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Doris Leibold Thank you, now I'll have to try translating Brecht. I'll post up my translation for comparison as well :- slightly OT and just out of curiousity: If you're into Country do you also like James Taylor? Comment Doris Also James Taylor und country, a bit far fetched or, I love him too, if I might join this conversation, and songs are just poems put to music, or??? Comment Doris Leibold - alas I don't know he's new to me, but then he's probably more modern than my tastes which would be more traditional country up to about the 80s.

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I'm a sucker for what Tom T Hall I think calls a somebody-done-somebody-wrong-song Now on the net I listen mainly to bluegrass and oldies on www. Comment Correction, there's no ',but' in the web address:- www. Comment whilst talking about translating poetry what do you think of my attempt to do justice to the Mary Oliver one. Inzwischen geht das Leben weiter. Comment Carola - In case you were wondering what my posting to you was all about.

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Then when I had neatly put them all away again you came up with a web site called 'country bumpkin' and I just had to hear that song again, so here are the words. Have a clean handkerchief handy! I've seen some sights and man you're somethin'Where d'you come from country bumpkin? Comment Loves healing When soul is touched by love unbounded And body hunger stilled with tenderness, A pain long held in deep despair, Can fin'lly be expressed Nothing the soul in bondage more retains as tears not wept and cries un-unttered Oce hopw of love is entering the heart Those tears cna dries can freely flow.

From depth I did not know existed, They bring with them The life I always sought. Comment Jutta - sorry I can't help you with Kleist and sorry for offering songs like Country Bumpkin. I just like the melody and suppose the difference with poems is they must make their own melody with the placing of the words etc.

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I haven't had a chance to get into the translation of Brecht's Vergnugen. It just can't be translated literally word for word,but I'm working on it. I'm looking for an Ulster Scots poem for you. Comment Everybody's image of what poetry is, or was, with wistful lines evoking strong images in rhyming verse, is A. Housman, and you can't do better than the collection "A Shropshire Lad".

Here's the beginning of "To an athlete dying young" The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. To-day, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose.

Comment Peter: I don't understand this line: To-day, the road all runners come I'm missing a preposition or something? Comment JGMcI don't scold yourself my dear, its o. I loved your poem with the "rs" left out, first I though it was some form of Cockney, but I did understand it even without the explanations. Translations, I think the power of poetry is the images it confers through the metaphors used, so in one language they might work, in another they wont.

And I don't know who quoted it before, and I even forgot who it is by, but it says "Tanslations are like women, the beautiful ones are not faithful and the faithful ones are not beautifu" its a bit of a stereotype, but I think there is something in it. I just picked up a lovely little Reclam book. Max und Moritz auf englisch.

I guess you are familiar with the stories told by Wilhelm Busch. It is so different in English in places, but it is so wonderful to read. It is just a small little thing, if you like it I mail you one, if you send me your address. Here too spring is arriving the sun was out all day long, it is glorious. Comment Hi Doris, A bit of poetic license, it makes a native speaker pause slightly also; but yes, that's how I interpret it too; insert 'along' or 'on' or 'down' after 'today'. Even then, I see two possible readings perhaps intentional?

Jutta: despise the quote; I rather prefer this one: "Traduttore traditori". Comment Sara Teasdale. Spring Night THE park is filled with night and fog, The veils are drawn about the world, The drowsy lights along the paths Are dim and pearled. Gold and gleaming the empty streets, Gold and gleaming the misty lake, The mirrored lights like sunken swords, Glimmer and shake.

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Oh, is it not enough to be Here with this beauty over me? My throat should ache with praise, and I Should kneel in joy beneath the sky. O beauty, are you not enough? Why am I crying after love, With youth, a singing voice, and eyes To take earth's wonder with surprise? Why am I crying after love?

Comment Peter can you translate your quote please, interesting you should have such a strong reaction to my quote, I can related to it very well. I hope you are well What do you find special about it? Comment Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, The night above the dingle starry, Time let me hail and climb Golden in the haydays of his eyes, And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves Trail with daisies and barley Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home, In the sun that is young once only, Time let me play and be Golden in the mercy of his means, And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold, And the sabbath rang slowly In the pebbles of the holy streams. All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air And playing, lovely and watery And fire green as grass. And nightly under the simple stars As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away, All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars Flying with the ricks, and the horses Flashing into the dark.

So it must have been after the birth of the simple light In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm Out of the whinnying green stable On to the fields of praise. And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long, In the sun born over and over, I ran my heedless ways, My wishes raced through the house high hay And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs Before the children green and golden Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand, In the moon that is always rising, Nor that riding to sleep I should hear him fly with the high fields And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land. Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means, Time held me green and dying Though I sang in my chains like the sea. Comment Hi Jutta, As I see it, it's a comment on the futility of attaining perfection in translation; or looking at it another way, a translator's best effort will ultimately betray the original.

Literally, it means "translators [are] traitors". Comment one of my all time favorites is the hunting of the snark by lewis carroll. The first is the taste, Which is meager and hollow, but crisp: Like a coat that is rather too tight in the waist, With a flavor of Will-o-the-wisp. Should you happen to venture on one, It will sigh like a thing that is deeply distressed: And it always looks grave at a pun.

It next will be right To describe each particular batch: Distinguishing those that have feathers, and bite, And those that have whiskers, and scratch. Comment Any milleniums today, lady?

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  • As I was wandering down the street with nothing in my head, a sign in the window spoke to me and this is what it said: "Are your pillows a pain in the neck? Are they lumpy, hard or torn?

    Are they full of old influenza germs? Are the feathers thin and forlorn? Bring 'em to us, we do the trick; re-puff, replenish, re-curl, re-tick, we return your pillows, spannend-and-spicked, re-puffed, replenished, re-curled, re-ticked. Is it lumpy, hard or torn? Is it full of evil ancestral germs that were old before you were born?

    Bring it to us, wo do the trick, re-puff, replenish, re-curl, re-tick, in twenty-four hours we return the world re-puffed, replenished, re-ticked, re-curled. The world remains a derelict, unpuffed, umplenished, uncirled, unticked. Odgen Nash. Comment Peter thanks for this "interpretation", funny I find this insulting the one on women I just find funny, and true, interesting.

    Andreas very funny and great rythem, one has to read it out loud to appriciate it. Thanks Heinz Don't we all know them the lumpy pillows, very funny. Comment Many thanks to Jutta and all for a thoroughly delightful thread. I think I may partially understand Jutta's appreciation for English-language verse, since when studying a foreign language, one may easily be impressed by the music of poetry - even when the subtlest meanings of the words are not clear.

    Auf welches Instrument sind wir gespannt? Und welcher Geiger hat uns in der Hand? Partnership: YES, you have it; I can see. Dear, look at me! Look and let my shame confess Triumph after weariness. Ah, yes. Lift it where the beams are bright; Hold it where the western light, Shining in above my bed, Throws a glory on your head. Now it is all said. All there was for me to say From the first until to-day. You have shown me how.