On the Third Shedding My skin already crinkles and cracks, Already craving for new desires, It has already stomached so much earth, The snake in me longs for it. Already I crawl between stone and grass Starving on a crooked trail, To eat what I have always eaten, You, the diet of snakes, you, earth! Pinie und Blitz Pine and Lightning Close by, the clouds are sitting: I wait on the first lightning.
Whoever has much to proclaim one day Geht die Welt nicht schief und schiefer? Isn't the world getting more and more crooked?
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The "True German. Der Wanderer The Wanderer Then a bird sings through the night. Was geht's dich an? Denn du sollst gehn Und nimmer, nimmer stille stehn! Was stehst du noch? The good bird falls silent and says: "No, wanderer, no! The night is not beautiful to me when alone.
What's that to you? For you must walk And never, never stand still! Why are you still standing there? What has my flute song done to you, You wandering man? Was steht er noch? The good bird fell silent and thought: "What has my flute song done to him? Why is he still standing there? Part 4. The Wandering Philosopher: Im deutschen November In the German November Fliege fort! Was ward die Welt so welk! Fly away! How the world became so withered! Upon worn, strained threads The wind plays its song. Oh fruit of the tree, Shaken, you fall? What lone secret did the night Teach you, That icy horror upon your cheeks, Upon your crimson cheeks?
Du schweigst, antwortest nicht? Wer redet noch? You are silent, do not answer? Who still speaks? Am Gletscher On the Glacier At noon, when The summer first rises into the mountains, The boy with the weary, burning eyes: There, too, he speaks, But we only see his speech.
His breath billows like an invalid's breath billows In feverous night. Icy mountain and fir and spring Reply to him as well, But we only see the reply. For, as a greeting, the torrent Drops down from the rocks And stands like a white trembling pillar, Longingly there. Likewise the eye of a dead man Will once again shine, When his grieving child Embraces, holds and kisses him: Once more, the dead eye's wavering Flame of light glowingly Speaks: "Child!
Oh child, you know I love you! Oh child, you know we dearly love you! And he, The boy with the weary, burning eyes, He kisses them grievingly, With constant ardor, And will not go; He blows his word just like a veil From his mouth, His grievous words "My greeting is farewell, My comings are goings, I will die young.
Da horcht es rings Und athmet kaum: Kein Vogel singt.
Then it listens all around And barely breathes: No bird sings. Then shivering It shudders, like The glittering mountain.
It was around noon, Around noon, when the summer First rose into the mountains, The boy with the weary, burning eyes. Der Freigeist The Free Spirit The crows caw And move in whirring flight to the city: Soon it will snow, Woe betide he who has no home! From High Mountains. Oh Lebens Mittag! Feierliche Zeit! Oh Sommergarten! O noon of life!
O time to celebrate! O summer garden! It's time! The brook searches for you, longingly Rushes, wind and clouds push higher now into the blue To look for you from the most distant bird's-eye view. Vertauscht Hand, Schritt, Gesicht? Hands, face, gait have changed? Ein Andrer ward ich?
Und mir selber fremd? Mir selbst entsprungen?
Ein Ringer, der zu oft sich selbst bezwungen? Zu oft sich gegen eigne Kraft gestemmt, Durch eignen Sieg verwundet und gehemmt? Am I another? A stranger to myself? Sprung from myself? A wrestler, who too often subdued himself? Too often resisted his own strength, Wounded and stopped by his own victory?
I sought where the most biting wind blows? I learned to live Where no one lives, in desolate polar zones, Unlearned man and god, curse and prayer?
Become a ghost who crosses glaciers? Ihr alten Freunde! Nein, geht! Now how pale you look! Full of love and fear! No, leave! Do not be angry! Zu eurem Heil! I've become a wicked hunter! For your own good! Ihr wendet euch? Die alten lass! Lass die Erinnerung! You turn away?
Let the old go! Let the memories go! Das klopft mir wohl noch Nachts an Herz und Fenster, Das sieht mich an und spricht: "wir waren ' s doch?
That knock at my heart and window nightly, That look at me and say: " were we once friends? Oh Jugend-Sehnen, das sich missverstand! O longing of youth that misunderstood itself! Those I longed for, Those I deemed changed into my kin, That they have aged has driven them away: Only he who changes remains akin to me. Zweite Jugendzeit! Max Frisch.
Peter Handke. Ulrich Plenzdorf. Christa Wolf. Jurek Becker. Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck.