Und wie ich strolch' durch des finstern Tann, da rief's mich mit heller Stimme an: Die Kerzen fangen zu brennen an, das Himmelstor ist aufgetan, alt und jung sollen nun von der Jagd des Lebens einmal ruhn, und morgen flieg ich hinab zur Erden; denn es soll wieder Weihnachten werden!
Nun sprecht, wie ich's hier innen find! Comment A Christmas Prayer Loving Father, help us to remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of the angels, the gladness of the shepherds, and the worship of the wise men. Close the door of hate and open the door of love all over the world. Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting. Deliver us from evil by the blessing which Christ brings, and teach us to be merry with clear hearts. May the Christmas morning make us happy to be Thy children, and the Christmas evening bring us to our beds with grateful thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus' sake.
Robert Louis Stevenson — Schade, nur schade, Er bemerkte es kaum, Wie schnurgerade Die Bleisoldaten auf dem Baukasten standen Und wie schnell die Pfefferkuchen verschwanden. Lautlos horchten die andern Vier. Da dachte er an verflossene Zeit Und an eine andere Linde, Die am Waldrand einst neben ihm stand, Sie hatten in guten und schlechten Tagen Einander immer so lieb gehabt. Dann wurde die Tanne abgeschlagen, Zusammengebunden und fortgetragen.
So hatte sie damals gewinkt noch zuletzt. Was du als richtig empfunden, Das sage und zeige, Oder schweige. Joachim Ringelnatz — Te souvient-il de notre extase ancienne? Pourquoi voulez-vous donc qu'il m'en souvienne? L'espoir a fui, vaincu, vers le ciel noir. Tels ils marchaient dans les avoines folles, Et la nuit seule entendit leurs paroles. Paul Verlaine — Sentimental dialogue In the old park's desolation and frost the paths of two ghostly figures have crossed. Their eyes are dead and their lips slack and gray and one can scarcely hear the words they say.
In the old park's desolation and frost two spectres have been evoking the past. Arise from out the dewy grass; Night is worn, And the morn Rises from the slumberous mass. Turn away no more; Why wilt thou turn away? The starry floor, The wat'ry shore, Is giv'n thee till the break of day. Her light fled, Stony dread! And her locks cover'd with grey despair. Cold and hoar, Weeping o'er, I hear the Father of the ancient men.
Selfish father of men! Cruel, jealous, selfish fear! Can delight, Chain'd in night, The virgins of youth and morning bear? Does spring hide its joy When buds and blossoms grow? Does the sower Sow by night, Or the plowman in darkness plow? Break this heavy chain That does freeze my bones around.
That free Love with bondage bound. Comment Jabberwocky Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.
Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch! He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought. And as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
He chortled in his joy. Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. I show you pretty things in vain-- You must be blind, Matilda Jane! I ask you riddles, tell you tales, But all our conversation fails.
You never answer me again-- I fear you're dumb, Matilda Jane! Matilda darling, when I call, You never seem to hear at all. I shout with all my might and main-- But you're so deaf, Matilda Jane! Matilda Jane, you needn't mind, For, though you're deaf and dumb and blind, There's some one loves you, it is plain-- And that is me , Matilda Jane!
Lewis Carroll - Comment The Journey The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busily went on our way and paid no heed. We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village for barter; we spoke not a word nor smiled; we lingered not on the way. We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.
The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade. Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree, and I laid myself down by the water and stretched my tired limbs on the grass. Journey Home The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long. I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.
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The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end. Also habe ich mir meinen Mantel geschnappt und bin kurzerhand in die Stadt getrabt. Wie elend und altersschwach ist dieses Jahr, das einmal so jung und verheissungsvoll war!
Ich nehm's mit nach Hause und leg es zur Ruh und decke es mit meiner Wolldecke zu. Ich lenke dich mit leiser Hand. Du ahnst nicht, wer ich bin. Ich bin dir, die du nie gekannt, Treuste Begleiterin: Ich nehme dich an meine Brust, -- Wenn schmerzlich auf die schreist — Ich bin es, der du unbewusst Dein bestes Leben weihst! Comment Ein neues Jahr! Tritt froh herein, mit aller Welt in Frieden. Vergiss, wie viel der Plag und Pein Das alte Jahr beschieden.
