Poetry Blog No 175 Four German poems translated- The Song of the Ocean, The Two Roots, The Old Chimney Corner, Dusk's Descended

THE SONG OF THE OCEAN

Conrad Ferdinand Meyer (1825-1898) was a Swiss poet and writer. His poems are well-formed and often create lyric images from the world and nature without specific reference to emotions, preferring to leave the reader to find an emotional metaphor if they wish. The Song of the Ocean is such a vivid evocation of ocean, clouds and the cycle of water that gives all things life.

THE TWO ROOTS

Die zwei Wurzeln is a whimsical poem from Christian Morgenstern (1871-1914). Although also a lyrical poet and a translator, Morgenstern is famous for his humorous and "nonsense" poems. Interestingly modern research has shown that trees in forests do "talk" to each other through their roots. 

THE OLD CHIMNEY CORNER

Heine's poem can be considered a critique of romanticism in poetry and art. However, it could also be considered a gently humorous take on day dreaming and its contrast with everyday life.

DUSK'S DESCENDED

At the age of seventy eight in 1827 Goethe wrote a short cycle of poems called The Chinese-German Book of Seasons and Hours which includes the poem " Dämmrung senkte sich von oben ". The emotions of the poems are invoked by natural scenes and times rather in the manner of many classical Chinese poems. Some see this poem as a reflection on mortality but its mood could also be seen as one of inner peace.

THE SONG OF THE OCEAN

Clouds, my children, will you be wandering ?

Fare you well; until we meet again !

For your forms, that wish to change and fly,

Can't be bound by my maternal tie.

Yes, you are most weary of my waves,

And the land has lured you away-

Coasts and cliffs, the lighthouse beacon's flare!

Be off, children. Seek adventure there.

Sail, brave sailors, through the air's light seas.

Seek the summits. Rest above ravines.

Brew up storms. Blaze forth. Vent blows of light.

Wear the purple gown of glowing fight !

Rush in the rain. Murmur in the springs.

Fill the fountains. Trickle through rippling streams.

Gush down through lands in river's roar-

Come, my children, come to me once more !

THE TWO ROOTS

Two great old fir roots hold a good

conversation in the wood.

What rustles in the tops on high

from down below gets some reply.

An ancient squirrel's squatting there,

to knit good stockings for the pair.

Now one says: criff. The other says: cruff.

And that, for one day, is enough.

THE OLD CHIMNEY CORNER

Outside now the white flakes fly

Through the night, loud is the storm;

In the small room here it's dry;

Lonely, homely-calm, and warm.

I sit, musing in my armchair,

By the crackling fire place;

And the boiling kettle hums there

Long-lost melodies' last trace.

And a small cat sits just by,

Warming small paws in the glow;

Flame forms flicker, weave and fly;

Strange the moods within me grow.

As in twilight, rises many,

Many a long-forgotten era;

As in drifting, long and motley

Masquerades and faded splendour.

With knowing looks fair women beckon

With a sweet, mysterious air;

Harlequins, with gay abandon,

Jump and laugh between them there.

In the distance gods of marble

Give a greeting, near them grow

Dreamlike flowers of tale and fable,

Leaves astir in moonlight glow.

Past me swim uncertain sights,

Magic castles of past ages;

And behind come shining knights,

Riding with attendant pages.

And this all goes passing over,

Hurried shadow-hastily-

Oh! the kettle's boiling over,

And the wet cat howls at me.

DUSK'S DESCENDED

Dusk's descended from the height,

All that's near's already far;

Now uplifts the gracious light

Of the evening's first star.

All things blur to indistinctness,

Mists are creeping upward now;

Mirroring black deeps of darkness

Rests the lake in this still hour.

Now in eastern regions there,

I sense moonbeams' glow and glide;

And slim willows' fine twig hair

Sports upon next-rising tide.

Through the stirring shadows' play

Trembles Luna's magic sheen;

Through the eye the coolness strays

Softly to the heart within.

Poetry Blog No 174 Narrow Roads to Inner Lands Scene 8

NARROW ROADS TO INNER LANDS -SCENE EIGHT 

 

In this scene the discussion on the nature of the haiku is based largely on Bashō's own comments. Here , for instance, is a version of part of them-

Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and do not learn. Your poetry issues of its own accord when you and the object have become one - when you have plunged deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there.

SCENE EIGHT

Day at Takekuma. A twin-trunked pine tree. This may be invisible off stage or painted in vigorous Zen style. Enter Bashō and Sora.

BASHŌ

There is the pine of Takekuma, Sora,

That we so wished to visit and to view.

SORA

Just look - its root trunk breaks into two arms,

As it was said to do in ancient days.

BASHŌ

And now I can reply to Kyohaku,

Who wished me well upon my journeying,

At that spring-greeting time when cherry blossoms

Is first in southern viewing with this verse:

Late cherry blossoms

Of the north, present to him

Takekuma pine.

And so I shall reply with my own verse.

Since cherry blossom

Longed to look on twin-trunked pine

For three moons' passing.

SORA

And I shall write it down at once for you.

(Sora does so)

BASHŌ

Indeed it's not a disappointment, Sora,

For truly its twin trunk is shaped as songs

That ancient poets wrote. I recollect

That Noin, a priest, on visiting this place

A second time, was very grieved to find

This famous tree new-felled without a thought

And forced into the wide Natori river

As bridge piles by the governor. I'm glad

To see it so regrown, as tall as once

It stood - after a lapse of centuries,

Perhaps. No hand of man can make a tree,

And even that deep craft that flows in nature

Most rarely shapes such perfect, living form.

(Bashō and Sora stand in contemplation.)

SORA (musingly)

How should a traveller approach to writing

On such as he may see upon the way?

BASHŌ

Go to the pine tree if you wish to learn

About the pine; the bamboo for the bamboo.

Then when you do then you must cleanse yourself

Of your preoccupation with your person.

Be rid of all chance personal reactions,

And silence all the chatter of the mind.

All these obscure clear and real awareness,

Like some thin, brightly-painted silk held up

Between your eyes and object of your seeing;

Like some concealed, high-chirruping night cricket

Between your ears and object of their hearing.

When you do this then you impose yourself

Upon the object and you do not learn.

Your poetry comes forth, with its own power,

Forth in right forming, tinged with truth,

When you and object grow as one; when you

Plunge deep enough to sense a something like

An arcane glimmering within its life.

SORA

What more advice would you give us when we

Attempt this silent and alert creation?

BASHŌ

The haiku's brief, not pondered endlessly,

But like an arrow shot… an instant's seeing.

Or like a random pebble tossed upon

A lake's smooth surface - sending ripples outward.

It is a moment livingly aware-

A lambent silence, soft-enlightening,

A child of stillness and clear seeing,

A little like my now-famed tiny frog.

An old pond stillness.

A sudden frog jumps in - plop!

Water-deep, deep sound.

(Bashō pauses, then smiles)

Enough of my didactic role - you know

I have a small but unapologetic,

Reformist wish to raise the haiku form

From merely superficial cleverness

To brief honed words - awareness in awakening.

(Bashō claps his hands)

]

But we must be upon the road once more.

We've far to go to reach the far-famed islands

Of Matsushima - seeing their display

Is one of our good reasons, I would say,

For our long-walking, patient northward way.

(Bashō and Sora exit. Lights fade.)