Licht, Farben & Magie...: Gedanken zum Sein (German Edition)

Translation) Nuit d'hiver Licht Wolf Biermann (*) Brigitte Frühling auf dem Mont Klamott William Blake .. Seh' ich von fern ein Gewand, an Farbe ähnlich dem deinen, Zuckt mir ein Denn sie haben ihre eigenen Gedanken. Ihr dürft ihren The magic of Spring to our wood and plain: Though the.
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III Those masterful images because complete Grew in pure mind, but out of what began? A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street, Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can, Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all the ladders start In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart. William Butler Yeats — http: Comment Jetzt reifen schon die roten Berberitzen Jetzt reifen schon die roten Berberitzen, alternde Astern atmen schwach im Beet.

Wer jetzt nicht reich ist, da der Sommer geht, wird immer warten und sich nie besitzen. Rainer Maria Rilke — Comment I am most lovely I am most lovely, fair beyond desire: My breasts are sweet, my hair is soft and bright, And every movement flows by instinct right: Full well I know my touch doth burn like fire, That my voice stings the sense like smitten lyre; I am the queen of sensuous delight; Past years are sealed with the signet of my might; And at my feet pale present kneels a buyer. My beds are odorous with soft-shed scent, And strange moon flowers a tremulous twilight air Weave over all; and here, alone I sing My siren songs, until all souls are bent Within the subtle sweet melodious snare.

God, making love, made me love's grievous sting. George Moore — Comment Taffy is a Welshman http: Alun Rees Former journalist, one of Wales's leading poets. No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.

When true hearts lie wither'd, And fond ones are flown, Oh! Thomas Moore — Die kannte ich noch nicht. Hier ist das Original. The Haunted Palace In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace-- Radiant palace--raised its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion It stood there! Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair! Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow This--all this--was in the olden Time long ago , And every gentle air that dallied In that sweet day, Upon the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically To a lute's well-timed law. Round about a throne where, sitting, Porphyrogene! In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace-door, Through which came, flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling everymore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing In voices of surpassing beauty The wit and wisdom of their king. But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate.

Ah, let us mourn--for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate! And round about his house of glory That blushed and bloomed Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. And travelers, now, within that valley Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly, rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh--but smile no more.

Edgar Allan Poe — Phantasus Heft 1 Nacht. Wie kalt, wie kalt! Da sagt der Landmann: Ihr Abendglocken lang und leise Gebt noch zum Ende frohen Mut. Es ist der Liebe milde Zeit. Viel Stroh und Heu; Ein paar Gedichte sind auch dabei. Juli Magdalene, Margarethe Weinen gern allebeede. Feuer im Kamin; Nun singe mit Luthern: Hat sichs ausgeschneit, Wirst du Palmen schneiden. Comment Song-Day in Autumn When the autumn roses Are heavy with dew, Before the mist discloses The leaf's brown hue, You would, among the laughing hills Of yesterday Walk innocent in the daffodils, Coiffing up your auburn hair In a puritan fillet, a chaste white snare To catch and keep me with you there So far away.

When from the autumn roses Trickles the dew, When the blue mist uncloses And the sun looks through, You from those startled hills Come away, Out of the withering daffodils; Thoughtful, and half afraid, Plaiting a heavy, auburn braid And coiling it round the wise brows of a maid Who was scared in her play. When in the autumn roses Creeps a bee, And a trembling flower encloses His ecstasy, You from your lonely walk Turn away, And leaning to me like a flower on its stalk, Wait among the beeches For your late bee who beseeches To creep through your loosened hair till he reaches, Your heart of dismay.

Doch, ich will mein Bestes tun, Nach der Arbeit ist gut ruhn. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing — Vergieb der Sehnsucht Dieses Herzens, ich denke Roms. Comment Abendlicher Reigen 2. Lange schaut der Mond herein. Dann sprach noch weiter sie: Dich macht nicht Kranz noch Kleid Zu dem, was ich. Comment Der Radwechsel Bertolt Brecht — http: Joachim Ringelnatz — Agnes Miegel — Hinauf - hinaus der Mieter zog - Geht alles seinen Gang. Der Herbstwind nach dem Sommer weht - Geht alles seinen Gang. Geht alles seinen Gang - Wie lang? Comment The Crocus Beneath the sunny autumn sky, With gold leaves dropping round, We sought, my little friend and I, The consecrated ground, Where, calm beneath the holy cross, O'ershadowed by sweet skies, Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form, Those blue unclouded eyes.

