What is poetry?
- Thread starter Agent327
- Start date
I'm not sure why you quote a poem then?
Varwnos, I had never heard of Lenau before, but the translation is not one of the best. The original is simply entitled Die Drei (The Three), and, for example, it mentions vultures at the end (not crows); also the three speak alternately, not in unison. Maid (in line 13) is a variation of Mädchen, Mädel, meaning simply girl (basically the same word as in English maid).
Here's the original from Die deutsche Gedichtebibliothek (with a cutout of a picture of him):
Die Drei
Drei Reiter nach verlorner Schlacht,
Wie reiten sie so sacht, so sacht!
Aus tiefen Wunden quillt das Blut,
Es spürt das Roß die warme Flut.
Vom Sattel tropft das Blut, vom Zaum,
Und spült hinunter Staub und Schaum.
Die Rosse schreiten sanft und weich,
Sonst flöß das Blut zu rasch, zu reich.
Die Reiter reiten dicht gesellt,
Und einer sich am andern hält.
Sie sehn sich traurig ins Gesicht,
Und einer um den andern spricht:
»Mir blüht daheim die schönste Maid,
Drum tut mein früher Tod mir leid.«
»Hab Haus und Hof und grünen Wald,
Und sterben muß ich hier so bald!«
»Den Blick hab ich in Gottes Welt,
Sonst nichts, doch schwer mirs Sterben fällt.«
Und lauernd auf den Todesritt
Ziehn durch die Luft drei Geier mit.
Sie teilen kreischend unter sich:
»Den speisest du, den du, den ich.«
Nikolaus Lenau, 1842
Varwnos, I had never heard of Lenau before, but the translation is not one of the best. The original is simply entitled Die Drei (The Three), and, for example, it mentions vultures at the end (not crows); also the three speak alternately, not in unison. Maid (in line 13) is a variation of Mädchen, Mädel, meaning simply girl (basically the same word as in English maid).
Here's the original from Die deutsche Gedichtebibliothek (with a cutout of a picture of him):
Die Drei
Drei Reiter nach verlorner Schlacht,
Wie reiten sie so sacht, so sacht!
Aus tiefen Wunden quillt das Blut,
Es spürt das Roß die warme Flut.
Vom Sattel tropft das Blut, vom Zaum,
Und spült hinunter Staub und Schaum.
Die Rosse schreiten sanft und weich,
Sonst flöß das Blut zu rasch, zu reich.
Die Reiter reiten dicht gesellt,
Und einer sich am andern hält.
Sie sehn sich traurig ins Gesicht,
Und einer um den andern spricht:
»Mir blüht daheim die schönste Maid,
Drum tut mein früher Tod mir leid.«
»Hab Haus und Hof und grünen Wald,
Und sterben muß ich hier so bald!«
»Den Blick hab ich in Gottes Welt,
Sonst nichts, doch schwer mirs Sterben fällt.«
Und lauernd auf den Todesritt
Ziehn durch die Luft drei Geier mit.
Sie teilen kreischend unter sich:
»Den speisest du, den du, den ich.«
Nikolaus Lenau, 1842
Another poem from the Cavafy archive. This time a "hidden" one. I have it in greek of course and i like it a lot 
Poseidonians
([We behave like] the Poseidonians in the
Tyrrhenian Gulf, who although of Greek
origin, became barbarized as Tyrrhenians
or Romans and changed their speech and
the customs of their ancestors. But they
observe one Greek festival even to this
day; during this they gather together and
call up from memory their ancient names
and customs, and then, lamenting loudly
to each other and weeping, they go away.
Athenaios, Deipnosophistai, Book 14, 31A (632) )
The Poseidonians forgot the Greek language
after so many centuries of mingling
with Tyrrhenians, Latins, and other foreigners.
The only thing surviving from their ancestors
was a Greek festival, with beautiful rites,
with lyres and flutes, contests and wreaths.
And it was their habit toward the festival’s end
to tell each other about their ancient customs
and once again to speak Greek names
that only a few of them still recognized.
And so their festival always had a melancholy ending
because they remembered that they too were Greeks,
they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia;
and how low they’d fallen now, what they’d become,
living and speaking like barbarians,
cut off so disastrously from the Greek way of life.
What i love about this poem is that it presents so vividly the decline of greek civilization and Rome, a barbaric entity, taking over. It first happened in Magna Grecia, but later on moved to the rest of the hellenic world...
Poseidonians
([We behave like] the Poseidonians in the
Tyrrhenian Gulf, who although of Greek
origin, became barbarized as Tyrrhenians
or Romans and changed their speech and
the customs of their ancestors. But they
observe one Greek festival even to this
day; during this they gather together and
call up from memory their ancient names
and customs, and then, lamenting loudly
to each other and weeping, they go away.