Friedlich Wilhelm Weber Nicht zage gleich den Feigen Und klag' in der Gefahr! Schwing auf zum Sonnenreigen Dich schweigend wie der Aar! Comment Le Jardin Des Tuileries This winter air is keen and cold, And keen and cold this winter sun, But round my chair the children run Like little things of dancing gold. Sometimes about the painted kiosk The mimic soldiers strut and stride, Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide In the bleak tangles of the bosk. And sometimes, while the old nurse cons Her book, they steal across the square, And launch their paper navies where Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze.
And now in mimic flight they flee, And now they rush, a boisterous band - And, tiny hand on tiny hand, Climb up the black and leafless tree. Oscar Wilde — Comment The Snow Man One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time To behold the junipers shagged with ice, The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to think Of any misery in the sound of the wind,.
Und sie sind es nicht; Sie sind die Seelen des Liedes geworden. Sind das seine eigenen Lieder? Oder von einem anderen, die er singt? Ich werde von der Sonne singen. Claus, with input from Phillipp, B. Bid thy 'flugence bear away care related discussion: Comment penguin, eine solche Bitte Deinerseits habe ich nirgendwo gesehen. Comment Ich bin ziemlich sauer. Comment eine solche Bitte Deinerseits habe ich nirgendwo gesehen.
Daran habe ich keinerlei Interesse. Rudolf Presber — Es blickt ein jedes so nach seiner Gegebenen Art in seine Welt. Wer hat die Menschen so entstellt?? Ich sehe sie getrieben treiben. Warum sie wohl nie stehenbleiben, Zu sehen, was nach ihnen sieht? Warum der Mensch vorm Menschen flieht? Comment Endlich gemein frei http: Copyright Law of the UK http: Copyright length charts http: Charles Baudelaire — The Owls Under the overhanging yews, The dark owls sit in solemn state, Like stranger gods; by twos and twos Their red eyes gleam.
From their still attitude the wise Will learn with terror to despise All tumult, movement, and unrest; For he who follows every shade, Carries the memory in his breast, Of each unhappy journey made. Welch dunkle Tage liegen hinter mir, Welch ein Dezemberfrost hat mich umgeben! Karl Richter — ? Und hier das Link zu einer moderneren Version http: Hanno Helbling — http: Comment Meditations Sunday, 12 May The clouds are marshalling across the sky, Leaving their deepest tints upon yon range Of soul-alluring hills.
The breeze comes softly, Laden with tribute that a hundred orchards Now in their fullest blossom send, in thanks For this refreshing shower. I sigh, half-charmed, half-pained. My sense is living, And, taking in this freshened beauty, tells Its pleasure to the mind. The mind replies, And strives to wake the heart in turn, repeating Poetic sentiments from many a record Which other souls have left, when stirred and satisfied By scenes as fair, as fragrant.
But the heart Sends back a hollow echo to the call Of outward things, — and its once bright companion, Who erst would have been answered by a stream Of life-fraught treasures, thankful to be summoned, — Can now rouse nothing better than this echo; Unmeaning voice, which mocks their softened accents. Content thee, beautiful world! My heart hath sealed its fountains.
To the things Of Time they shall be oped no more. Too long, Too often were they poured forth: No so the voice which hailed me from the depths Of yon dark-bosomed cloud, now vanishing Before the sun ye greet. Ah no how different!
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The proud delight of that keen sympathy Is gone; no longer riding on the wave, But whelmed beneath it: Today, for the first time, I felt the Deity, And uttered prayer on hearing thunder. This Must be thy will, — for finer, higher spirits Have gone through this same process, — yet I think There was religion in that strong delight, Those sounds, those thoughts of power imparted. But O, might I but see a little onward! Margaret Fuller — "Sarah Margaret Fuller Ossoli, commonly known as Margaret Fuller, was an American journalist, critic, and women's rights advocate associated with the American transcendentalism movement.
She was the first full-time American female book reviewer in journalism. Her book Woman in the Nineteenth Century is considered the first major feminist work in the United States". Comment On Teaching the Young A poem is what stands When imperceptive hands, Feeling, have gone astray. It is what one should say. Few minds will come to this. Yvor Winters —68 http: Volles Gedicht hier einsehbar: Comment The One in All There are who separate the eternal light In forms of man and woman, day and night; They cannot bear that God be essence quite.