Around the soft, green swelling mound We scooped the earth away, And buried deep the crocus-bulbs Against a coming day. In blue and yellow from its grave Springs up the crocus fair, And God shall raise those bright blue eyes, Those sunny waves of hair. Not for a fading summer's morn, Not for a fleeting hour, But for an endless age of bliss, Shall rise our heart's dear flower.

Harriet Beecher Stowe — Paul Gerhardt - 51 Autor mars 21 Aug 11 Comment Als man Raureif noch mit 'h' schrieb Comment Leisure What is this life if, full of care We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass, No time to see, in broad day light, Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at beauty's glance And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. William Henry Davies — Comment Fragment What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern? Rather glass that's taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught, Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion's sake.

Amy Lowell — Fragment Was ist Poesie? Ist sie ein Mosaik aus farbigen Steinen, die in ein ausgefallenes Muster verwoben sind? Wo man oft lange widerstand, Ein gutes Wort leicht Eingang fand. Johann Gottfried Herder Ob ich den Zwist entscheide? Wird noch die Frage seyn. Ich suche mich durch Beyde Im Stillen zu erfreu'n. Friedrich von Hagedorn The Competition My girl and my wine resolved to disentwine.

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How can I stand such pressure? It's time now to define: In secret I shall treasure them both - and both be mine: She gives me greater pleasure, but oft'ner does the wine! Heinrich Heine — Entstanden um Comment Ein Epitaph auf den vortrefflichen dramatischen Poeten W. Oder dass seine heiligen Reste seien versteckt Unter einer Pyramide, die sich zum Himmel hin reckt? Shakespeare What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones?

Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long monument. For whilst to th' shame of slow-endeavouring art Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Dodt make us marble with too much conceiving; And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done. Francis William Bourdillon — British poet and translator. Then was loneliness to me Best and true society, But ah!

Here all thy classic pleasures cease, Musing mild, and thoughtful peace; Here thou com'st in sullen mood, Not with thy fantastic brood Of magic shapes and visions airy Beckon'd from the land of Fairy: No poetic being here Strikes with airy sounds mine ear; No converse here to fancy cold With many a fleeting form I hold, Here all inelegant and rude Thy presence is, sweet Solitude.

Comment The Voice Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Saying that now you are not as you were When you had changed from the one who was all to me, But as at first, when our day was fair. Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then, Standing as when I drew near to the town Where you would wait for me: Or is it only the breeze in its listlessness Travelling across the wet mead to me here, You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness, Heard no more again far or near?

Thus I; faltering forward, Leaves around me falling, Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward, And the woman calling. Thomas Hardy — So reifen sie bei keiner Frau, so schimmernd aus dem Saum: Und dennoch bist du so allein wie nie und schaust mich kaum; das macht: Die Engel alle bangen so, lassen einander los: So kam ich und vollendete dir tausendeinen Traum. Gott sah mich an; er blendete Du aber bist der Baum. Rainer Maria Rilke Aus: Das Buch der Bilder.

Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, The grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!

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Fern ist nun der Sommer und der Blumenduft. Rauch steigt in die Luft. Lobt den Lauf des Jahres und den Wechsel auch! Blumen bringt der Sommer und der Herbst den Rauch! Clement's "You owe me five farthings", say the bells of St. Martin's "When will you pay me? Chip chop chip chop — The last man's dead. Into the moonlight, Whiter than snow, Waving so flower-like When the winds blow! Into the starlight, Rushing in spray, Happy at midnight, Happy by day! Ever in motion, Blithesome and cheery. Still climbing heavenward, Never aweary Glad of all weathers, Still seeming best, Upward or downward, Motion thy rest;-- Full of a nature Nothing can tame, Changed every moment, Ever the same;-- Ceaseless aspiring, Ceaseless content, Darkness or sunshine Thy element;-- Glorious fountain!

Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant, Upward, like thee! James Russell Lowell — Comment May the blessing of the rain be on you— the soft sweet rain. May it fall upon your spirit so that all the little flowers may spring up, and shed their sweetness on the air. May the blessing of the great rains be on you, may they beat upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean, and leave there many a shining pool where the blue of heaven shines, and sometimes a star.

Comment The Victor Dog. The last chord fades. The night is cold and fine. James Merrill — A writer of elegance and wit, highly adept at wordplay and puns, Merrill was a master of traditional poetic meter and form who also wrote a good deal of free and blank verse. It is also, to my mind, an example of how W. Ode to Autumn Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers; And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, - While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. Kern, Samenkern to overbrim: Kornkammer, Getreidespeicher to winnow: Aber kommen doch auch der segenbringenden Schwalben Immer einige noch, ehe der Sommer, ins Land.

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Der rote Ahorn rauscht. Dem Wanderer erscheint die kleine Schenke am Weg. Auf das Gesicht tropft Tau. Heinrich Albert - Little Anna of Tharau is the one I like best, she is my life, my riches and wealth. Little Anna von Tharau has once more turned her heart towards me in love and in pain. Little Anna von Tharau, my riches, my wealth, you are my soul, my own flesh and blood. If storms and foul weather should threaten us dire, our intent would still be to stand by each other. Sickenss, persecution, sadness and pain would tie fast the knots of love for us twain.

Little Anna of Tharau, my riches, my wealth, you are my soul, my own flesh and blood. Just as the palm tree will grow to full height once rain and storms have tempered its might, just so will our ardor grow tall and strong after suffering and sorrow have let it along. Little Anna of Thaurau, my riches, my wealth, you are my soul, my onw flesh and blood.

If we had to part and you had to live where hardly is know the warmth sunshine can give, still would I seek you through forest and sea, nor irons nor foes could keep me from thee. Little Anna of Thaurau, my light and sunshine, my life enfolds yours, as yours enfolds mine. Bei Wikipedia habe ich gefunden, dass das Lied im deutschen Original noch weiter geht: Simon Dach - Niederdeutsch: Das Gedicht finde ich auch sehr schoen, eigentlich alles, was ich bisher aus dem 'Buch der Bilder' kenne.

Barthold Hinrich Brockes Sei stark, sei stark und schweige! Christian Morgenstern — I show you pretty things in vain-- You must be blind, Matilda Jane! I ask you riddles, tell you tales, But all our conversation fails. You never answer me again-- I fear you're dumb, Matilda Jane! Matilda darling, when I call, You never seem to hear at all. I shout with all my might and main-- But you're so deaf, Matilda Jane! Matilda Jane, you needn't mind, For, though you're deaf and dumb and blind, There's some one loves you, it is plain-- And that is me , Matilda Jane!

Charles Lutwidge Dodgson alias Lewis Carroll — Viele seiner Gedichte sind Naturgedichte, in denen die Landschaft Neuenglands beschrieben wird. With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands In Feet ; and manacled in Hands. Here blinded with an Eye ; and there Deaf with the drumming of an Ear. Tortur'd, besides each other part,1 In a vain Head, and double Heart. Body O who shall me deliver whole, From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul? Which, stretcht upright, impales me so, That mine own Precipice I go; And warms and moves this needless Frame: A Fever could but do the same.

And, wanting where its spight to try, Has made me live to let me dye. A Body that could never rest, Since this ill Spirit it possest. Soul What Magic could me thus confine Within anothers Grief to pine? Where whatsoever it complain, I feel, that cannot feel, the pain. And all my Care its self employes, That to preserve, which me destroys: Constrain'd not only to indure Diseases, but, whats worse, the Cure: And ready oft the Port to gain, Am Shipwrackt into Health again.

What is Consciousness? What is Its Purpose?

And then the Palsie Shakes of Fear. The Pestilence of Love does heat: Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat. Joy's chearful Madness does perplex: Or Sorrow's other Madness vex. Which Knowledge forces me to know; And Memory will not foregoe. What but a Soul could have the wit To build me up for Sin so fit? So Architects do square and hew, Green Trees that in the Forest grew.