Athenaios, Deipnosophistai, Book 14, 31A (632) )
The Poseidonians forgot the Greek language
after so many centuries of mingling
with Tyrrhenians, Latins, and other foreigners.
The only thing surviving from their ancestors
was a Greek festival, with beautiful rites,
with lyres and flutes, contests and wreaths.
And it was their habit toward the festival’s end
to tell each other about their ancient customs
and once again to speak Greek names
that only a few of them still recognized.
And so their festival always had a melancholy ending
because they remembered that they too were Greeks,
they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia;
and how low they’d fallen now, what they’d become,
living and speaking like barbarians,
cut off so disastrously from the Greek way of life.
What i love about this poem is that it presents so vividly the decline of greek civilization and Rome, a barbaric entity, taking over. It first happened in Magna Grecia, but later on moved to the rest of the hellenic world...
Very nice. (I'm afraid I shall have to look up this one.) As usual Kavafis mixes melancholy with a historical twist of his own making. Obviously the Romans weren't Greek (although their elite did speak Greek) - unless he is referring in a bizarre way to his favourite Byzantines again -, nor the Tyrrhenoi (as the Greeks called the Etruscans), who are suspected of having a Minor Asian heritage, which then, curiously, connects them to Vergil's Aeneid, or Caesar's supposed ancestor Aeneas. Marvelous, isn't it?
You are correct ofcourse... Paestum! By the way, I forgot to mention a new integral translation of Federico Garcia Lorca's poetry is being published in my home country. (It's on my wishlist.) In slightly unrelated news Garcia Lorca's apparent grave was recently opened, after long resistance from his family, only to be found empty. (Now where have I heard that story before?) So either he was never buried there, or his body had been exhumed and relocated before already. Notwithstanding this the site had been renamed Parque Garcia Lorca (Garcia Lorca Park) and has been attracting Lorca fans for quite some time.
This is, at least in Greece, the most famous poem by Cavafy. It is, of course, along with some others, part of school literature learning. I like this translation of it
Ithaca
As you set out for Ithaca
hope that your journey is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon-don't be afraid of them:
you'll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare sensasion
touches your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon-you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope that your journey is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind-
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and learn again from those who know.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so that you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaca to make you rich.
Ithaca gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would have not set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithacas mean.
I particularly like the "Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon-you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
" part. It is so true
And this is a video of the poem, recited by Sean Connery with music by Vangelis:
Link to video.
Ithaca
As you set out for Ithaca
hope that your journey is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon-don't be afraid of them:
you'll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare sensasion
touches your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon-you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
Hope that your journey is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind-
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and learn again from those who know.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so that you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaca to make you rich.
Ithaca gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would have not set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithacas mean.
I particularly like the "Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon-you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.
" part. It is so true
And this is a video of the poem, recited by Sean Connery with music by Vangelis:
Link to video.
Adam Asnyk, Daremne Żale.
Daremne żale - próżny trud,
Bezsilne złorzeczenia!
Przeżytych kształtów żaden cud
Nie wróci do istnienia.
Świat wam nie odda, idąc wstecz,
Znikomych mar szeregu -
Nie zdoła ogień ani miecz
Powstrzymać myśli w biegu.
Trzeba z żywymi naprzód iść,
Po życie sięgać nowe...
A nie w uwiędłych laurów liść
Z uporem stroić głowę.
Wy nie cofniecie życia fal!
Nic skargi nie pomogą
Bezsilne gniewy, próżny żal!
Świat pójdzie swoją drogą.
@@@
Adam Asnyk, Futile Griefs
Futile griefs - vain efforts,
Powerless curses!
No miracle will bring
worn out (1) shapes back into existance
The world will not turn back and return to you
Disappeared biers' (2) row
Nor Fire nor sword
Will stop the thought's course (3)
One must move forward with the living,
Reach out for a new life...
Not stubbornly decorate one's head
With a faded laurel wreath
You won't stop the waves of life!
Complains won't help (you).
Vain efforts, futile griefs!
The world will go its own way.
(1) "lived out", which means ones which once had a meaning, a purpouse, but it's ended already
(2) A bier is something you put a coffin on. It signifies dead people in polish, so perhaps one should translate it as "coffins" or something else, I don't know.
(3) "in its run"
Anyway, it's a very powerful poem, at least in polish, and very different than other poems of this author I know.
Daremne żale - próżny trud,
Bezsilne złorzeczenia!
Przeżytych kształtów żaden cud
Nie wróci do istnienia.
Świat wam nie odda, idąc wstecz,
Znikomych mar szeregu -
Nie zdoła ogień ani miecz
Powstrzymać myśli w biegu.
Trzeba z żywymi naprzód iść,
Po życie sięgać nowe...
A nie w uwiędłych laurów liść
Z uporem stroić głowę.
Wy nie cofniecie życia fal!
Nic skargi nie pomogą
Bezsilne gniewy, próżny żal!
