Wundervölker, Monstrosität und Hässlichkeit im Mittelalter (German Edition)

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Blutlos die Wege. Schatten und Sintflut. In the Subway The soft shudder. Early bloom. As if from warm fur, it comes straight from the forest. Red swarms up. Hard blood rises. Through full spring the new female comes. She wears her stockings, stretched. But there, where they come to an end, is beyond my reach. I sob at their edge. Sultry fecundity, alien moistures. Oh, how her mouth devours the tepid air! You: rose-mind, sea-blood, twilight-goddess. You: bed of earth, how your hips flow so coolly down the passage through which you walk. Life is now beneath her dress: all white animal, relaxed, with mute scent.

I am a wretched dog-brain, heavy hung with God, sick of the mind. Oh, that a frame of clustered blooms should gently take its place, and swell and stream and shudder. So detached. So tired. I long to wander. Bloodless those paths. Songs from the gardens. Shadows and the Flood. Buchtet sich ein und aus. Ich will versinken. And anyway love hit me, the snouts of two whores bulge forward. Gyrates in and out. I want to lose myself. Let me die. Give birth to me. Ich schlage mit der Stirn am Marmorblock die Form heraus.

Ich bin mir noch sehr fern. Aber ich will Ich werden! Wir wohen in einer engen Bucht, ausgebaut an des Dorfes Ende. Davon bin ich so entstellt. Unerbittlich ist der Kampf und die Welt starrt von Schwertspitzen. Jede hungert nach meinem Herzen. Young Hebbel You chip away and fashion: with supple chisel and a fine soft hand.

I beat form out of the marble block with my brow. My hands work for my daily bread. I remain to myself still distant, but I will become me! There lies someone deep in my blood who cries for heavens of gods and earths of men, which he has made for himself. My mother is so poor: you would laugh if you saw her. We live in a narrow sty, built at the bottom of the village. My youth is like a scab to me, with a wound beneath. Blood drips everyday from it. That is why I am so disfigured. Sleep I do not need, and food only enough to stay alive. The struggle is relentless, and the world bristles with points of swords, each of which hungers for my heart.

Everyone of them I must melt into my blood: me, the defenceless one. Als wir blutfeucht zur Welt kamen, Waren wir mehr als jetzt. Jetzt haben Sorgen und Gebete beschnitten uns und klein gemacht. Wir leben klein. Wir wollen klein. Aber ich will mein eigenes Blut. Feiger Herr, feiger Herr! Was zitterest du? Fege meinen Saal. Ich aber will tanzen durch dich schleierlos dein Blut. Made adroit with weapons, to free ourselves, we have become haters, beyond redemption.

When we came into this world blood-stained, we were more than we are now. Now sorrow and praying have cut us down and made us small. We live small lives. We want small things. And our feelings, like tame animals, are eating out of the hand of our will. But there are times when desires well up, strong from deep within our blood, their wings like the eagle, as if they wished to broach a flight away from the shadows of the earth.

But the mother of cares and prayers, the earth, allied to you, will not let them go from her old and wrinkled body. But I will have my own blood. I tolerate no other gods beside me. Covered in purple, my beauty persists day and night for you. Why are you trembling? I trained my tendons to be swift for your desires. O give them to me! Let me dance! Clean out my hall. Yellow salivating skeletons of white-haired and sullen blood threaten me.

I, however, will dance. Sie schmerzt nicht immer. Mother I bear you like a wound upon my brow that will not close. The pain sometimes abates, and my heart flows from it still alive. Only now and then I suddenly become blind, and feel blood in my mouth. Drohung Aber wisse: Ich lebe Tiertage. It is so beautiful beside your blood. Sieh, wie das Land auch aus seinen Fiebern erwacht. A man speaks A man speaks: Here there is no consolation. See how the land also awakens from its fever.

Almost all the dahlias have stopped gleaming. Everything lies wasted as after a cavalry battle. I hear an upsurge in my blood. You, my eyes are already drinking in the blue of distant hills. It is already caressing my temples. Hier ist kein Trost Keiner wird mein Wegrand sein. Mein einer Arm liegt im Feuer. Mein Blut ist Asche. Let your blossoms whither. My path flows and runs alone.

Two hands are too small a bowl. One heart is too small a hill to rest on. You, my life is lived on the strand and under the falling blossom of the sea. Egypt is spread before my heart, and Asia is dawning. One of my arms lies in the fire. My blood is ash. Leaving breasts and bones behind me, I sob my way towards the Tyrrhenian islands: There glimmers a valley with white poplars, an Ilissus with shores of meadows: Eden and Adam: an earth out of nihilism and music.

Schnellzug Das Gleitende, das in den Fenstern steht! Wir kleine Forst, kein Adler und kein Wild! Du Dagmar-blond! Du Nest! Die weiten Felder der Verlassneheit! Das Rot der Erbereschen hat schon Blut. O sei bei mir! The Express The passing images that face me in the windows! Past my shoulders crumble the fields, the arbours, and the overgrown villages; long-forgotten mothers; the entire land, a grave full of fathers: now it is the sons who are great and prance naked with their red god-like brows, in a whirl of unleashed blood.

That which is festering sounds loudly with its sick voices: Where did we ever come close to happiness? We, a small forest, without eagle or game. Paltry blooms blossom in pale tones in our meadows. The heart cries out: Oh, hair! You Dagmar-blond! You nest! You comforting, blossoming hand! The broad fields of abandonment! The red of the rowanberry already is of blood. Oh, be with me! It is so silent in the gardens. But the passing that faces me in the windows.

Past my shoulders crumble the fields, fathers and the grief of hills and the happiness of hills —: The sons have grown tall. The sons go naked and in the grief of unleashed blood, their red brows reflect a distant abyss of joy. In unserem Blute ist kein Dorn. Oktobertiere rechts und links: Wir makellose, wir letzte Julibrut. Ich versenge dem Tode seine kalte Fratze. Wie alles Rote, Glut und Flammenhafte aus meinen Schenkeln hurt! Flowers I-II I In the room of a pastor between crosses and images of Christ, Jerusalem relics and Golgatha wreaths a bouquet of roses blooms blissfully beyond the shores: We may now happily pass away.

There is no thorn in our blood. II A sea, entirely poisened by the grey blood of autumn, has made me sick. Startled, the river bank, devoid of joy and barren of leaf receives my final step as words of commital. Then in a park there was a flower bed: It bloomed over this entire misery, the sea, the clouds and the storm in the garden.

And I cried: I am completely indestructible! I burn away the cold countenance of death. As everything red, glowing and flaming rushes from my limbs! Good morning to you! Der Mond fiel hinterher. Hing tief. Gab Stein statt Brot Dem atemlosen Blut. Ward still. Schlug um. Wenn mans bedenkt: ein paar verlorene Stunden Haben nun in die Stille Nacht gefunden Und wehen mit den Wolken hin und her. Die Lippen auch. Wie Garben Aus Schnee. O kaum zu denken! Finish I The spittoon — not in the least able to contain such large warm green emissions — finally broke apart.

The moon dropped down. Hung deeply. Sucked Backed the vomit in gulps. Dissapointed All trust. Gave to breathless blood Stone instead of bread. II The little clot smelled like a chicken coup, moved here and there. Became still. The grand-daughter palyed the old game: When grandma is asleep: Around her collar bones the cavities were so deep That she could hide beans in them. A ball could even be fitted into her throat, if one blew the dust out of it.