Comment A Boat Beneath a Sunny Sky A boat beneath a sunny sky, Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July — Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear — Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes. Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream — Lingering in the golden dream — Life, what is it but a dream? Lewis Carroll — Now is russet Autumn here, Death and the grave and winter drear, And I must ponder here aloof While the rain is on the roof. Robert Louis Stevenson — Comment Autumn Movement http: Er wuchs in Illinois im Mittleren Westen auf.

Und es leuchten Wald und Heide, dass man sicher glauben mag: Comment Autumn Song Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the heart feels a languid grief Laid on it for a covering, And how sleep seems a goodly thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf? And how the swift beat of the brain Falters because it is in vain, In Autumn at the fall of the leaf Knowest thou not? Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf How the soul feels like a dried sheaf Bound up at length for harvesting, And how death seems a comely thing In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

Bald wird es schnein. Wer das verlor, Was du verlorst, macht nirgends halt. Friedrich Nietzsche Lone Shrill shriek the crows that to the town in whirls roam: Winter Crow Lone — by F. N — Translation by Walter Aue. Georg Trakl — http: Die gestundete Zeit http: Und ferne steht, vom Mantel schwarz umflossen, Die hohe Nacht auf schattigem Kothurne. Georg Heym — Hermann Hesse — http: Schreib sachlich und schreib dir die Finger krumm: Nenn nur zwei Namen, und es kommen in Haufen Leser und Leserinnen gelaufen.

Interessiert in Paris und in Bentschen Kurt Tucholsky — Hilda Doolittle — Nie wieder wird der Wind http: Zeigt sie zwei, - somit auch zehn; zeigt sie drei, - somit auch neun; und man braucht nur hinzusehn, um die Zeit nicht mehr zu scheun. Denn auf dieser Uhr von Korfen mit dem janushaften Lauf dazu ward sie so entworfen: Christian Morgenstern - Sobald der Schnee schmilzt, wird sich's finden. Comment At Day-Close in November The ten hours' light is abating, And a late bird flies across, Where the pines, like waltzers waiting, Give their black heads a toss.

Beech leaves, that yellow the noon-time, Float past like specks in the eye; I set every tree in my June time, And now they obscure the sky. And the children who ramble through here Conceive that there never has been A time when no tall trees grew here, A time when none will be seen.

Ich wusste es nicht mehr so genau: Und nun ein kurzes Gedicht zu Halloween: Theme in Yellow I am a jack-o'-lantern With terrible teeth Da regt sich ein Grab und ein anderes dann: Doch endlich verlieret sich dieser und der, Schleicht eins nach dem andern gekleidet einher, Und husch! Comment Ghosts of Dreams We are all of us dreamers of dreams, On visions our childhood is fed; And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems, By ghosts of dreams that are dead.

From childhood to youth's but a span, And the years of our life are soon sped; But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man, When the first of his dreams is dead. He may live on by compact and plan When the fine bloom of living is shed, But God pity the little that's left of a man When most of his dreams are dead. Let him show a brave face if he can; Let him woo fame and fortune instead; Yet there's not much to do, but to bury a man When the last of his dreams is dead. William Herbert Carruth — Comment Nun ja, mal was anderes Comment Und noch etwas Kurzes: Stillborn These poems do not live: Sylvia Plath — Am Es wurden einige Abschiedsbriefe gefunden sowie ein wahrscheinlicher Hilferuf an den Mieter unter ihr.

Comment Immortality A toy which people cry for, And on their knees apply for, Dispute, contend and lie for, And if allowed Would be right proud Eternally to die for. Ambrose Bierce - Emanuel Geibel - Der Alte In meinem Keller selbst gehts um. Denk nur, sie saufen meinen Wein: This year the fields are trampled and brown, The hedges are broken and beaten down, And where the primroses used to grow Are little black crosses set in a row.

