I have to admit, my knowledge of writers from other
than English speaking countries is limited to the great ones, the ones who
wrote the classics, but I was surprised to learn of von Droste-Hülshoff. I had never heard of her. Wikipedia says, “She was one of the most
important German poets and author of the novella Die Judenbuche.” Elsewhere I believe I read she is the most
important female German poet ever. How
could I not have heard of her name at least?
I don’t know.
And then to my surprise, von Droste-Hülshoff was
catholic and had written religious poems, most notably a cycle of poems, titled
“The Spiritual Year” on each Sunday and the all the feast days of the church
calendar. Well, that certainly piqued my interest. I search Amazon for a good edition of her
work in English, and unfortunately did not find much. I found only one book, The Wild Muse, and I put in into my cart, a dual language
collection that has biographical commentary to go along with the poems.
However, I did find a few of her poems in English
translation on the internet. Since today
is Pentecost Sunday, the day the Holy Spirit came upon the apostles, I’m going
to provide her poem of this feast day. First, here is the English translation:
Pentecost
by Annette Von
Droste-Hulshoff
The day was still, the
sun's bright glare
Fell sheer upon the Temple's beauteous wall
Withered by tropic heat, the air
Let, like a bird, its listless pinions fall.
Behold a group, young men and gray,
And women, kneeling; silence holds them all;
They mutely pray!
Where is the faithful Comforter
Whom, parting, Thou didst promise to Thine
own?
They trust Thy word which cannot err,
But sad and full of fear the time has grown.
The hour draws nigh; for forty days
And forty wakeful nights toward Thee we've
thrown
Our weeping gaze.
Where is He? Hour on hour doth steal,
And minute after minute swells the doubt.
Where doth He bide? And though a seal
Be on the mouth, the soul must yet speak
out.
Hot winds blow, in the sandy lake
The panting tiger moans and rolls about,
Parched is the snake.
But hark! a murmur rises now,
Swelling and swelling like a storm's
advance,
Yet standing grass-blades do not bow,
And the still palm-tree listens in a trance.
Why seem these men to quake with fear
While each on other casts a wondering
glance?
Behold! 'Tis here!
'Tis here, 'tis here! the quivering light
Rests on each head; what floods of ecstasy
Throng in our veins with wondrous might!
The future dawns; the flood-gates open free;
Resistless pours the mighty Word;
Now as a herald's call, now whisperingly,
Its tone is heard.
Oh Light, oh Comforter, but there
Alas! and but to them art Thou revealed
And not to us, not everywhere
Where drooping souls for comfort have
appealed!
I yearn for day that never breaks;
Oh shine, before this eye is wholly sealed,
Which weeps and wakes.
All
poetry loses something in translation.
Poetry relies to a greater extent than prose on the sound and rhythm of
the language, and so it can never be reproduced in a different language with the
same effect and beauty. As you can see
there is a rhyme scheme, and so the English translator felt the need to try to reproduce
a rhyme scheme in the English. That
always causes a red flag for me as a reader.
The more one tries to use the nuances in the translation of the
translated language, the more one drifts from the original meaning. Still this is not a complex poem; it tries to
dramatize an historical event. I can’t
speak for the accuracy of the translation.
Here is the original German.
Pfingstsonntag
Still war der Tag, die
Sonne stand
So klar an unbefleckten
Domeshallen;
Die Luft, von Orientes
Brand
Wie ausgedörrt, ließ
matt die Flügel fallen.
Ein Häuflein sieh, so
Mann als Greis,
Auch Frauen knieend;
keine Worte hallen,
Sie beten leis!
Wo bleibt der Tröster,
treuer Hort,
Den scheidend doch
verheißen du den Deinen?
Nicht zagen sie, fest
steht dein Wort,
Doch bang und trübe muß
die Zeit uns scheinen.
Die Stunde schleicht;
schon vierzig Tag
Und Nächte harrten wir
in stillem Weinen
Und sahn dir nach.
Wo bleibt er nur, wo?
Stund' an Stund',
Minute will sich reihen
an Minuten.
Wo bleibt er denn? Und
schweigt der Mund,
Die Seele spricht es
unter leisem Bluten.
Der Wirbel stäubt, der
Tiger ächzt
Und wälzt sich keuchend
durch die sand'gen Fluten,
Die Schlange lechzt.
Da, horch, ein Säuseln
hebt sich leicht!
Es schwillt und
schwillt und steigt zu Sturmes Rauschen.
Die Gräser stehen
ungebeugt;
Die Palme starr und
staunend scheint zu lauschen.
Was zittert durch die
fromme Schar,
Was läßt sie bang' und
glühe Blicke tauschen?
Schaut auf! Nehmt wahr!
Er ist's, er ist's; die
Flamme zuckt
Ob jedem Haupt; welch
wunderbares Kreisen,
Was durch die Adern
quillt und ruckt!
Die Zukunft bricht; es
öffnen sich die Schleusen,
Und unaufhaltsam strömt
das Wort
Bald Heroldsruf und
bald im flehend leisen
Geflüster fort.
O Licht, o Tröster,
bist du, ach,
Nur jener Zeit, nur
jener Schar verkündet?
Nicht uns, nicht
überall, wo wach
Und Trostes bar sich
eine Seele findet?
Ich schmachte in der
schwülen Nacht;
O leuchte, eh' das Auge
ganz erblindet!
Es weint und wacht.
Annette von
Droste-Hülshoff
Other
than trying to fast learn some basic German back in September when I had a
business trip over to the country, I don’t know German. However, I can sound out the words, and I can
see the alliteration and assonance and rhetorical repetitions, and even pick up
a lyrical musicality in the lines. At
least I think so. I would love to hear
the poem spoken out loud, and while youtube had some audio of von
Droste-Hülshoff poems, it unfortunately did not have this one. Perhaps I’ll revisit her poetry when I get
the book from Amazon. Until then, I hope
you enjoyed this one.
And
happy feast of Pentecost!
oh... this image of Pentecost is wonderful
ReplyDeleteA Blessed Pentecost Day to you and yours.
ReplyDeleteGod bless.
Thank you both. Sitting in Mass today and hearing about how everyone at pentecost were able to understand all languages I realized how appropriate that this post also discussed a different language than my native tongue. However I wasn't up to the Pentecostal understanding of all tongues. ;)
ReplyDeleteIch liebe dich Jesus and Your Blessed Mother.
ReplyDeleteI learned that phrase from a German friend in the early seventies and long story short, that's about the extent of my German.
Hah yes! Guten Tag
Forgive me Manny but your post is way too deep for this old man to keep up with. LOL :)
God Bless