III For him it was all about the spittoon with plum stones. Then he crawled in and cracked open the stones. He was thrown back into his box bed. And he burrowed into his straw. Towards evening the head keeper came And rebuked the warden: You bloody lazybones, Why has the box not been cleaned up yet? IV For weeks they held the heads of their children, When they had returned from school, high in the air: Then a little breeze went through and she could sleep.

Then one bent down once by mistake And his head fell out of his hands. Turned around. Hung over his shoulders Deep blue. V Requiem A coffin gets work and a bed becomes empty. When one considers it: a few lost hours Have now in stillness found the night And drift with the clouds here and there. How white they are!

Their lips also. Like sheets Of snow. Oh, border of the great winter land Of comforting snow: freed from the deception of colours, Hills and valley in a flat hand. Nearness and distance are one and made equal. We flakes blow into the field, and then a piece, Then is the final spark of the world exstinguished. Oh, it is almost unthinkable! This distant happiness! VI Beyond the Graves This one slaves away and bakes broken throughout the night With rotten meat, following an old baking method.

Dem Manne rutscht das Auge hin und her. Ob du noch kommst, Ick kann mir doch mein Brot mit Schinken kofen. Der Mond verirrt sein Gold in diesen Gram. His eyes slide to and fro. Will you still come with me, I can still fit a bit of ham on my bread. Semen-ready sits at every table with feathers In her hat and puts out her legs, sucks up her hips Full of semen ever more brazenly to her womb.

A song curves a dome into the table Of glass: the cold night covers teh stars with clouds. The moon mixes its gold into this misery. Ich war so sehr allein. Die Lippen weinen mit. Den Strom herunter. Da sitzt sie mit der Laute. Er schwimmt sich frei. Fleischlaub und Hurenherbste, Ein welker Streif.

Fett furcht sich. Ein Spalt voll Schreie unser Mund. Then someone lurches in And falls. I have just gone past the edge of God. Do you love me too? I was so very much alone. The Weser song bucks up the spirits of the jerk. Lips cry along to it. A stream flows down. Sweet valley. There it sits with its lute. The head waiter flails around with his nightcap. He manages to stay upright. Flesh foliage and whore autumn, a withered strip. Fat rumples up. Pockmarked roars: the flesh is fluid; pour it as you will, around you. Our mouth is a crevice of screams. He pushes through the dumb bouquet of her palate.

The murky bourgeois steps out onto the benches: Herd, pimpels, marriage, beards and medals. Many four litres of blood, from which three Is gorged in the intestines: and the fourth Brims around the sexual organs. The whore To uncovers her hand: Soft, like the flesh from the womb, half-open, just there where desire is felt. Marie Du Vollweib! Your measurements are normal, Any child can come through your pelvis. Widely girthed you take in everything, right up to your brain and then leave.

Poems of Transcendence, Benn had attended a military medical school as a student, and in he was called up a doctor at the outbreak of Word War One to serve with his local regiment. He was stationed in Brussels, where he worked in a hospital treating soldiers with sexually transmitted ailments. Other poems yet explore, argue for the need to structure experience, to prevent exertion becoming formlessness. Icarus I Oh midday, that with scorched hay dims my brain To field, flat land and shepherd, So that I run and, and arm in the stream, Draw poppies to my brow — Oh you, expanse of sky, Drifting over curse and sorrow, Being and becoming, Divest my eye of vision.

On through the rubble of the hillside, on through the carrion of the land, Turning to dust, on through the miserly jagged shapes Of rocks — everywhere Blown by the sun — everywhere, Deep mother-blood, streaming, Mindless Drained Borne along. The animal lives only for the day And, suckling, has no memory. The slope in silence brings its flower to light, And is destroyed. Only I, with sentry between blood and paw, A carrion eaten away by mind, with curses Screaming into the void, spat upon by words, Mocked by the light — Oh, you expanse of sky, Balm my eyes for an hour With that healing early light of primal vision — Melt away the lie of colours, Hurl these cavities pressed by filth into the roar Of rearing suns, the whirl of the suns of suns, Oh, the eternal fall of all suns — II My brain eats dust.

My feet eat dust. If only my eye were round and complete, Then through their lids would break Sweet night, brush-wood and love. Out of you, my sweet animal, Out of your shadows, sleep and hair, I must needs bestride my brain, All its convolutions: The final dialogue. III So near to the shore, already in the ferry, In the crocus-coloured garments of the supplicant. And around my limbs the delicate down — Oh sun! Every night from out of your folds You roar new worlds into space — Oh, that one of these obliviously scattered here Freshly ablaze would melt my temples, And drink up my instinct-blood!

Breite dich hin. Caryatid Free yourself from stone. Burst apart those sockets that enslave you! Rage into the fields. Mock the cornices — Look at the drunken Silenus: through his beard, from his loud blood forever drowned in roars, enthused by exotic music, wine drips into his manhood. Spit on this obsession with columns. Senile hands, done to death, lifted them trembling towards sullen skies. Pull down the temples before the desire of your limbs which crave to dance.

Choose expanse! Bloom to excess. Oh, let your soft meadow bleed from deep wounds. And see this final hour of blissful deception: our southern vision in the vaulted sky. Reise O, dieses Lichts! Auch ich zu: braun! Ich zu: besonnt! Zu Flachem, das sich selbst benennt! Das Auge tief am Horizont, Der keine Vertikale kennt. Journey Oh, this light! The island wreathes Around itself star-blue water. Stilled at its edge, completed by the beach, It sates itself daily on the sea. Nothing needs to be connected. The seabird, the lobed foliage, find Their fulfilment here. Their purpose lies right At their centre, which nothing can steal.

I too become brown! I too receive the sun! To that flat space, which it alone will name. The eye deep on the horizon That knows nothing vertical. Already the rage to connect is disappearing. Already systems of references are dissolving, And under the dark song of flesh rears up the blood-Methuselah.

Aufblick Heimstrom quillt auf zu Hunger und Geschlecht. O Abhang! Mit Fratzen Des Raums bestanden, drohend Unendlichkeit. A glance upwards The incoming tide surges to hunger and sex. Oh, the happiness of milling! Oh, decline! The old sun still storms Forth bright embers; new fire Already mocks it, and around Andromena There is already fresh mist, Oh, wandering world!

Devestation of all matter: night-love, done in the meadows. I: lowering, imposed upon, my visage full of stars, From a blow of paws, the shudder of destruction blues like a coast of blood towards me, With harrow, dagger and horns. The causative way moves rugged through the dwellings Of the immanent mob, with the leerings of space provided Threatening Eternity.

To me, however, the morning light of roomless rooms Glows around my knees, A process of shephards squirells through the leaves, Euclid by the sea sings at a threecorned flute: O wood of roses! There takes place Unrestricted birth. Freely shining forth Beasts, cliffs, bright things without purpose: Strips of violets, tepid skulls Meadow-bloody. Wave against torpor and brain, The burner of a deep bacchanalia Set against the mark of annihilation: Upward growth and the conscious mind. The hands of youths, Athletes limbs, closed by space, Land you on the shore as jug and slope, When with fish-head, onions, flutes The festivals of Leda turn rose-red: Copulation, the plains, and decline.

O, Nacht —: O, Nacht! Ich nahm schon Kokain, Und Blutverteilung ist im Gang. O, Nacht! Ich will ja nicht so viel. Nach kleinen Schatten schnappt der Fisch. Sei, die mich aus der Nervenmythe Zu Kelch und Krone heimgebar. O, still! Oh, Night-: Oh, night! I have taken cocaine, And my blood flows out on other paths. My hair becomes grey, the years flee before me, I must, I must in sheer ecstasy Flower once more before extinction.