Existence is as deep a verity: Without the dual, where is unity? Thus love must answer to its own unrest; The bad commands us to expect the best, And hope of its own prospects is the test. And dost thou seek to find the one in two? Only upon the old can build the new; The symbol which you seek is found in you. The heart and mind, the wisdom and the will, The man and woman, must be severed still, And Christ must reconcile the good and ill. There are to whom each symbol is a mask; The life of love is a mysterious task; They want no answer, for they would not ask.
A single thought transfuses every form; The sunny day is changed into the storm, For light is dark, hard soft, and cold is warm. One presence fills and floods the whole serene; Nothing can be, nothing has ever been, Except the one truth that creates the scene.
Does the heart beat, — that is a seeming only; You cannot be alone, though you are lonely; The All is neutralized in the One only. The Presence all thy fancies supersedes, All that is done which thou wouldst seek in deeds, The wealth obliterates all seeming needs. Both these are true, and if they are at strife, The mystery bears the one name of Life, That, slowly spelled, will yet compose the strife. Believe that human nature is the way, And know both Son and Father while you pray; And one in two, in three, and none alone, Letting you know even as you are known, Shall make the you and me eternal parts of one.
But say that Love and Life eternal seem, And if eternal ties be but a dream, What is the meaning of that self-same seem? Your nature craves Eternity for Truth; Eternity of Love is prayer of youth; How, without love, would have gone forth your truth? I do not think we are deceived to grow, But that the crudest fancy, slightest show, Covers some separate truth that we may know. In the one Truth, each separate fact is true; Eternally in one I many view, And destinies through destiny pursue.
This is my tendency; but can I say That this my thought leads the true, only way? I only know it constant leads, and I obey. Let me not by vain wishes bar my claim, Nor soothe my hunger by an empty name, Nor crucify the Son of man by hasty blame. But in the earth and fire, water and air, Live earnestly by turns without despair, Nor seek a home till home be every where! Comment Faith What are we bound for? Why do we spend ourselves and build With such an empty haste? Louis Untermeyer — Comment Find below a poem from Wallace Stevens's first book of poetry, Harmonium. It was first published in in the journal Rogue, so it is in the public domain.
Tea When the elephant's-ear in the park Shrivelled in frost, And the leaves on the paths Ran like rats, Your lamp-light fell On shining pillows, Of sea-shades and sky-shades Like umbrellas in Java. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The work was published before 1 August , and copyright expired 50 years after publication, i. Please refer to Comment My Fancy I painted her a gushing thing, With years about a score; I little thought to find they were A least a dozen more; My fancy gave her eyes of blue, A curly auburn head: I came to find the blue a green, The auburn turned to red. She boxed my ears this morning, They tingled very much; I own that I could wish her A somewhat lighter touch; And if you ask me how Her charms might be improved, I would not have them added to, But just a few removed!
She has the bear's ethereal grace, The bland hyaena's laugh, The footstep of the elephant, The neck of a giraffe; I love her still, believe me, Though my heart its passion hides; "She's all my fancy painted her," But oh! Comment The Idler An idle lingerer on the wayside's road, He gathers up his work and yawns away; A little longer, ere the tiresome load Shall be reduced to ashes or to clay.
No matter if the world has marched along, And scorned his slowness as it quickly passed; No matter, if amid the busy throng, He greets some face, infantile at the last. Well, there is but one, And if it is a mission he knows it, nay, To be a happy idler, to lounge and sun, And dreaming, pass his long-drawn days away. So dreams he on, his happy life to pass Content, without ambitions painful sighs, Until the sands run down into the glass; He smiles—content—unmoved and dies.
And yet, with all the pity that you feel For this poor mothling of that flame, the world; Are you the better for your desperate deal, When you, like him, into infinitude are hurled? Among the first generation born free in the South after the Civil War, she was one of the prominent African Americans involved in the artistic flourishing of the Harlem Renaissance.
Der Himmel ist einsam und ungeheuer. Ein Schweigen in schwarzen Wipfeln wohnt. Bisweilen schnellt sehr fern ein Schlitten Und langsam steigt der graue Mond. Das Rohr bebt gelb und aufgeschossen. Frost, Rauch, ein Schritt im leeren Hain. Comment Zu 54 Cino. Cloud and rain-tears pass they fleet!
Charlotte von Ahlefeld, Wodurch - gesagt mit Reverenz - Kann er sein Recht beweisen? Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Comment The Skylark The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside The battered road; and spreading far and wide Above the russet clods, the corn is seen Sprouting its spiry points of tender green, Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake, Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break. Opening their golden caskets to the sun, The buttercups make schoolboys eager run, To see who shall be first to pluck the prize— Up from their hurry, see, the skylark flies, And o'er her half-formed nest, with happy wings Winnows the air, till in the cloud she sings, Then hangs a dust-spot in the sunny skies, And drops, and drops, till in her nest she lies, Which they unheeded passed—not dreaming then That birds which flew so high would drop agen To nests upon the ground, which anything May come at to destroy.
Had they the wing Like such a bird, themselves would be too proud, And build on nothing but a passing cloud! As free from danger as the heavens are free From pain and toil, there would they build and be, And sail about the world to scenes unheard Of and unseen—Oh, were they but a bird! So think they, while they listen to its song, And smile and fancy and so pass along; While its low nest, moist with the dews of morn, Lies safely, with the leveret, in the corn. Ein schwarzer Kater schleicht herzu, Die Krallen scharf, die Augen gluh.
Der Vogel scheint mir, hat Humor. Comment Hitchhiker 'Tryna get to sunny Californy' -. Comment Next a metaphorical poem written in blank verse, published in , thus in the public domain. Mending Wall Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs.
The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbour know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side.
It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours. Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down. I see him there Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours. Comment What Is Life? And what is Life? An hour-glass on the run, A mist retreating from the morning sun, A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream.
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A minute's pause, a moment's thought. A bubble on the stream, That in the act of seizing shrinks to nought. And what is Hope? The puffing gale of morn, That of its charms divests the dewy lawn, And robs each flow'ret of its gem—and dies; A cobweb, hiding disappointment's thorn, Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise. And what is Death? Is still the cause unfound? That dark mysterious name of horrid sound? A long and lingering sleep the weary crave. Where can its happiness abound?
Nowhere at all, save heaven and the grave. Then what is Life? When stripped of its disguise, A thing to be desired it cannot be; Since everything that meets our foolish eyes Gives proof sufficient of its vanity. Comment Moon Over Bourbon Street There's a moon over Bourbon Street tonight I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight I've no choice but to follow that call The bright lights, the people, and the moon and all.
Comment Consider Me Gone. Roses have thorns Shining water's mud And cancer lurks deep In the sweetest bud. Etwa um diese Zeit schrieb er das folgende, recht eindringliche Kurzgedicht: Dust of Snow http: Comment Hunters in the Snow The over-all picture is winter icy mountains in the background Comment The Snowdrop Already the Snowdrop dares appear, The first pale blossom of th' unripen'd year; As Flora's breath, by some transforming power, Had chang'd an icicle into a flower, Its name and hue the scentless plant retains, And winter lingers in its icy veins.
Discussion has been deleted. Comment The Smile There is a smile of love, And there is a smile of deceit, And there is a smile of smiles In which these two smiles meet; And there is a frown of hate, And there is a frown of disdain, And there is a frown of frowns Which you strive to forget in vain, For it sticks in the heart's deep core, And it sticks in the deep back bone, And no smile that ever was smil'd, But only one smile alone That betwixt the cradle and grave It only once smil'd can be, But when it once is smil'd, There's an end to all misery.
Es saust der Stock, es schwirrt die Rute. Du darfst nicht zeigen, was du bist. Wie schad, o Mensch, dass dir das Gute Im Grunde so zuwider ist. Friedrich Hebbel — Was droben in den Wipfeln rauscht, das wird hier unten ausgetauscht. Comment Fairy Song Oh, where do fairies hide their heads When snow lies on the hills When frost has spoil'd their mossy beds And crystalized their rills?
Beneath the moon they cannot trip In circles o're the plain, And drafts of dew they cannot sip Till green leaves come again Till green leaves come again. Perhaps in small blue diving bells They plunge beneath the waves, Inhabiting the wreathed shells That lie in coral caves Perhaps in red Vesuvius Carousals they maintain And cheer their little spirits up Till green leaves come again Till green leaves come again.
When back they come there'll be glad mirth And music in the air, And fairy wings upon the earth, And mischief everywhere The maids, to keep the elves aloof, will bar the doors in vain, No keyhole will be fairy proof When green leaves come again Wo wohnen denn die Feen im Winter? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
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I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!