And the flower of hopes, and the flowers of dreams, The noble, fruitful, beautiful schemes, The tree of life with its fruit and bud, Are trampled down in the mud and the blood. The changing seasons will bring again The magic of Spring to our wood and plain: Though the Spring be so green as never was seen The crosses will still be black in the green. The God of battles shall judge the foe Who trampled our country and laid her low. Comment In Flanders Fields In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. Juni wurde McCrae zum No. Das Feldlazarett, das nur aus Zelten bestand, hielt der rauen Witterung jedoch nicht lange stand, und so wurde das Hospital in eine alte Jesuitenschule in Boulogne umquartiert.

Die wachsen rasch wieder nach. Frank Wedekind geboren , gestorben Comment Die Welt besteht aus Optimisten und Pessimisten. Letztlich liegen beide falsch. Williams' Komposition ist schlicht. Sie zeichnet ein Bild des Novembers. Nicht optimistisch, nicht pessimistisch. Approach of Winter The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together,. Comment Noch etwas Ernstes, ein viel zitierter Klassiker der Moderne: Im Nebel Seltsam im Nebel zu wandern! A lonely bush, a lonely stone, No tree can see the other one, And one is all alone.

Da kam ein Holzwurm gekrochen. Approach of Winter by W. Comment November Night Listen. With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees And fall. Adelaide Crapsey — Novembernacht http: Comment Was bleibt Ach, was bleibt? Heinrich Seidel - Comment Autumn I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;— Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

Where are the songs of Summer? Where are the merry birds? Where are the blooms of Summer? Where is the pride of Summer,—the green prime,— The many, many leaves all twinkling? Where is the Dryad's immortality? The squirrel gloats on his accomplish'd hoard, The ants have brimm'd their garners with ripe grain, And honey bees have stored The sweets of Summer in their luscious cells; The swallows all have wing'd across the main; But here the Autumn melancholy dwells, And sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain.

O go and sit with her, and be o'ershaded Under the languid downfall of her hair: She wears a coronal of flowers faded Upon her forehead, and a face of care;— There is enough of wither'd everywhere To make her bower,—and enough of gloom; There is enough of sadness to invite, If only for the rose that died, whose doom Is Beauty's,—she that with the living bloom Of conscious cheeks most beautifies the light: There is enough of sorrowing, and quite Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear,— Enough of chilly droppings for her bowl; Enough of fear and shadowy despair, To frame her cloudy prison for the soul!

Thomas Hood — Englischer Schriftsteller und Humorist. Comment Ode an den Schlaf. Und lege Deine Krone aus Mohnblumen auf meine Brust. Ode to Sleep On this my pensive pillow, gentle Sleep! Descend, in all thy downy plumage drest: Wipe with thy wing these eyes that wake to weep, And place thy crown of poppies on my breast.

The poetry corner - Vol. 5

O steep my senses in oblivion's balm, And sooth my throbbing pulse with lenient hand; This tempest of my boiling blood becalm! Despair grows mild at thy supreme command. Nor would the dawning day my sorrows charm: Black midnight and the blaze of noon alike To me appear, while with uplifted arm Death stands prepar'd, but still delays, to strike. Federkleid, Gefieder to becalm: The Beatles Der Jahreszeit entsprechend hat sich hier ein gewisse Stimmung breit gemacht.

Ja, ich habe wesentlich dazu beigetragen. Ich freue mich sehr auf einen Schwenk hin zu einem angriffs lustigen, witzigen und frechen Ton. Aber nur kein Zwang dabei! Soweit ich sehen kann, ist Victorian Poetry nicht unbedingt die geeignete Epoche. Comment Claus, das ist nun mal so, denn: Ich steige hinein In zirka zwei Kubikmeter See. Wenn ich sage nein, sollte das meine Wahl sein, eine freie Entscheidung, wie ihr sie erlebt. Vielleicht bin ich ja sowieso einer von euch, einer wie ihr, und habe es nur nicht erkannt. Sollte ich euch wissen lassen, wie sehr ihr mich nervt?