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Oh, night. I do not ask for much: A small point of intensity, An evening mist, a surging Of time displacement, of the feeling of self. Tactile corpuscles, wall of red cells, To and fro, with odours, Mangled by words — cloud bursts. Too deep in the brain, too narrow in dreams. Stones wing their way to the earth, The fish snap after little shadows. Only with danger through the thing— becoming Sways the skull — feather duster. I can hardly reach you!

A little piece only, a clasp Of the feeling of self — in sheer ecstasy Flower once more before extinction! Oh, night, O lend me brow and hair, Flow away around the day— withered! Be the one that will bear me home through Myths of nerves to chalice and crown. Oh, be silent! I feel a small stirring within me: The stars face me — This is no mockery — My face, myself: me, a lonely god, Collecting myself around a majestic thunder.

Ein Himmel blaute: unbedenkbar. Da verschied Copernikus. Kein Newton mehr. A sky blued: unimaginable. Then the world surrounded by gold: the shot. Taking into account many actions, Weighing up possibilities, Including parabolas and projectile sheaf, Air humidity, barometer reading, isobars — — But throughout all of this: exactitude, The exclusion of al lquestions, A paw in the back of knowledge, Streeming with blood the plunder shudders Under the concept: snipe shooting. Here Copernicus leaves teh scene. Newton is no longer.

No third Law of thermodynamics — A small own comes into view. An office, a young registrar, In shirt sleaves, with a bread roll, Reading the letter from his godmother. Ihr sprecht von Seele — Was ist eure Seele? Und die Frucht —? Rosine aus dem Zahn geholt. Die Goldfischen —!!! Das Allgemeine wird gestreift. The doctor I Sweet corporeality sticks to me Like the coating around the edge of my gums. Whatever juice and rotting flesh there is Milling around his calcified bones Rises like a vapour of milk and sweat into my nostrils.

The woman thinks she is being fertilised And elevated into a hill of God; But the man is disfigured; His brain ranges over a misty steppe, And his seed drops in without sound. I live in front of the body: and throughout its middle The genitals stick. There the skull also smells. I suspect: that soon Vagina and prick will gape to heaven out of the brow.

II The crown of creation, man, the pig —: You should go around with the other animals! What are you on about then? You talk to me of the soul — what is your soul? From its cooling innards The Earth spat up, as from its other holes, A gob of blood — That lurches Complacently downwards in a curve Into the shadows. III With pimply skin and rotten teeth They press themselves together And couple together in a bed And sow seed in the crevices of the flesh And feels himself a god with his goddess.

And the fruit —? It stops — Finger is smelt Raisins fetched out of teeth. The goldfish —!!! The Weser Song! We are close to communality. God As a cheese-cover put over the genitals—: The good shepherds—:!! And in the evening the ram mounts the ewe. Uff meinen heizbaren Sektionstisch? Von wegen Fettschwund und biblisches Alter?? The only language I can really fluently write in is English. Do you just take a stance for the sake of taking a stance? If there is a personal involvement, it may show through from the background.

GG: Right, but belief does not mean acceptance. Let me explain: I might be very much taken up, as I am, by Kierkegaard, but not because I believe in what Kierkegaard says, but because I believe that what he says is ultimately wrong! But do they necessarily believe in the art they are expounding? What about a tax accountant? It depends. What am I doing? Most people think that they are philosophers. VF: Being a historian of philosophy, are you concerned with objects simply as things that need to be traced through time, or is there really a [different] kind of legitimacy that is assigned to them?

GG: Well, short of defining philosophy in a very technical sense — semantics, cognitive science — I believe in one way or another philosophy is necessarily historical. We have already broached the problem and answered in principle. The rest is just becoming aware of a position we have already taken. If you look at the whole history of philosophy, the problems are the same. Well, about two hundred or three hundred years of reflection, a French Revolution, a society changing.

So, from that point of view, it is historical as a constant reflection on what has already been said, to clarify what on Earth it meant. Department, in particular — changed since you started teaching here? GG: The department is completely different. For another thing, the older colleagues were in a different tradition. They were not as professional as younger philosophers are now, in the sense that they were not faced by the problems which young academics are faced with nowadays, of finding a position in a very, very competitive market, and therefore trying, you see, to conform to different norms which are decisive if one wants to find a job.

Would I want to go back to that kind of atmosphere? And that applies to McGill as a whole. VF: How have your students changed, or not changed? GG: Oh, I think they are much better. I think they are much more committed to what they are doing. I should say that what I said about my former colleagues as contrasted with the new ones applies to the students as well.

Most of them are not as idiosyncratic; they are more professional as students, but not necessarily as interesting. VF: What was the first book you ever really obsessed over when you were younger? I read Dumas, there was another one I liked, wrote a lot about adventures, [puzzle books]. When I was older I read Dostoevsky and so on.

History I read. GG: I never particularly liked Germany, alright. Munich, I lived there. But you have to know, I spent long periods in Germany, but for the most part in libraries. The only two industries in that little town are the library and the jail. It was not bombed, so you really have original houses there. VF: If you could have one superpower,. GG: Superpower? Oh, I would like to see how the Earth would look one billion years from now.

Out of curiosity. VF: One billion years? VF: I heard that your family is involved in fashion. Is that true? GG: Well, my father was a tailor. By the way, I do enjoy fashion. But I like to see it. VF: One little thing to end on: I remember you saying in class that truly great philosophers were the ones that said more than they realized they were saying. Could you just elaborate on that?

Just because the words we use have a tradition of their own, and they carry a lot more meaning than we can possibly comprehend at any moment. That is why, and I repeat, philosophy has got to be historical — just because we have to discover exactly what we meant when we said anything! Ideological Foundation In his account of post-materialism, Ronald Inglehart provides a useful ideological framework with which to understand the liberalizing role of the West German Greens. His thorough Modernization and Postmodernization: Cultural, Economic, and Political Change in FortyThree Societies describes an inter-generational value shift stemming from the transition from material-based industrial to post-industrial society, one which alternatively emphasizes self-expression and quality of life.

While Inglehart acknowledges this rationalization, he argues that modernization is a nonlinear process that eventually reaches an inflection point that sets it on the different, more culturally sensitive trajectory of postmodernization. He finds that modernization is not sufficient for democratization because it can also give way to authoritarian regimes, as was the case in Soviet Russia. Inglehart argues instead that economic development from industrialization first leads to changes in societal structural that allow for cognitive mobilization via education and job specialization, activating mass political participation and subsequent cultural transformation that consolidate democracy.

These include ideological emphasis on individualism and minority rights, political participation via civil society, political competition, accountability, legitimacy, and socio-political pluralism. Mobilization of Civil Society In order to examine the extent to which the Greens assumed post-materialist ideas and affected growth in civic political participation, an element Siaroff emphasizes in liberal democracy, it is necessary to provide some historical background.

Throughout the early postwar years, West Germans were content to pursue economic recovery and repair the negative image bestowed on them by horrendous war and Nazi rule. Accordingly, the postwar settlement in the FRG included a social market economy, powerful regional governance, and heavy emphasis on organized, wage-restrained industry. While these occurred through democratic institutions and proved to be remarkably effective as GNP increased 67 per cent between the years and ,7 the measures were largely imposed from above and did not encourage viable political pluralism and participation.

As Inglehart observes, economic security in the FRG led to increased emphasis on education, tertiary economic activity, and. In late and early at the site of a planned reactor in Brokdorf, the police unleashed tear gas and water cannons on a 40,person crowd of demonstrators. Still, the Greens persevered and continued to expand a postmaterialist ideological base, as massive demonstrations against NATO missile deployment from to illustrated integration of the anti-war movement. According to survey data, daily political discussion in the FGR jumped from only 8.

