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Truncated oak

Tree, how they have cut you,
How you stand a strange and odd thing!
What you a hundred times have gone through,
Until you now but defiance and will forth bring!
I am like you, from cutting,
Tormented life I did not yield,
And every day, my head, out of the drubbing
crudities, again into the light wield.
What in me was soft and tender,
Was to pieces torn by the world so wild,
But my nature will not be cast asunder,
I am content, I am reconciled,
With time, new leaves I put forth again
From branches a hundred times cleaved,
And in spite of all the woe, I remain
With the crazy world in love, not aggrieved.
 

When going to sleep

Versions: #1
Now that the day did make me tired,
the starry night should kindly
receive my arduous desire
As if of a tired child.
 
Hands, desist from every work,
Forhead, all the thoughts forget,
all my senses now
want a nap to get.
 
And the unwatched soul
wants to float in free flights,
around in the magic circle of the deep
night and to live a thousand times.
 

Summer Has Grown Old...

Summer has grown old and weary,
lets its cruel hands sink,
gazes emptily across the land.
It has come to an end,
it has spread its fire,
burned its flowers.
 
So it goes with everyone. In the end,
we look back wearily,
breathing into empty hands with a shiver,
doubting whether there has ever been
any happiness, any action.
Our lives lie far behind,
faded like fairy tales we read.
 
Once summer struck spring dead,
knew itself to be younger and stronger.
Now it nods and laughs. In these days,
it ponders over a whole new desire:
to want nothing more, to renounce everything,
to sink down and leave its pale
hands to cold death,
to see and hear nothing more,
to fall sleep...die out...pass away...
 

The beginning of autumn

Versions: #1
Autumn its white mist doth spawn,
Summer must have its end!
With the coolness of eventide, early I wend
Back into the house, by its lights drawn.
Soon the trees, the garden, will be bare,
Then around the house, alone a cheery red to rend,
The ivy, soon too, no longer of its leaves to care,
Summer must have its end.
 
What me in my youth joyed
No longer does it spend
Its old glory, and now of joy I'm void –
Summer must have its end.
 
Oh love, thou wondrous fervour,
That through my years of toil and pleasure,
Burning in my blood did endure –
Oh love, canst thou too expire, oh my treasure?
 

End of August

Yet one more time, though of it hope we'd dispensed,
The summer, its strength regained,
Shines, as if to shorter days condensed,
Of glowing cloudless sun, it boasts unrestrained.
 
So may a man, before toil him to his end paves,
Who's already withdrawn without reward,
Quite suddenly, tempt once again the waves,
The rest of his life, the venture afford.
 
But whether it's on love he squanders,
Or whether it's to put together late works,
In his deeds, in what he ponders,
Deep, clear as an autumn day, death's certainty lurks.
 

August

Versions: #1
That was summer's finest day,
Now, beyond the silent house's domain,
Amid birdsong, the air's sweet bouquet,
It fades away, never to come again.
 
In this hour, a fountain of gold
Indulgently pours forth, while in glorious red,
Summer from its great hold,
To celebrate its last night ahead.
 

Gentian Flower

You stand drunken with summer joy
in the blissful light and barely breathe,
the sky seems immersed in your calyx,
the air blows in your downy softness.
 
And if it could blow all the guilt and pain
from my soul,
then I may well be your brother
and stand silent days with you.
 
Thus my world travels would see
a blessedly easy goal,
to go like you through God's garden of dreams
as a blue summer dream.
 

Yonder

Yonder over the mountain
where the late bells ring,
I know a large city
and a little house standing within.
 
Yonder over the mountain
and in the dust of the large city,
I know a sweet mouth
that poisoned my heart.
 
Yonder over the mountain
where the bright life dwells,
there lies the world and my happiness,
blind and distant in the pale moon.
 
Yonder over the mountain
where the late bells ring,
I must stand in front of the little house
every night in a dream.
 

Evening Walk

Late on a dusty road I walk,
the wall's shadows fall at an angle
and through trailing vines, I see
moonlight over stream and path.
 