Ist das der Level, den andere einfach wegstecken? Auf die Gefahr hin, dass alles kaputt geht. Aber es ist schon alles kaputt. Oder stelle ich mir das nur vor? Der Bauch sagt nein, der Kopf will die Gelegenheit wahrnehmen. Kann sein, dass ihr meine Gedanken lest, die gelegentlich abbrechen. Ich sehe, wie ich die Treppe heraufgehe. Da geht jemand die Treppe herauf.

Noch habt ihr mich nicht. Sollte das alles nur in meinem Kopf sein: Karl Kraus - Sturmnacht Das ist eine Nacht! Das Meer, es rauscht nicht mehr, es rollt.. Das ist eine Nacht! Da wird wohl mancher Mast zu spott Die Natur kennt keinen Gott in solcher Nacht. Comment Brother and Sister "Sister, sister, go to bed! Go and rest your weary head. I'd make you into mutton broth As easily as kill a moth" The sister raised her beaming eye And looked on him indignantly And sternly answered, "Only try!

I wish to make an Irish stew. Never stew your sister. Gemeinde, Kirchengemeinde to chafe: Comment Aus einem befreundeten Faden, kontinental. Theodor Fontane - Comment La Mer A white mist drifts across the shrouds, A wild moon in this wintry sky Gleams like an angry lion's eye Out of a mane of tawny clouds. The muffled steersman at the wheel Is but a shadow in the gloom; - And in the throbbing engine-room Leap the long rods of polished steel.

The shattered storm has left its trace Upon this huge and heaving dome, For the thin threads of yellow foam Float on the waves like ravelled lace. Oscar Wilde — From: Comment Entscheidung Entscheidungen fallen stumm. Was unsre Seelen sich lange verhehlt, Da ists uns aufgegangen. Ich las so tief in deinem Blick Beim Strahl vom Wetterleuchten: Hugo von Hofmannsthal — Comment Sally in our Alley http: Comment oopsy, diese Stimme Aber hier noch einmal gedruckt.

Sally in Our Alley Of all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry 'em; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em: But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally!

She is the darling of my heart, When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comes like any Turk, And bangs me most severely: But let him bang his bellyful, I'll bear it all for Sally; She is the darling of my heart, My master and the neighbors all Make game of me and Sally, And, but for her, I'd better be A slave and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out O then I'll marry Sally,-- O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed But not in our alley!

Henry Carey - Erschienen Laut Wikip. Und fort, wild wie ein Held zur Schlacht. Du gingst, ich stund und sah zur Erden Und sah dir nach mit nassem Blick. Es war getan fast eh gedacht. In meinen Adern welches Feuer! In meinem herzen welche Glut! Ich hofft es, ich verdient es nicht. Doch ach, schon mit der Morgensonne Verengt der Abschied mir das Herz:. In deinem Auge welcher Schmerz! Ich ging, du standst und sahst zur Erden Und sahst mir nach mit nassem Blick: Comment Lied im Advent Immer ein Lichtlein mehr im Kranz, den wir gewunden, dass er leuchte uns so sehr durch die dunklen Stunden.

Zwei und drei und dann vier! Rund um den Kranz welch ein Schimmer, und so leuchten auch wir, und so leuchtet das Zimmer. Und so leuchtet die Welt langsam der Weihnacht entgegen. Comment Inhibited I could not pity your pain but I pitied the branches Losing what little the frost had left them to hold.

I could not warm you with sorrow; I turned to the sparrows, Clustered like heavy brown blossoms puffed out by the cold. Comment Dear contributors and visitors, I am writing today just to give you an interim report on The poetry corner - Vol. So who are the most frequently cited poets here? Carl Sandburg 3: Amy Lowell 3: Robert Louis Stevenson 3: Lewis Carroll The English pieces have been largely selected by myself, but it ain't necessarily so!

Native speakers of English and poetry mavens from Germany are expressly encouraged to post some of their favorite English poems. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 7: Georg Trakl 4: Joachim Ringelnatz 4: Rainer Maria Rilke 4: Christian Morgenstern It is quite amazing that Geheimrat Goethe is still on the top. There seems to be a clear understanding of whom we like the most. New visitors may correct our bias -;. Da will ich sehen, was er sagt, wenn er nun Vater und Mutter fragt, ob ihr auch brav gewesen.