Legitimization of the Political System The Greens soon sought concrete political power in order to directly influence policy, but their entrance into the system went beyond an immediate concern to affirm the general legitimacy of government. Throughout the late s, the Greens participated in local and state level elections with scattered successes until they captured 1. While the CDU was relatively unaffected due to stark ideological differences, the Greens began to capture some votes from the center-oriented FDP due to their overlapping emphasis on political and civil rights.

Empirically supported increases in autonomous issue-based rather than partisan voting in Germany affirms this shift. The Greens tapped informal information sources and relayed their findings to the public, which increased transparency and lessened the ability of elites to suppress scandals.

Interpellations, which forced ministers to explain their decisions and statements, were initiated along with the creation of more subcommittees and an increase in the number of hearings. Inglehart un-. This highlights how the Greens spurred general West German democratic consolidation by bringing post-materialist values into the general political sphere, not by acting as an enlightened party unto themselves.

It is first important to note that the Greens did induce specific post-materialist gains — namely a visible decline in nuclear power, higher number of female parliamentary representatives, and an increase in the gasoline tax. Siaroff would likely agree with this statement, since autonomy and broader societal contact strengthens socio-economic pluralism, a key component of his liberal democracy. The ascent of the West German Greens, clearly a post-materialist party that emphasized quality of life over economic issues, represented the tangible emergence of post-materialism considerations in government.

Inglehart, Ronald. New Jersey: Princeton University Press, , 4. Siaroff, Alan. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, , Baker, Kendall L. Dalton, and Kai Hildebrandt. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, , Morrison, William Bruce. Shull, Tad. Kolinsky, Eva. The Greens in West Germany. New York: Berg Publishers Limited, , Baker, Dalton, and Hildebrandt, Siaroff, Ely, John and Margit Mayer.

Philadelphia: Temple University Press, , Morrison, 4. Shull, Ely and Mayer, Inglehart, Kolinsky, It was in this small town named Oehna that she was raised, where her parents passed away, where she and my Opa were married after the war, and where my eldest aunt was born. It was also the town from which they fled in My Opa tells the story of his early morning departure often: he woke up before dawn with his bags packed and biked to the train station.

From here, he would cross into West Germany to my waiting Oma and their young child, and go north to take a ship to Canada. He would not see the town again for forty odd years. On the afternoon when we arrived, the sun shone brilliantly, illuminating every detail of Oehna. It was spring — my brother and sister and I were taking advantage of our mid-term breaks — and people were tending their gardens carefully after the passing of another winter.

The streets of the town were similar to that of any German town you might happen to drive through. Each night, the windows are shuttered tight with malleable aluminium in the same way that jewelry stores might be. There is still a sense that, although generally peaceful and calm, there are still certain measures that must be taken to protect from the outside. Time is an irrelevant concept to these bastions of German culture, worlds apart from metropolises like Berlin and Frankfurt-amMain. Much has changed in Germany throughout the years. In the past century, the small town of Oehna, like other towns in the former East Germany, has, besides two World Wars, existed under two totalitarian governments with radically different ideologies: in a matter of days, the German people were told to hate the once widely supported fascist National Socialist Party as it was replaced by Soviet occupation.

Concepts of identity in the transition from fascism to socialism were expected to change overnight in April The new totalitarian government was not chosen, as the Nazis had been, but rather was imposed forcefully in the context of a humiliating military loss, the general understanding of the atrocities of the Holocaust, mourning over those who perished in the military, and widespread physical destruction of infrastructure. With these rapid changes still inchoate in the immediate postwar period, the notion of Heimat to the East Germans was in flux, as was nearly every other factor in their lives.

My Opa, whose birthplace was in a town lost to Poland after the war, was forced to find a new place to call home. He was assigned to live in the town of Oehna — his Heimat being in what is now western Poland. Like the German people facing these changes, the culturally loaded concept of Heimat also adapted. This essay will explore how the notion of Heimat changed in the twentieth century to accommodate different social, economic, and political factors.

It will be necessary first to establish a good understanding of the etymology and cultural implications of the term Heimat itself. Then, a brief history of the use of the term up to the end of the Second World War will contextualize its meaning in the nascent GDR. A brief recounting of the events of the first days of the transition, including the chaos of a new government, will also be explored. The essay will finish with the examination of the cultural context of Heimat.

Etymology and Meaning of Heimat Traditionally, the term Heimat has been used in a geographic context, specifically referring to small, German towns representing what Christopher J. Wickham gives a good account of the variety of mean-. In the s, when the use of film became widespread in Germany, the political climate was tense.

Bitter from the loss of the First World War and adjusting to the Weimar Republic, the protection of the Heimat and Heimat values was increasingly important. Aaron Vansintjan ties, an exclusion of Fremd [the foreign] would eventually be used by Goebbels in his role as the Reich Minister of Propaganda for the Nazi Party from to The movie follows Nazi troops as they go into battle.

The directors present the troops before the battle in the countryside, washing up, eating a meal, and interacting with nature. In portraits of oversimplified rural idylls that played on a shared German identity, the Nazis slowly altered conceptions of Heimat to allow them to relate directly to jingoist, nationalist aspirations. Heimat and Nazism became inextricably linked. Not only did it keep Germans out of a post-World War I slump, Heimat rhetoric served as a vehicle for a larger, emotional revitalization.

A much different force — the GDR — would later appropriate this method to its own ends. East Germany was not occupied, but liberated in April , according to the Soviet way of thinking. On May 9, there was unconditional surrender in Karlshorst. In what was likely an attempt to assemble some sort of on-the-ground presence, the Red Army set up Kommandanturas [command posts], which were established in towns and cities throughout eastern Germany. These Kommandaturas were haphazardly assigned Kommandants [commanders], usually based on their ability to speak German. It was in this period that the rape of German women became commonplace.

It is not likely that a firm number of victims will ever be established, but in the time between the establishment of the SMAG and the summer of , it has been estimated that anywhere from tens to hundreds of thousands of women, ranging in age from ten to eighty, were raped by Soviet soldiers.

The victims ranged from young girls, to older, married women where, in at least one case, the husband was murdered before the act was committed ,17 to, in one particularly gruesome incident, nuns in their habits. Again, the issue of widespread rape was not mentioned directly the favoured metaphor was the stealing of a watch or bicycle. Yet through this discussion, a sense of widespread disillusionment with the Soviets was discovered. The imposition of Soviet culture on Germany rapidly changed its civil society. In Revolution from Abroad, Jan T.

In looking at the occupation, we can conclude that the Soviet forces stymied the sense of Heimat amongst the German people precisely through this method of creating an Other. Looking at how this would affect the regime later, we see that, even through the later reclamation of the term by the GDR and its film agencies, there were still large hurdles in winning the Germans to their side.

In , Wolf left Germany at age eight for the Soviet Union. His father was a Communist writer of Jewish descent who was a founding member of the National Committee of Free Germany. His return to his Heimat came at the end of the war, as he was a young intelligence officer in the twenty-seventh platoon of the Red Army. The film follows the central character, Lieutenant Gregor Hecker, returning to his homeland of Germany as a Red Army soldier. The young man, in the first scenes of the movie, voices over images of the idyllic town of Bernau, where he would become the Kommandant.

They say this is my homeland. I was eight when my parents had to leave — I grew up in Moscow,. I fought like everyone; I say this almost every day, [but] I get gunfire in return. In it, we see a young woman named Rita Seidel moving from her home in the country to the bustling city in order to live with an ambitious young chemist.

All of a sudden, everything is possible, every fairytale miracle, every great deed. The focus of the new generation, as shown in the two movies studied above, was an indication that, in the wake of years of uncertainty and disenchantment, it was possible for youth to find their way in a new country. In fact, research done by the social scientist Rudolph Endres in showed that the concept of Heimat to young adults in the GDR was playing an increasingly large role in their social identification. Conclusion This essay has explored how the notion of Heimat changed in the twentieth century in relation to different social, economic, and political factors.

By first establishing the etymology and cultural constructions of the word, it was established that it holds positive significance in many aspects, including memory, territory, culture, language, notions of utopia, and, most importantly, identity. Next, we saw how the Nazi party used Heimatesque themes in its propaganda to embellish conceptions of blood-and-soil ideology and Aryan supremacy. Then, discussing the Soviet occupation of Germany led to an understanding of how its chaotic rule led to the changing popular conceptions of home, identity, and geographic place through forcing a socialist system rape.

Finally, an analysis of DEFA cinema showed that in the s in East Germany there was a cultural reappropriation of Heimat concepts in order to re-enfranchise the new generation of East Germans. At the end of the war, he was told that Falkenburg was now a part of Poland as a part of the Potsdam Conference, whereby ethnic Germans would have to leave the areas now a part of the Polish State. As a result, he was forced to leave his Heimat and relocated to Oehna, were he would eventually meet my Oma.

True to style, he walked straight to the house in which he was born, opened the door, and entered. The Polish family who had been. He pointed down the street, gesturing to where he famously beat an older boy over the head with his wooden shoe for spooking his horses as they drank from the river. He showed my dad and me which room had been his, where he used to keep his animals and where he spent time with his family. He marveled at how much it had changed, and how much it had degraded from the version in his memory when he left after the war.

As we drove back to Germany from our daytrip, my Opa gestured for my father to slow down the car as we came close to the edge of the town. He walked to a statue that had once presided over the entrance to Falkenburg: a limestone bird with wings extended, with a placard underneath which was once engraved simply with the name of the town. He knew he was home. We drove away as the day ended.

He was leaving this time by choice. In what was perhaps an allegory borne of convenience, my Opa, like the German people of the past halfcentury, had eased in his recalcitrance, allowing his definition of Heimat to adapt amd to fit the circumstances out of his control. Wickham, Chris. Lewiston, New York. Mellen Press, , 8. Edited by Moldenhauer and K.

Wickham, 2. Ludewig, Alexandra. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag, , Kluge, Friedrich, and John F. An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language. London: G. Bell, Strzelczyk, Florentine. Edited by Robert C. Rochester, NY: Camden House, Brunsch, Fritz. Sieg im Westen. Berlin, Kracauer, Siegfried. Ludewig, 25 Naimark, Norman M. Herrnstadt, Rudolph. Brecht, Bertolt. Arbeitsjournal Berlin and Weimar; Aufbau Verlad, Naimark, The Russians in Germany, Boa, Elizabeth, and Rachel Palfryman. Gross, Jan Tomasz. Ludewig, New York: Berghahn Books, Wolf, Konrad.

Ich War Neunzehn. Berlin: DEFA, Der Ggeteilte Himmel. DVD Pinkert, Anke. Film and Memory in East Germany. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, , Pinkert, Divided Heaven. Enderes, Rudolph. Reitz, Edgar. Birgel, Franz A. Kaes, Anton. From Hitler to Heimat: the return of history as film. Cambridge, Mass. Ash, Timothy Garten. Accessed December 2, Now, he was witnessing the beginning of the second and final outbreak of popular opposition against the system he served.

Certain historians have interpreted these events as two acts in a single, interrupted revolution against a flawed state. The autumn of brought the fulfillment of the unfinished revolution of As a result, displayed an intellectual movement absent in Nevertheless Steininger is correct in his assertion that Soviet military intervention, or the lack thereof, was crucial in deciding the outcome of the two uprisings.

Although members of other social strata would eventually join the protests on June 17, , the initiative for the uprising belonged to the workers. The immediate catalyst for this action was discontent over the retention. This added stress to the already overburdened and discontented proletariat, leading to sporadic and isolated strikes throughout May and June. The result was a mismatch between rhetoric and reality — the party of the working class appeared to be abusing its core constituency.

On June 16, the party sent messengers to angered workers from the Friedrichshain site on the Stalinallee to inform them that work norms would not be rescinded. Incensed, workers marched to the House of Ministries, and bolstered their initial demand with calls for free elections and a general strike the next day. From there, the collective would make its way past other factories on its way to the town centre, the focal public space.

It was during this march that members of other social strata would commonly join with the strikers. That the space of origin for protest in was the industrial workplace where workers decided to strike further conveys how agency for belonged to the workers. In the morning workers met within their workplaces across the country, and debated whether to show solidarity with Berlin. In locations where workers voted to strike,. During the final stage, protestors entered the public space of the town centre. At this point, they became less coordinated and tended to exhibit more frenzied and riotous behaviour.

Reflecting their political frustration, protestors attacked symbols of the SED power apparatus such as Volkspolizei buildings and prisons. They left the workplace at AM and formed a march, during which the protest gathered workers from other factories, swelling the number of demonstrators to between 12, and 15, Now situated in the public space outside the factory, the group moved to the town centre to attack symbols of the SED government, including the Kreis SED building, the Freier Deutscher Gewerkschaftsbund building and the Haus der Deutsch-Sowjetischen Freundschaft.

Workers from three industrial factories simultaneously decided to join the strike, merging to form an 8,person-strong column of demonstrators. While other strata joined the masses en route, they were not responsible for its emergence, a feature not seen in Nevertheless, the participation of members from other social groups demonstrates widespread dissatisfaction with the SED regime, suggesting that in the absence of Soviet suppression, could have witnessed profound changes in the GDR regime.

However, changes on the international scene in mid altered this state of affairs. In May, the Hungarian government started tearing down fortifications along its. Although Hungary initially attempted to prevent a mass exodus of the East German populace, on September 11 its government announced that it would no longer deport East Germans caught in the attempt to emigrate. For East Germans, every additional friend and relative who fled to the West drew attention to the mass discontent present in the GDR.

Whereas in strikes within the facto-. Within the sheltered walls of Church sanctuaries, an initially very small number of GDR citizens found a refuge in which they could discuss political matters with those beyond their immediate social circle. It is important to note, however, that the Church authorities themselves were not interested in challenging the regime, but rather providing sanctuary for those on the fringes of GDR society. They continued throughout the decade and became increasingly politicized under Pastor Wonneberger in the late s.

In March , instead of remaining inside the Nikolaikirche, participants began staging silent vigils in the public square around the church and then marching from there throughout the city streets following. Now, dissidents felt ready to become demonstrators. Increasingly bold and visible, these demonstrations began to catch the atten-.

It embodies a distinct theory of prosody… Wikipedia. Jahrhunderts Wild Nights Wild Nights! Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds To a heart in port, -- Done with the compass, Done with the chart! Rowing in Eden! Might I but moor To-night in Thee! Mai ebenda gilt als bedeutende amerikanische Dichterin.

Ihre Gedichte, erstmals nach ihrem Tod gedruckt, scheinen stilistisch vielfach ins Jahrhundert vorzugreifen. Comment April Augen, sagt mir, sagt, was sagt ihr? TELL me, eyes, what 'tis ye're seeking; For ye're saying something sweet, Fit the ravish'd ear to greet, Eloquently, softly speaking. Yet I see now why ye're roving; For behind those eyes so bright, To itself abandon'd quite, Lies a bosom, truthful, loving,-- One that it must fill with pleasure 'Mongst so many, dull and blind, One true look at length to find, That its worth can rightly treasure.