Świat pójdzie swoją drogą.
@@@
Adam Asnyk, Futile Griefs
Futile griefs - vain efforts,
Powerless curses!
No miracle will bring
worn out (1) shapes back into existance
The world will not turn back and return to you
Disappeared biers' (2) row
Nor Fire nor sword
Will stop the thought's course (3)
One must move forward with the living,
Reach out for a new life...
Not stubbornly decorate one's head
With a faded laurel wreath
You won't stop the waves of life!
Complains won't help (you).
Vain efforts, futile griefs!
The world will go its own way.
(1) "lived out", which means ones which once had a meaning, a purpouse, but it's ended already
(2) A bier is something you put a coffin on. It signifies dead people in polish, so perhaps one should translate it as "coffins" or something else, I don't know.
(3) "in its run"
Anyway, it's a very powerful poem, at least in polish, and very different than other poems of this author I know.
Thank you, Squonk! Background information on Adam Asnyk (1838-1897) to be found on the web appears rather scant. Some more translations, also from other Polish poets, can be found here:
http://home.roadrunner.com/~polishlit/turn.html#asny
http://home.roadrunner.com/~polishlit/turn.html#asny
I find it displays a remarkable interpretration of the Odyssey (which I read long ago, together with the Iliad, in a version which I later discovered was adapted for youthful readers). He doesn't hide the fact that his wish for Ulysses' journey is full of hindsight and, though I disagree with the line She has nothing left to give you now (since his wife and son are there), appreciate his hinting at the poverty of that island kingdom. (Also, since I think of it, there is no mention of Egypt in the Odyssey, is there?) I like his usual personal twist to Greek history - in this case the literal history.
Also, Adam Asnyk's poem struck me as consistent with the mood in other (translated) poems of his, making me wonder why Squonk thinks this one is unlike the others.
Also, Adam Asnyk's poem struck me as consistent with the mood in other (translated) poems of his, making me wonder why Squonk thinks this one is unlike the others.
My own view is that it is entirely metaphorical
Speaking about what, in his view, one should look out for in life. Im not sure what Ithaca is, but perhaps it is old age, since Cavafy was quite old by the time he wrote his famous poems. And indeed old age does not have that much to give apart from thinking of the past, and of the knowledge and experience gained through the journey to it.
Speaking about what, in his view, one should look out for in life. Im not sure what Ithaca is, but perhaps it is old age, since Cavafy was quite old by the time he wrote his famous poems. And indeed old age does not have that much to give apart from thinking of the past, and of the knowledge and experience gained through the journey to it.
there's a very nice translation of the poem I posted as well:
Pointless your mourning
Pointless your mourning and your toil
Helpless your curses dire
Past forms no miracle can bring
Back from funereal pyre.
The world will not release its grip
On fleeting ghosts of yore
Fire or sword will not bring back
What's lost forevermore.
One must go forward with the living
Reach for new life, instead
Of placing a bunch of wasted laurels
Stubbornly on one's head.
You shall not turn the tide of life!
Your anger keep at bay
Pointless your mourning and your toil
The world shall go its way.
Yes, I noticed that one as well, but didn't want to 'correct' your version.
That is ofcourse possible, but I do not agree with the view that a poem should only be read in a certain - accepted or other - way. If you look at it in a methaphorical way, you could be correct indeed, as everyone is then travelling towards his or her own Ithaca (hence the 'many Ithacas'); I still do not agree that even that Ithaca holds no surprise for our hero - unless Ulysses here is Cavafy himself. I would like to comment that Kavafis/Cavafy started publishing poems in his twenties, which isn't exactly 'old age'.
My own view is that it is entirely metaphorical
Speaking about what, in his view, one should look out for in life. Im not sure what Ithaca is, but perhaps it is old age, since Cavafy was quite old by the time he wrote his famous poems. And indeed old age does not have that much to give apart from thinking of the past, and of the knowledge and experience gained through the journey to it.
That is ofcourse possible, but I do not agree with the view that a poem should only be read in a certain - accepted or other - way. If you look at it in a methaphorical way, you could be correct indeed, as everyone is then travelling towards his or her own Ithaca (hence the 'many Ithacas'); I still do not agree that even that Ithaca holds no surprise for our hero - unless Ulysses here is Cavafy himself. I would like to comment that Kavafis/Cavafy started publishing poems in his twenties, which isn't exactly 'old age'.
A remarkable new poetry thread to which I'm linking here: http://forums.civfanatics.com/showthread.php?t=349333
Excellent start of the new year.
Excellent start of the new year.
Jeelen it seems that you have run out of poems to post (or are too lazy nowdays 
).
I was looking for some poem by Leopardi which i had read when i was 17, but cannot find it now.
I will probably post some more Kavafis instead, later
). I was looking for some poem by Leopardi which i had read when i was 17, but cannot find it now.
I will probably post some more Kavafis instead, later