Nun schaut er rings die Kleinen an und spricht: Die Kinder klauben und freuen sich sehr; doch finster brummt der Alte: Der Nikolaus kommt heraus, im Sack den Fritz und das Gretchen. Franz Graf von Pocci, bis Da sprach der Stein mit stolzer Miene: Dann rollte er ins Meer hinein. Und dort versank der kleine Stein. Comment There was a young man from Peru Whose limericks all stopped at line two related discussion: Jokes 2 only English please - Comment A une Chatte Chatte blanche, chatte sans tache, Je te demande, dans ces vers, Quel secret dort dans tes yeux verts, Quel sarcasme sous ta moustache.

Denn, war man faul: Und eh ein Faulpelz noch erwacht, War all sein Tagewerk Klapp, stand das ganze Haus Die Burschen schnarchten noch im Chor: Beim Fleischer ging es just so zu: Gesell und Bursche lag in Ruh. That der Gesell die Augen auf: Beim Schenken war es so: Der Staatsrock sollte fertig sein; Warf hin das Zeug und legte sich Hin auf das Ohr und pflegte sich. Neugierig war des Schneiders Weib, Und macht sich diesen Zeitvertreib: Sie springt hinunter auf den Schall Mit Licht: O weh nun sind sie alle fort Und keines ist mehr hier am Ort!

Comment These simple lyrics could as well pass as an advent song. Other sources mention only Hodgson. Comment Der Dezember Das Jahr ward alt.


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Ist gar nicht sehr gesund. Comment To oopsy and all cat lovers The Cool Cat http: Komm mir ein Liebes sagen - aber nur nicht laut. Der Abend horcht an den Scheiben. Lass uns leise bleiben: Keiner weiss uns so. Rainer Maria Rilke, Da singt die Uhr, die Kinder zittern: Comment Doctor rat explains http: Wie bei den meisten Autoren seiner Generation ist von ihm kaum etwas im Web zu finden. Schirm und Robert fliegen dort Durch die Wolken immerfort. Comment The Story of Flying Robert When the rain comes down a-dash, When the storms the meadows lash, Boys and girls stay snug at home Preferring to let others roam; But Roberts thinks, "Ah, me, It's just the time outside to be!

Above the houses, church and steeple, and out of sight of all people! Above the clouds he spins at last, His hat is gone, and he's aghast! And so he sails and sails and sails, Through banks of murky clouds, and wails, And weeps and mourns, poor draggled rat, Because he can't o'ertake his hat. Oh, where on high can that hat be? When you find out, pray come tell me. Comment Crepuscule du matin All night I wrestled with a memory Which knocked insurgent at the gates of thought. The crumbled wreck of years behind has wrought Its disillusion; now I only cry For peace, for power to forget the lie Which hope too long has whispered.

So I sought The sleep which would not come, and night was fraught With old emotions weeping silently. I heard your voice again, and knew the things Which you had promised proved an empty vaunt. I felt your clinging hands while night's broad wings Cherished our love in darkness. From the lawn A sudden, quivering birdnote, like a taunt. My arms held nothing but the empty dawn. Comment Winter Song The browns, the olives, and the yellows died, And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide, And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed, Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed.

From off your face, into the winds of winter, The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing; But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter, When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing, And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going. Schneetreiben, Schneeverwehung to flame: Comment Do not stand at my grave and weep Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. Frye - Mary Elizabeth Frye was a Baltimore housewife and florist, best known as the author of this poem, written in Heinrich Heine — Adolf Friedrich Graf von Schack related discussion: Honestly, it's not just headcount that matters.

Jetzt editiere ich schon fast zwei Stunden online bei miserabler Verbindung. Dieses Jahr werde ich den Text nicht mehr anfassen. Wie so weit und still die Welt! Joseph von Eichendorff - Comment Poor, sweet Piccola Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear What happened to Piccola, children dear? No gifts for Piccola!

Sad were they When dawned the morning of Christmas-day; Their little darling no joy might stir, St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her! But Piccola never doubted at all That something beautiful must befall Every child upon Christmas-day, And so she slept till the dawn was gray.