Whilst I'm lost in studying ever To explain these cyphers duly,-- To unravel my looks truly In return be your endeavour! Translator unknown. The youngest of three children, He joined the Navy where he was soon discharged due to being diagnosed as a schizoid personality. Soon after, he became a merchant seaman and then decided on the life of a vagabond. This lifestyle gave him inspiration for his later novels.

Comment hi claus - traveller could also be Zigeuner Comment Hi noli, this is not really urgent. Take your time. Emily Dickinson. Cuckoo, cuckoo! Then hearken how the poplar trees unfold Their buds, yet close and gummed and blind, In airy leafage of the mind,. Zwei Segel sich schwellend Zu ruhiger Flucht!

Begehrt eins zu hasten, Das andre geht schnell, Verlangt eins zu rasten, Ruht auch sein Gesell. Gottfried Keller zu den bedeutensten Schweizer Dichtern des Comment The New World's History in Three Voices Confusing Cuba with a wealthy land, Columbus started what for centuries has plagued the people who survived in me: part-slave, part-royalty, part-Caliban, cross-dresser in the golden silk the sea rolls out along a beach that isn't mine, American yet un-American because not one of us is truly free,.

About Campo's work, the poet Mark Doty has said, "Rafael Campo's rhymes and iambs construct their music against the edgy, recognizable world his poems inhabit: the landscape of birth and of dying, sorrow and sex, shame and brave human persistence—first and last things, center stage in these large-hearted, open, deeply felt poems.

Das tut jener, der sich selbst bezwingt und seine Sinne in Gewahrsam bringt, wie ein Sturmschiff in des Hafens Hut. Walther von der Vogelweide. Comment Saget mir ieman, waz ist minne Saget mir ieman, waz ist minne? Walther von der Vogelweide Sage mir jemand, was ist Minne? Comment The Unknown Citizen He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be One against whom there was no official complaint, And all the reports on his conduct agree That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a saint, For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.

Auden Wystan Hugh Auden Auden war einer der bedeutendsten und vielseitigsten englischen Lyriker des Lexikon der englischen Literatur. Comment Signing Sympathy The ritual keeps us breathing from biopsy to biopsy. The lump out, or the whole breast; changing skylines of loss. She is the author of two chapbooks of poetry, Flower Half Blown and Epithalamion. Her first novel, Shiva's Arms, has been published recently. Von dem Auge weg der Schleier! Starre Riegel von dem Ohr! Tragen Wirbel mich empor?

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Und dessen ungeachtet wurde sie, in Ermangelung jedes andern weiblichen Wesens, — Schillers Laura. Comment A Girl The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms,. Translation: medicalwriter web. Pound is telling in this poem the part in which Daphne is turning into a laurel tree to scape from Apollo. The first part is told by Daphne in first person, telling her process of transformation. The second part is told by Apollo who is seeing the process.

If you want to understand better this poem, you should read the myth of Daphne and Apollo. Ist es ein lebendig Wesen, Das sich in sich selbst getrennt? Sind es zwei, die sich erlesen, Dass man sie als eines kennt? Solche Fragen zu erwidern Fand ich wohl den rechten Sinn. Comment The Widow's Lament In Springtime Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.

Thirtyfive years I lived with my husband. Eliot zum wichtigsten Dichter der amerikanischen Moderne. Faust, Mephistopheles, Irrlicht im Wechselgesang. Was wir hoffen, was wir lieben! Und das Echo, wie die Sage Alter Zeiten, hallet wider. Goethe Faust I The plum broke forth in green, The pear stood high and snowed, My friends and I between Would take the Ludlow road; Dressed to the nines and drinking And light in heart and limb, And each chap thinking The fair was held for him.

Between the trees in flower New friends at fairtime tread The way where Ludlow tower Stands planted on the dead. Ay, yonder lads are yet The fools that we were then; For oh, the sons we get Are still the sons of men. The sumless tale of sorrow Is all unrolled in vain: May comes to-morrow And Ludlow fair again. April in Cambridge , normalerweise bekannt als A. Comment The Workers' Maypole Let the winds lift your banners from far lands With a message of strife and of hope: Raise the Maypole aloft with its garlands That gathers your cause in its scope When the World's Workers, sisters and brothers, Shall build, in the new coming years, A lair house of life—not for others, For the earth and its fulness is theirs.

Into the roaring Square! Shake the midtown towers! Shatter the downtown air! Comment Money often costs too much. Ralph Waldo Emerson. Juli ebenda war ein Schweizer Dichter und Politiker. Comment Zur Jahreszeit passend mein liebstes engl. Gedicht: I wandered Lonely As A Cloud I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed--and gazed--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth. Gleich ihnen, Wellen tanzen heut, Doch Blumen tanzen froher noch. Rainer Maria Rilke. Comment The Clowd I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. Comment Der Abenteurer "Abenteurer, wo willst Du hin? Ich will mich treiben lassen In Welten, die nur ein Fremder sieht. Joachim Ringelnatz. Bin ich gleich weit von dir, bin ich doch im Traum bei dir und red' mit dir; wenn ich erwachen tu, wenn ich erwachen tu, bin ich allein.

Und die andere, die ging auch zu Bett, Aber hier zu Haus bei mir. Joachim Ringelnatz — Comment Just a Smack at Auden Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end. What is there to be or do? Are we kind or are we true? Sitting two and two, boys, waiting for the end. Shall we make a tale, boys, that things are sure to mend, Playing bluff and hale, boys, waiting for the end? It will be born stale, boys, stinking to offend, Dying ere it fail, boys, waiting for the end.

Shall we go all wild, boys, waste and make them lend, Playing at the child, boys, waiting for the end? It has all been filed, boys, history has a trend, Each of us enisled, boys, waiting for the end. What was said by Marx, boys, what did he perpend? No good being sparks, boys, waiting for the end. Treason of the clerks, boys, curtains that descend, Lights becoming darks, boys, waiting for the end. Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end. Not a chance of blend, boys, things have got to tend. Think of those who vend, boys, think of how we wend, Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end.

September — April war ein englischer Literaturkritiker und Dichter. Comment She Walks In Beauty She walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent! Goethe This leaf from a tree in the East, Has been given to my garden. It reveals a certain secret, Which pleases me and thoughtful people. Does it represent One living creature Which has divided itself? Or are these Two, which have decided, That they should be as One?

Beide kannte ich bislang nicht in diesen Sprachen. Ein klitzekleines Gedicht zum Abend Ein Stern in einem Haufen Mist. Heinrich Heine. Was ich Dir sagen wollte, ist eh nicht wichtig, oder mehr: Ich mag' Dich - sehr. Comment Ein Limerickdichter aus Aachen, nicht ahnend, was Limericks versprachen, der trieb es zu bunt, und das war der Grund, dass die Freunde zuletzt mit ihm brachen. All we are saying is give peace a chance, All we are saying is give peace a chance.

Let me tell you now Ev'rybody's talking about Revolution, Evolution, mastication, flagellation, regulation, integrations, meditations, United Nations, Congratulations. Juni November bei Ors, Frankreich war ein britischer Dichter und Soldat. Er gilt als der bedeutendste Zeitzeuge des Ersten Weltkriegs in der englischen Literatur. No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells, Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, -- The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all? But many there stood still To face the stark, blank sky beyond the ridge, Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world. Marvelling they stood, and watched the long grass swirled By the May breeze, murmurous with wasp and midge, For though the summer oozed into their veins Like the injected drug for their bones' pains, Sharp on their souls hung the imminent line of grass, Fearfully flashed the sky's mysterious glass. Hour after hour they ponder the warm field -- And the far valley behind, where the buttercups Had blessed with gold their slow boots coming up, Where even the little brambles would not yield, But clutched and clung to them like sorrowing hands; They breathe like trees unstirred.