Ich liebe dich bis zu dem stillsten Stand, den jeder Tag erreicht im Lampenschein oder in Sonne. Frei, im Recht, und rein wie jene, die vom Ruhm sich abgewandt. Mit aller Leidenschaft der Leidenszeit und mit der Kindheit Kraft, die fort war, seit ich meine Heiligen nicht mehr geliebt. Und wenn Gott es giebt, will ich dich besser lieben nach dem Tod. Rainer Maria Rilke — http: Comment The Gardener 85 Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. Open your doors and look abroad. Comment 99 auf Englisch I When coldness wraps this suffering clay, Ah! It cannot die, it cannot stay, But leaves its darken'd dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet's heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space, A thing of eyes, that all survey? II Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all in earth or skies display'd, Shall it survey, shall it recal: Each fainter trace that memory holds So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, And all, that was, at once appears.
III Before Creation peopled earth, Its eye shall roll through chaos back; And where the farthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quench'd or system breaks, Fix'd in its own eternity. An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die. It was first published in , so it is in the public domain. II I was of three minds, Like a tree In which there are three blackbirds.
III The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds. It was a small part of the pantomime. IV A man and a woman Are one.
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A man and a woman and a blackbird Are one. V I do not know which to prefer, The beauty of inflections Or the beauty of innuendoes, The blackbird whistling Or just after. VI Icicles filled the long window With barbaric glass. The shadow of the blackbird Crossed it, to and fro. The mood Traced in the shadow An indecipherable cause. Do you not see how the blackbird Walks around the feet Of the women about you?
IX When the blackbird flew out of sight, It marked the edge Of one of many circles.
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X At the sight of blackbirds Flying in a green light, Even the bawds of euphony Would cry out sharply. XI He rode over Connecticut In a glass coach. Once, a fear pierced him, In that he mistook The shadow of his equipage For blackbirds. XII The river is moving. The blackbird must be flying. XIII It was evening all afternoon. It was snowing And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat In the cedar-limbs. Wallace Stevens — http: Christian Morgenstern - Robert Graves - Comment A Winter's Tale Yesterday the fields were only grey with scattered snow, And now the longest grass-leaves hardly emerge; Yet her deep footsteps mark the snow, and go On towards the pines at the hills' white verge. I cannot see her, since the mist's white scarf Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange sky; But she's waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh. Why does she come so promptly, when she must know That she's only the nearer to the inevitable farewell; The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow-- Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell?
Lawrence - Wer vermag zu regnen? Wem geht ein Wind durchs Herz, unwidersprechlich? Wer ist zugleich so biegsam und gebrechlich wie jeder Zweig an einem jeden Baum? He lives in Seattle, Washington with his wife. Jack Prelutsky claims to have hated poetry when he was younger. Joseph von Eichendorff - Comment Very Early Spring The fields are snowbound no longer; There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green.
The snow has been caught up into the sky-- So many white clouds--and the blue of the sky is cold. Now the sun walks in the forest, He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers; They shiver, and wake from slumber. Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls. Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears A wind dances over the fields. Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter, Yet the little blue lakes tremble And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver. Katherine Mansfield — Da sprach eine Stimme: Da sprang der Laden auf.
Soll ich es wirklich wagen, Die Augen aufzuschlagen? Da gingen mir die Augen auf: Otto Julius Bierbaum Verehrter Freund, so sei denn nicht vermessen, Sei zart und schweig auch du. Wer nicht besonders auserlesen, Dem macht die Tugend Schwierigkeit. Comment Two Tramps in Mud Time Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard, And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!
Robert Frost - He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. A popular and often-quoted poet, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. Comment The Mask of Anarchy I. I met Murder on the way- He had a mask like Castlereagh- Very smooth he looked, yet grim; Seven blood-hounds followed him: All were fat; and well they might Be in admirable plight, For one by one, and two by two, He tossed them human hearts to chew Which from his wide cloak he drew.
Next came Fraud, and he had on, Like Eldon, an ermined gown; His big tears, for he wept well, Turned to mill-stones as they fell. And the little children, who Round his feet played to and fro, Thinking every tear a gem, Had their brains knocked out by them. Clothed with the Bible, as with light, And the shadows of the night, Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy On a crocodile rode by. There's a problem loading this menu right now.
