn jemals gesehen. Und er sah so klein aus, als wir ihn heruntertrugen in einem Leichentuch aus Zeitungspapier. Refrain Der Wind weht kalt in Wyoming, die Sternen scheinen klar und hell. Wyoming liegt hoch und der Wind scheint immer zu pusten.

    Sie waren fast blaugefroren. So entstand dieses Lied. When first unto this country, a stranger I came, Pick and shovel on my back, no money to my name, No money to my name. Well, it was hard times in the open pit, eighteen hundred down, One day you'd make two dollars and the next you're glory bound, The next you're glory bound.