Till like a cold gust thrilled the little word At which each body and its soul begird And tighten them for battle. No alarms Of bugles, no high flags, no clamorous haste -- Only a lift and flare of eyes that faced The sun, like a friend with whom their love is done. O larger shone that smile against the sun, -- Mightier than his whose bounty these have spurned.

So, soon they topped the hill, and raced together Over an open stretch of herb and heather Exposed. And instantly the whole sky burned With fury against them; and soft sudden cups Opened in thousands for their blood; and the green slopes Chasmed and steepened sheer to infinite space. Of them who running on that last high place Leapt to swift unseen bullets, or went up On the hot blast and fury of hell's upsurge, Or plunged and fell away past this world's verge, Some say God caught them even before they fell. But what say such as from existence' brink Ventured but drave too swift to sink.

The few who rushed in the body to enter hell, And there out-fiending all its fiends and flames With superhuman inhumanities, Long-famous glories, immemorial shames -- And crawling slowly back, have by degrees Regained cool peaceful air in wonder -- Why speak they not of comrades that went under? Life, to be sure, Is nothing much to lose, But young men think it is, And we were young. Comment To moustique: Lavender The unforgettable beauty of lavender Occurs in both the earth And in the colors of the sky.

An aromatic flower, As well as part of the many changing Shades of the daily heavens on high. His poetry covers a wide range of themes from love, moonlight, fantasy, beauty, nature, time, and the religious-spiritual. His writing style changes depending on the subject and mood of a particular poem.

Exhaler le venin de sa bouche impunie. Friederike Kempner, Comment Caminante No Hay Camino Todo pasa y todo queda, pero lo nuestro es pasar, pasar haciendo caminos, caminos sobre el mar. Al alejarse le vieron llorar. Cuando el poeta es un peregrino, cuando de nada nos sirve rezar. Antonio Machado You come abroad, and make a harmless show, And to your beds of earth again. You are not proud: you know your birth: For your embroider'd garments are from earth. You do obey your months and times, but I Would have it ever Spring: My fate would know no Winter, never die, Nor think of such a thing.

O that I could my bed of earth but view And smile, and look as cheerfully as you! O teach me to see Death and not to fear, But rather to take truce! How often have I seen you at a bier, And there look fresh and spruce! You fragrant flowers! Henry King — English poet and bishop. Ein jeder sucht im Arm des Freundes Ruh! Der mich liebt und kennt, Ist in der Weite. Es schwindelt mir, es brennt Mein Eingeweide. Alone, and far away From all joy severed, Seeing the sky always On every side.

Who love me and know me, they Distantly hide. Only the Yearning, they Know what I suffer! Es wird still. Sie sehn sich um. Eine Frage.

Writ in Water?

Keine Antwort. Ein Gesicht erbleicht. Auf den Bergen hebt er schon zu tanzen an Und er schreit: Ihr Krieger alle, auf und an. Georg Heym — The War Now he has arisen: he, who slept so long, from the depth arisen, out of arches strong. Huge he stands and unknown in the twilight land, and the moon he crushes in his blackened hand. Broad on city's evening, wide and angrily shadows fall, and frost of strange obscurity makes the market's bustle stop in icy scare. Silence reigns. They turn - and no one is aware. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe A violet stood upon the lea A violet stood upon the lea, Hunched o'er in anonymity; So amiable a violet!

Along there came a young shepherdess Light paced, full of contentedness Along, along, The lea, and sang her song. Comment Here is the first verse of one of William Barnes' best poems. It was written in Dorset dialect now mostly extinct. In standard English: When wintry weather is over, And brooks sparkle in the sun, And noisy building rooks flee With sticks towards their elm tree; When birds sing, and we can see Upon the boughs the buds of spring,- Then I'm as happy as a king, Afield with health and sunshine.

Comment Thank you, Ecgberht, for adding this original spring poem. This is an extraction of what I've found about Barnes on Wikipedia: William Barnes 22 February — 7 October was an English writer, poet, minister, and philologist. He was born at Rushay in the parish of Bagber, Dorset, the son of a farmer. He first contributed the Dorset dialect poems for which he is best known to periodicals, including Macmillan's Magazine; a collection in book form Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect, was published in A second collection Hwomely Rhymes followed in , and a third collection in ; a combined edition appeared in Vor we do hear the blackbird zing His sweetest ditties in the spring, When nippen win's noo mwore do blow Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow, But dreve light doust along between The leane-zide hedges, thick an' green; An' zoo the blackbird in among The boughs do zing the gayest zong.

Vor when my work is all a-done Avore the zetten o' the zun, Then blushen Jeane do walk along The hedge to meet me in the drong, An' stay till all is dim an' dark Bezides the ashen tree's white bark; An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill An' runnen evenen-whissle's still. An' there in bwoyhood I did rove Wi' pryen eyes along the drove To vind the nest the blackbird meade O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheade; Or climb aloft, wi' clingen knees, Vor crows' aggs up in swayen trees, While frightened blackbirds down below Did chatter o' their little foe.

An' zoo there's noo pleace lik' the drong, Where I do hear the blackbird's zong. William Barnes. Thomas Hardy Order of Merit 2 June — 11 January was an English novelist and poet of the naturalist movement, although in several poems he displays elements of the previous romantic and enlightenment periods of literature, such as his fascination with the supernatural. I've treasured it long as a sainted prize ; I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs.

Would ye learn the spell? In Childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed seat with listening ear ; And gentle words that mother would give ; To fit me to die, and teach me to live. She told me shame would never betide, With truth for my creed and God for my guide ; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer ; As I knelt beside that old Arm-chair. I sat and watched her many a day, When her eye grew dim, and her locks were grey : And I almost worshipped her when she smiled, And turned from her Bible, to bless her child.

Years rolled on; but the last one sped-- My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled : I learnt how much the heart can bear, When I saw her die in that old Arm-chair. Say it is folly, and deem me weak, While the scalding drops start down my cheek ; But I love it, I love it ; and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old Arm-chair. Her poem The Old Armchair made hers a household name for a generation, both in England and in America. Cook was a proponent of political and sexual freedom for women, and believed in the ideology of self-improvement through education, something she called "levelling up.

Comment Ah I was reminded again today of how refreshingly angry and funny D. Lawrence could often be in his Pansies : Intimates Don't you care for my love? I handed her the mirror, and said: Please address these questions to the proper person! Please make all requests to head-quarters!

In all matters of emotional importance please approach the supreme authority direct! So I handed her the mirror. And she would have broken it over my head, but she caught sight of her own reflection and that held her spellbound for two seconds while I fled. Comment Thank you, Phillipp, for this ever fresh poem by D. Lawrence David Herbert Richards Lawrence 11 September — 2 March was an English author, poet, playwright, essayist and literary critic.

As I've just learnt from Wikipedia, Lawrence's opinions earned him many enemies and he endured official persecution, censorship, and misrepresentation of his creative work throughout the second half of his life The latter book, his last major novel, was initially published in private editions in Florence and Paris and reinforced his notoriety. Lawrence responded robustly to those who claimed to be offended, penning a large number of satirical poems, published under the title of "Pansies" and "Nettles".

Auden was an Anglo-American poet, born in England, later an American citizen, regarded by many as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century. He was the son of a physician. Give me a doctor Give me a doctor partridge-plump, Short in the leg and broad in the rump,.