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Amazon Drive Cloud storage from Amazon. Alexa Actionable Analytics for the Web. AmazonGlobal Ship Orders Internationally. Amazon Inspire Digital Educational Resources. Amazon Rapids Fun stories for kids on the go. Amazon Restaurants Food delivery from local restaurants. She represents completely the image of the women in The Trial who do not possess sufficient substance, who are too animalistic, ever to become the "accused " themselves. Ironically, several critics praised Schneider's Leni as her first quality characterization, even as they defined her, tongue in cheek, as without character, a being "somewhere between a frog and a human," referring to Leni's physical defect: Those critics who conceded that there were sexual dimensions to be found in Kafka and who liked Schneider's performance sarcastically attributed her shift of image to the "arts" the "little Vienna beast" had learned in Paris.
What did this suggest about the changing functions of the Kafkaesque in postwar West Germany? One very interesting aspect is tied to gender. Women in this world of passive anonymity occupy a space a notch below even this status, as their sexuality degrades them to animal status. German critics did not think to link the sexual aggressiveness of the female characters in The Trial to the more active dimensions of Josef K. Nor did they relate a Josef K. Instead, the proper world of Kafka was a world where men were unjustly accused but did not resist and women were not accused at all.
Persecution no longer emerges, as in Kafka, out of a metaphysical consciousness of guilt; rather, it is secret yet real powers, that take a Josef K. The Josef K of … this must be decisive. This material was not available to the public when Welles made his film although Felice Bauer had sold the letters to Kafka's publisher in New York in the late s.
Thus, Welles' and Perkins' attempts to give to K. Bloch revealed this correspondence to Bauer, who subsequently called a meeting between herself, her friend and Kafka at a hotel in Berlin to confront Kafka with what both she and Bloch perceived as his duplicity. The engagement to Bauer, which consisted almost exclusively of letters rather than face to face encounters, was broken off twice and a marriage never took place.
Because he perceived his engagement as in essence an extension of his literary calling, whereby any form of literary expression could or would not be excluded, Kafka had an acute awareness of a conflict between his writing and the bourgeois norms attached to marriage and founding a family.
He began work on The Trial in August of , shortly after the meeting in the Berliner hotel. While receptive to the idea that fascism may have been anticipated by a Jewish writer, German critics preferred an anonymous, passive Josef K. Orson Welles cryptically suggested such an aspect in a statement quoted in the publicity material:. My film is not only about the conspiracy of the court against the innocent; it is much more a study of the corruptability of the judicial process.
My hero Josef K is not innocent; he is capable of being just like the others. Yet none of the others comes to his aid. And neither does he do anything for those around him. Suhrkamp Taschenbuch Verlag, , which is based upon: Lizenzausgabe von Schocken Books, This text is under a Creative Commons license: European journal of American studies. Contents - Previous document. Index terms Top of page. Full text PDF Send by e-mail.
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In the area of literature, according to the well-known scholar Walter Jens, a one-sided emphasis on the "positive" had taken over, and the same seemed to be happening in film: Notes 1 See especially James Naremore ed. Rutgers University Press, New Modes of Adapting, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, Hunter, Heidi Kaye and Imelda Whelehan eds. Greven and Oliver von Wrochem eds. Der Krieg in der Nachkriegszeit: University of California Press, ; Robert G. Passing Images of Guilt and Responsibility," in Schissler ed. A Film from Orson Welles", dir. Simon Schuster, ; London: This is Orson Welles, Jonathan Rosenbaum ed.
The film contains no original dialogue. University of North Carolina Press, Verlag Filmland Press, Indiana University Press, Und diese Vorahnung einer Zeit der Konzentrationslager Was in den Jahrzehnten nach seinem Tode so vielen Menschen widerfahren ist, hat Franz Kafka vorausgeahnt: Der Zustand absoluter Rechtslosigkeit.
Ein Film der endlich wieder einmal zeigt, was Film sein kann und sein sollte. Editor-in-Chief Rudolf Augsburg had been arrested for allegedly publishing classified defence information.
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The Impact of the s on German Debates about the Past. Orson Welles ist dieser Zug entgangen. See also Jessica C. Louisiana State University Press, In contrast, in the United States, his image was always tied to the performance in Psycho. AP, die personifizierte, zitternde Seele des JK. Aber Kafka ist kein Hitchcock. Die schleichende Verwirrung unsere Zeit teilt sich nicht in einem Blick mit.
Lightening Bug Press, []: Geburtstag von Dietmar Schmidt Frankfurt am Main: Gemeinschaftswerk der Evangelischen Publizistik: See Sigl et al, Jede Menge Kohle? Carl Hanser Verlag, Aber von allen Anderen kommt ihm niemand zur Hilfe. Follow us RSS feed. European journal of American studies Briefly: