Welt, ich bleibe nicht mehr hier,
Hab ich doch kein Teil an dir,
Das der Seele könnte taugen.
Hier muß ich das Elend bauen,
Aber dort, dort werd ich schauen
Süßen Friede, stille Ruh.
With thanks to C for pointing me here. I know you disagree, but I still think the Lieberson version is more beautiful. I was listening to this on my way home late last night, as the mist descended . Nothing to do but walk in circles, so I took another round. There were no people around, only a few sad lights and empty roads. Not the calm before a storm, but the peace after one. And for some strange reason it all of a sudden felt as if I were in a camp.
I arrive home-or perhaps I should say 'home'- and read:
I want to take of with you, I want to go away with you,
With all of you at once,
To every place you went!
I want to meet the dangers you knew face to face,
To feel a cross my cheeks the winds that wrinkled yours
To spit from my lips the salt sea that kissed your lips,
To pitch in with you as you work, to share the storms with you,
To reach like you, at last extraordinary ports!
To take off with you, divesting myself of me-come now,
get on with it, get going-
My civilized suit, my genteel behaviour,
My innate fear of jails,
My peaceful life,
My sedentary, static , orderly, all-too-familiar life!
5 comments:
"My sedentary, static , orderly, all-too-familiar life!"
what a line - your thoughts my friend are borderline - camp, peace, storm...
my twon pence pop-psychology gets activated
cheers
R
A poem to counter your mood :-)
Try to praise the mutilated world
Adam Zagajewski
Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June's long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You've seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.
Translated by Renata Gorczynski
Thank you, thank you, b, for making my day begin with my favourite cantata.(No. 82, btw) How strange it is that something which expresses such resignation, acceptance of what we have and have had, should be so thrilling - perhaps we all look forward to, hope, to feel that sense of fullness and joy ('I have enough') before we die, whether we do so as believers or doubters.
And, alright, Lieberson is wonderful and I DO have her version as well as that of Bas Ramselar. Does this mean that you're in the process of re-considering J.S Bach?(:)) Whatever next? Maybe Dylan as well??
Maybe Dylan as well??
No..God forbid, things ain't that bad!
Bach..still maintain that some of it is mind-numbing.
btw, you might want to look at Geoff Dyer's great piece here
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