But with a twinkle in his eye Will tell me that I have to die. Mai war ein englischer Naturdichter und bekannt als einer der besten Beschreiber des Landlebens. To everybody it was plain That Piggy had a massive brain. He worked out sums inside his head, There was no book he hadn't read. He knew what made an airplane fly, He knew how engines worked and why. November in Great Missenden, Buckinghamshire war ein norwegisch-walisischer Schriftsteller. Aber vor des Kampfes Gitter Ritt zuletzt ein schwarzer Ritter.

Und zur reichen Tafel kamen Alle Ritter, alle Damen. Wohin der graue, Erschrockne Vater schaue, Sieht er eins der Kinder sterben. Comment The Whitsun Weddings That Whitsun, I was late getting away: Not till about One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out, All windows down, all cushions hot, all sense Of being in a hurry gone. We slowed again, And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain. Comment i carry your heart with me i carry your heart with me i carry it in my heart i am never without it anywhere i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling i fear no fate for you are my fate,my sweet i want no world for beautiful you are my world,my true and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you.

Ich trage Dein Herz! Ich trage Dein Herz bei mir. Ich trage es in meinem Herzen. Nie bin ich ohne es. Comment In a Station of the Metro The apparition of these faces in the crowd; petals on a wet, black bough. Because of the treatment of the subject's appearance by way of the poem's own visuality, it is considered a quintessential Imagist text.

The feelings I don't have, I won't say I have.

  • During the Reign of the Queen of Persia (New York Review Books Classics).
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The felings you say you have, you don't have. The feelings you would like us both to have, we neither of us have.


The feelings people ought to have, they never have. If people say they've got feelings, you may be pretty sure they haven't got them So if you want either of us to feel anything at all you'd better abandon all idea of feelings altogether. Lawrence — David Herbert Lawrence was one of the most important, certainly one of the most controversial, English writers of the 20th century.

Richard Wagner and the Articulation of a German Opera, 1798-1876

Comment A Thunderstorm A moment the wild swallows like a flight Of withered gust-caught leaves, serenely high, Toss in the windrack up the muttering sky. The leaves hang still. Above the weird twilight, The hurrying centres of the storm unite And spreading with huge trunk and rolling fringe, Each wheeled upon its own tremendous hinge, Tower darkening on. And now from heaven's height, With the long roar of elm-trees swept and swayed, And pelted waters, on the vanished plain Plunges the blast.

Behind the wild white flash That splits abroad the pealing thunder-crash, Over bleared fields and gardens disarrayed, Column on column comes the drenching rain. Archibald Lampman — widely regarded as Canada's finest 19th-century English-language poet. Comment O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray, Warbl'st at eve, when all the Woods are still Thou with fresh hope the Lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May, Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day, First heard before the shallow Cuckoo's bill Portend success in love; O if Jove's will Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some Grove nigh: As thou from year to year hath sung too late For my relief; yet hadst no reason why, Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

November in Bunhill bei London war ein englischer Dichter und Staatsphilosoph. Ich diene beiden, die mich alles lehrten. Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare. April in Wiesbaden war ein deutscher Schriftsteller. Nie prahle Tod, du gingst in seinem Schatten. In ewigen Reimen ragst du in die Zeit. Solang als Menschen atmen, Augen sehn Wird dies und du der darin lebt bestehn.


So lang, wie Menschen atmen, Augen sehn, so lang lebt dies, so lang wirst du bestehn. Die Sonette. This highly inventive, blackly humorous tale, told entirely in rhymed couplets, was written and illustrated by Wilhelm Busch and published in Busch's classic tale of the terrible duo now in the public domain has since become a proud part of the culture in German-speaking countries. Even to day, parents usually read these tales to their not-yet-literate children.

Hope you enjoy reading the German-English text. Und dies hier: I will arise and go now, And go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, Of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, A hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, For peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning To where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, And noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, For always night and day I hear lake water lapping With low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway Or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core. William Butler Yeats, Comment Re. Thus began the King and spake: 'So from the halls Of ancient hofburg's walls, A luxuriant Spring shall break.

To the barrier of the fight Rode at last a sable Knight. Pipe and viol call the dances, Torch-light through the high halls glances; Waves a mighty shadow in; With manner bland Doth ask the maiden's hand, Doth with ter the dance begin. Danced in sable iron sark, Danced a measure weird and dark, Coldly clasped her limbs around; From breast and hair Down fall from her the fair Flowerets, faded, to the ground. To the sumptuous banquet came Every Knight and every Dame, 'Twixt son and daughter all distraught, With mournful mind The ancient King reclined, Gazed at them in silent thought.

Pale the children both did look, But the guest a beaker took: 'Golden wine will make you whole! The children drank, Gave many a courteous thank: 'O, that draught was very cool! Spake the grim Guest, From his hollow, cavernous breast; 'Roses in the spring I gather! Comment my mind is my mind is a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and chipping with sharp fatal tools. Lloyd N. Comment Don't tell me property is sacred! Don't tell me property is sacred!

Things that move--yes! Whereas I'm quiet. I was born with poor eyes and a house. She lived most of her life here in rural isolation. Comment Ode on a Grecian Urn Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What struggle to escape?

What wild ecstasy?

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  7. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

    Ah, happy, happy boughs! Who are these coming to the sacrifice? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. Attic shape! Fair attitude! Calligramme konkrete Poesie All, This article is not meant as a lecture but more of a common forum for sharing poems that may be interesting for various reasons, including your very personal taste. I look forward to receiving some input from you every now and then O, my Luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune.

    As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my Dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun! O I will luve thee still, my Dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile! Und lebe wohl, meine einzige Liebe, und lebe eine Weile wohl! Comment Die Pansies von franz. Lawrence s. And when we fail to transmit life, life fails to flow through us. This is part of the mystery of sex, it is a flow onwards.

    Sexless people transmit nothing. And if, as we work, we can transmit life into our work, life, still more life, rushes into us to compensate, to be ready and we ripple with life through the days. Even if it is a woman making an apple dumpling, or a man a stool, if life goes into the pudding, good is the pudding good is the stool, content is the woman, with fresh life rippling in to her, content is the man.

    Give, and it shall be given unto you is still the truth about life. But giving life is not so easy. It doesn't mean handing it out to some mean fool, or letting the living dead eat you up. It means kindling the life quality where it was not, even if it's only in the whiteness of a washed pocket-handkerchief. Lawrence Der dritte Text war "perfection" von Ernst Jandl : Perfection 0 lovely apple!

    No one has moved you since I placed you on the porch rail a Month ago to ripen. No one. No one! Wie satt und feucht der Mantel aus Braun auf jenem un- angetasteten Fleisch! Comment Phillipp: Many thanks for introducing selected poems by D. Lawrence here. Idiosynchratic works are appreciated. Vielen Dank. Spring Breezes Spring breezes over the blue, now lightly frolicking in some tropic bay, go forth to meet her way, for here the spell hath won and dream is true.

    And now I bid thee bring tenderly hither over a subject sea that golden one whose grace hath made me king, and, soon to glad my gaze at shut of day, loosen'd in happy air her charmed hair. Oktober ebd. Comment A Gift See! I give myself to you, Beloved! My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a shelf. Their shapes are quaint and beautiful, And they have many pleasant colours and lustres To recommend them.

    Also the scent from them fills the room With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses. When I shall have given you the last one, You will have the whole of me, But I shall be dead. Mai ebenda war eine amerikanische Frauenrechtlerin und Dichterin. A bird picks up its seeds or little snails between heedless earth and heaven in heedlessness.