Songs that I once sang
I quietly strike up again,
shadows of countless
wanderings cross my path.
 
Wind and snow and the sun's heat
have blown after me for many years,
summer night and blue lightning,
storm and the journey's hardship.
 
Suntanned and sodden
with the abundance of this world,
I feel drawn further
until my path falls into darkness.
 

Sphinxes

This is the most profound trick in life:
to know the place on every path
where its sphinx lies hidden.
 
I found in my life no day
in whose depths the grinning,
two-figured beast did not lie.
 
I often passed by her
and saw the green look of hunger
hang greedily on my steps.
 
I walked past and greeted her
with friendly, evil, knowing eyes:
Still lively, good cattle?
 
She has known my face for a long time now
and follows me with the surly gaze of a tiger,
but doesn't show her claws.
 

In The Fourth Year Of War

Even though the evening is cold and sad
and rain is pouring,
I still sing my song in this time,
I don't know who's listening.
 
Even though the world is suffocating in war and fear,
in many places
love burns on secretly,
even if no one can see it.
 

Prayer

Lord, let me despair of myself,
but not of You!
Let me taste the madman's misery,
let flames of all suffering lick me,
let me suffer all reproach,
don't help me obtain it,
don't help me spread it!
Yet, if I shattered everything,
then show me
that You were so,
that You engendered the flames and suffering.
For I wish to perish,
I wish to die,
yet I can only die in You.
 

Dictum

Thus to all things, a brother
or sister you ought to be,
so they may fuse with you
and what’s mine, yours too may be.
No star nor leaf shall fall,
but that you shall perish with it.
Thus you, hourly, with all
things, may be resurrected.
 

Rainy Days

The elusive view, at all ends,
collides with grey walls
and 'sun' is still just an empty word.
The trees freeze, wet and bare.
The women walk wrapped in their coats
and the rain rushes incessantly.
Once when I was still a little boy,
the sky was always blue and clear
and all the clouds were edged with gold.
Now that I am older,
all the splendour is gone.
The rain rushes, the world has changed.
 

Cracks

I had a rare violin
with wonderful bronzed, bright, strong
sides and clear,
authentic, old ribs.
Slant only at the bottom,
visible to no laymen.
It cracked and its elegant music
became a peculiar, harsh,
wounded, sick moaning.
Crows are also ravens.
Whoever wants to sound
whoever wants to sing songs,
must not have any cracks.
 

The World No Longer Blooms

The world no longer blooms for me.
No winds, nor birdcalls summon me,
and as I walk my narrow path,
no friend accompanies me.
 
Now, when I see the valley where
I spent my youth, in happiness,
I only see true danger
and bitter grief.
 
If I went down that path again
to satisfy my homesickness,
then there, like everywhere, I'd see
my death stand in my way.
 

The Butterfly

A pain had come upon me
and as I wandered through the fields,
I came upon a butterfly,
that was so white and scarlet-red,
flutter in the wind.
 
Oh! Those childhood years, back then
the world was clear as dawn,
and the sky was still so close.
That was the final time I saw
you spread your beautiful wings.
 
You, colourful soft fluttering one,
that flew to me from Heaven.
See how estranged and full of shame
I stand before your deep divine
brightness with my dull eyes!
 
The white and red butterfly
soared through the field.
When I continued on my way,
daydreaming, a silent glory from
Heaven was by my side.
 

Pruned Oak

Oh oak tree, how they have pruned you.
Now you stand odd and strangely shaped!
You were hacked a hundred times
until you had nothing left but spite and will!
I am like you, so many insults and humiliations
could not shatter my link with life.
And every day I raise my head
beyond countless insults towards new light.
What in me was once gentle, sweet and tender
this world has ridiculed to death.
But my true self cannot be murdered.
I am at peace and reconciled.
I grow new leaves with patience
from branches hacked a hundred times.
In spite of all the pain and sorrow
I'm still in love with this mad, mad world.
 

From My Childhood

From my childhood
A sound wafts after me,
A sound that once promised me happiness --
Without it, living would be far too hard.
When its magic does not sound,
I am left without light,
I see fear and darkness all around me.
But ever again through the suffering,
Which I acquired for myself,
The sweet tone full of bliss rings out,
The tone that no pain and no guilt has spoiled.
 
You dear voice,
Light in my house,
Never again let yourself be extinguished,
Never close your blue eyes!
Else the world shall lose
All its lovely radiance,
Star upon star would fall,
And I would stand alone.
 

Early Summer Night

The sky thunders.
In the garden, a lime tree
stands and trembles.
It is already late.
 
Pale summer lightning
examines itself
with large, moist
eyes in the pond.
 
On swaying stems,
the flowers stand,
listening to angel's scythes
wafting past.
 
The sky thunders,
there's a breath of muggy air.
My gal shivers --
“Say, do you feel it too?'
 

Good Hour

Strawberries glow in the garden,
their fragrance is sweet and full.
It's as though I must wait,
my mother shall soon come
through the green garden.
It's as though I am a boy
and everything was a dream,
all that I have squandered, missed out on,
gambled, lost.
This rich world of mine is still here
in the peacefulness of the garden,
everything has been granted to me,
everything belongs to me.
Dazed, I stand still
and dare not take a step
lest the fragrance disappear
and my good hour with it.
 

Moment Before The Storm

Once again in the darkened tumult
of the storm clouds, the sun flinches,
heats the haze to a ghastly humidity
and smiles wildly in the frightened splendor of the garden.
 
Against the deep black-blue, the red house blazes,
glaring like cinnabar, and the windows sparkle...
The next moment zaps everything out,
the light fades, a buzzing sings out into the darkness.
 
Now a white downpour races out of the night,
the rain whips the forest with heavy lashes,
lightning blinds, hail pelts, the thunder crashes on,
sneering, with bright, rattling blows.
 

Nighttime Rain

Until sleep overtook me, I listened to it
and was later awakened by the sound.
Now I hear it and feel it,
its rushing roar fills the night
with a thousand voices damp and cool,
whispering, laughing, sighing.
Enchanted, I listen to the throng
of soft, flowing sounds.
After all the hard, dry sounds
of the harsh, sunny days,
how fervently it calls out, how blissfully fearful
is the rain's soft lament!
 
In the same way, a fountain of tears,
once just the childish air of sobbing,
bursts forth from a proud heart,
a heart so brittle,
and flows and laments and releases the spell
so that which had gone silent can speak
and it clears the way for new happiness and suffering
and expands the soul.
 

Flowers After A Storm

Like siblings and all arranged in the same direction,
they are bent over, dripping in the wind,
frightened and still intimidated and blind from rain,
and some of the weak ones broke and lay crushed.
 
They lift their heads slowly, still stunned and hesitant,
back into the beloved light
like siblings, daring a first smile:
We are still here, the enemy has not swallowed us up.
 
The sight reminds me of so many hours
when I was numb in the dark forces of life
and found my way back out of night and misery
to the dear light I love so gratefully.
 

That G_d lives in each of us

That G_d lives in each one of us,
that every patch of earth is our home,
every human being is related to us and is brother,
that the knowledge of this divine unity reveals all separation into races,
people, in rich and poor, in confessions and parties as hauntings and deceptions -
that is the point to which we return
when terrible distress or tender emotion opens our ear and
makes our heart loveable again.
 

Come With!

Come with!
But you have to hurry -
I make seven long miles
with every step.
Behind forest and hills
Stands my red horse
Come with! I'll take the reins -
Come with me to my red castle.
There grow blue trees
with golden apples upon them,
There we dream silver dreams
that no one else can dream.
There rare pleasures lie waiting,
which no human being has yet enjoyed,
Under laurels, purple kisses -
- Come with over forest and hills!
Hold on tight! I'll take the reins,
And trembling, my red horse will carry you off.