Nicholas had been there! In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild: Never was seen such a joyful child. Now such a story who ever heard? There was a little shivering bird! Children, this story I tell to you, Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true. In the far-off land of France, they say, Still do they live to this very day. Celia Thaxter — Papa liest's der Familie vor, und alle lauschen und sind Ohr Ich sah, wie so ein Zeitungsblatt ein armer Kerl gelesen hat.

He moved to the United States in , at the age of twelve. His house is in the village, though;. Comment Talent This is the word tightrope. Now imagine a man…. Carol Ann Duffy b. Comment Dora Diller "My stomach's full of butterflies! Hermann von Lingg — Comment The Passing of the Year My glass is filled, my pipe is lit, My den is all a cosy glow; And snug before the fire I sit, And wait to feel the old year go. Fortunately, Germany changed over to something more readable in WW2. My language is dutch and yes there are some difficult things in german but so there are in dutch and english.

But that's part of the fun in learning other languages. The only Germans I ever met who used this saying seriously, i. Perhaps the German who wrote, "We germans know that german is a difficult language" is one of the latter group. A German attempting to claim in incorrect English that German is "hard" is like the pot calling the kettle black. When I do use this proverb "Deutsche Sprache It's usually not ment to be arrogant or self-righteous.

Ich glaube Deutsch ist eine schoene Sprache und ist nicht sehr schwer zu lernen. I also know only the use in the context of a grammatical mistake made by oneself or by others. I would not be suprised if other languages had equivalents. I could imagine that the perception of German as "hard" is because of a historical strong diversification by dialects and a comparatively late establishment of a specific language code, there are still many speakers today who prefer regional dialects with considerably deviant grammar.

One might call it an adage rather than a proverb, and it is mostly used highly ironically. By the way "hard on the ears" would be expressed as "harte Sprache", not "schwer" which means only "hard" as in difficult, cannot mean "harsh sound" or "hard object". I know this thread is nine years old, but as a German I have to point out that in "Deutsche Sprache, so schwere, makes you swear. Personally, I've never heard this proverb being said to a foreigner.

This proverb is used among Germans to actually point out and make fun of another native speaker who did use incorrect grammar.

So please, do not feel insulted as German-students, nor do we want to say that German is the most difficult language to learn. The hardest thing about German are most likely the very randomly picked articles, as everything else somehow has not only a pretty constant rule, but also similarities in other languages. BUT and here comes the difference: Using the Dutch proverb page as a template, the German proverb pages has been ordered in Alphabetic Order. This makes it much easier to find things, and looks under control at last.

The early bird catches the worm. Kiddycat said 'My dictionary translates "qual" with "dolor" for am.

Oops! That page cannot be found.

As a native born English speaker, "Dolor" is a new word to me. It does not appear in my smallish dictionary. Looking at this dictionary, similar words which may or may not be related, include "Doll" and "Doldrums". Dolls and Doldrums are both lifeless, and go no where on their own, a bit like someone with a lot of choices but unable to make up their minds - they may have to be taken, before they get anywhere. This lifelessness does partly fit the meaning Kittycat is after. He who has a choice, has the doldrums like a sailing ship with no wind. He who has a choice, can get dumbfounded like a doll.

The meaning of this proverb is: Wer die Wahl hat, hat die Qual. I updated the headline to include the German version again [The bigger the choice, the harder it is to choose. Whoever has the choice has the torment. He was in an agony of indecision; he made an anguished choice. Du hast die Qual der Wahl, then you might even say: You have the burden of choice; You're stuck with having to choose. My point here is that you don't have to translate Qual closely, since part of the reason it's used in the phrase is that it rhymes with Wahl.

Many idioms or soundbites in many languages go for rhyme or assonance, probably to enhance mnemonic value: Ein Spatz in der Hand to Proverb: A bird in the hand because it makes more sense as an en: A redirect remains from the German version.


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    8. I've also changed the references here and in Finnish proverbs. My Opa used it often, mostly in contempt for those esp. Being kinky and placing the omnious translation right above everyone else's opinions: The equivalent "every cloud has a silver lining" is not correct. These two proverbs are actually very different.