[Misc] Non-English poetry

Let's talk about non-English poetry. In order to make this thread a little more interesting for those who don't speak the language, we should post readings and translations whenever possible.

There are a few German classics that I could post.
I'll start with a favorite of mine.

Quote:

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Originally posted by Rainer Maria Rilke

Der Panther

The weary passage of these bars
has made his gaze an empty stare:
as if the bars were all there are
and that behind them nothing's there.

Strong and supple strides around
and back to their beginning come.
A swirling play of power surrounds
a noble will that stands there numb.

Just at times the curtain parts
quietly inside his eyes.
Along a nerve, awareness darts—
arriving in his heart, it dies.

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Of course all languages are welcome.

An even bigger classic:

Quote:

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Originally posted by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Erl King

Who rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

"My son, wherefore seek'st thou thy face thus to hide?"
"Look, father, the Erl King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl King, with crown and with train?"
"My son, 'tis the mist rising over the plain."

"Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
For many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl King now breathes in mine ear?"
"Be calm, dearest child, thy fancy deceives;
the wind is sighing through withering leaves."

"Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care
My daughters by night on the dance floor you lead,
They'll cradle and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep."

"My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Erl King is showing his daughters to me?"
"My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
'Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight."

"I love thee, I'm charm'd by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou aren't willing, then force I'll employ."
"My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
For sorely the Erl King has hurt me at last."

The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He holds in his arms the shuddering child;
He reaches his farmstead with toil and with dread,—
The child in his arms he finds motionless, dead.

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PEU DE CEOSE by Montenaeken

La vie est vaine,
Un peu d’amour,
Un peu de haine,
Et puis—Bonjour!

La vie est brève:
Un peu d’espoir,
Un peu de rève
Et puis—Bon soir!

In English:

Ah, brief is Life,
Love’s short sweet way,
With dreamings rife,
And then—Good-day!

And Life is vain—
Hope’s vague delight,
Grief’s transient pain,
And then—Good-night.

(Translated by Louise Chandler Moulton)

I prefer the French version.

Oh, I love Der Erlkönig! That was the first poem I thought of when I saw this thread. This version is my favorite interpretation:



I used to listen to that particular recording almost every day when I was in school. Yes, I was a strange teenager.

Again Goethe, this time young and angry.

Quote:

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Originally posted by J. W. von Goethe

Prometheus

Shroud your heaven, Zeus,
With cloudy vapours,
And do as you will, like the boy
That knocks the heads off thistles,
With oak-trees and mountain-tops;
Now you must leave alone
My Earth for Me,
And my hut, which you did not build,
And my hearth,
The glowing whereof
You envy me.

I know of nothing poorer
Under the sun, than you, you Gods!
Your majesty
Is barely nourished
By sacrificial offerings
And prayerful exhalations,
And should starve
Were children and beggars not
Fools full of Hope.

When I was a child,
And did not know the in or out,
I turned my wandering eyes toward
The sun, as if, beyond, there were
An ear to hear my lament,
A heart, like mine,
To be moved to pity for the afflicted.

Who helped me
Against the pride of the Titans?
Who delivered me from Death,
From Slavery?
Did you not accomplish it all yourself,
My holy, burning Heart?
And shone, young and good,
Deceived, your thanks for salvation
To the sleeping one above?

Should I honour you? Why?
Have you softened the sufferings,
Ever, of the burdened?
Have you stilled the tears,
Ever, of the anguished?
Was I not forged as a Man
By almighty Time
And eternal Fate,
My masters and thine?

Do you somehow imagine
That I should hate Life,
Flee to the desert,
Because not every
Flowering dream should bloom?

Here I sit, I form humans
After my own image;
A race, to be like me,
To sorrow, to weep,
To enjoy and delight itself,
And to heed you not at all –
Like Me!

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