Monday, 21 March 2016

Poetry Blog No 139 Ballad of the Outer Life


BALLAD OF THE OUTER LIFE







Hugo Von Hofmannsthal (February 1, 1874 – July 15, 1929) was an Austrian prodigy, a novelist, librettist, poet, dramatist, narrator, and essayist. He wrote the libretto for a number of Richard Strauss' operas. His poetry was remarkable and written at a relatively early age. As Stefan Zweig wrote of him: "The appearance of the young Hofmannsthal is and remains notable as one of the greatest miracles of accomplishment early in life; in world literature, except for Keats and Rimbaud, I know no other youthful example of a similar impeccability in the mastering of language, no such breadth of spiritual buoyancy, nothing more permeated with poetic substance even in the most casual lines, than in this magnificent genius, who already in his sixteenth and seventeenth year had inscribed himself in the eternal annals of the German language with unextinguishable verses and prose which today has still not been surpassed. His sudden beginning and simultaneous completion was a phenomenon that hardly occurs more than once in a generation."

— Stefan Zweig, Die Welt von Gestern, Frankfurt am Main 1986, 63-64

This English version was originally published in the magazine Meanjin.









BALLAD OF THE OUTER LIFE

after the German of Hugo Von Hofmannsthal



And children develop, grow up with deep eyes

That know of nothing, they grow up and die,

And all mankind goes on upon its way.



And bitter fruits grow sweetened, hanging high,

And, like dead birds, fall down at night; and then

They lie a few days and they putrefy.



And ever blows the wind: and we take in

And speak again and again our words and phrases

And feel delight and weariness of limb.



And streets and roads run through the grass, and places

Are here and there; and filled with trees, lakes, lights,

And menace us, and have deathly withered spaces...



What use to us is all of this, these games,

As we're still great and ever lonely ones,

Who wander never seeking any aims?



What use, likewise, to have seen much and roamed?

And yet he still says much who utters: "evening,"

A word, from which deep sense and sadness run



Like heavy honey from the hollow combs.

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