Jandl: Oberflächenübersetzung (1957)

1. Jandl: Oberflächenübersetzung (1957) my heart leaps up when i behold
a rainbow in the sky
so was it when my life began
so is it now i am a man
so be it when i grow old
or let me die!
the child is father of the man;
and i could wish my days to be
bound each to each by natural piety (williamwordsworth) mai hart liebzapfeneibehold er rennbohr in seeskai sowassiehtwenn mai läuftbegehen so es siehtnaheemmamähen sobietwennärschelgrollt ohrleck mit ei! sehtsteil dies fader rosse mähen in teigkurtwisch mai destobier baum deutsche deutschbajonettschuralpeiertier

2. Lament on an Old-hairedMan刘希夷《代悲白头翁》-Chinese East Luoyang town the peach blossom are in season, flying here and there, in whose home will they fall? This year the colour of the falling flowers have changed, Next year when the flowers bloom, who will still be here? The pine and cedar have already become kindling And the mulberry fields have turned to sea The ancients no longer visit East Luoyang Today people still face falling flowers in the wind Year on year, age on age, the flowers are alike Age on age, year on year, the people are different Evoking the young girl in bloom,

3. Rather should there pity be for the half dead white-haired man This man with white hair is truly pitiable Yester-years he was a gallant youth Under the fragrant tree of prince Wang-Sun Clear songs, delicate dance in front of the falling flowers The pavilions by General Guang Lu’s lake are decorated with brocade The General’s pavilions are painted with immortals A day in sick bed with no acquaintance For three springs who accompanied your pleasure seeking ventures? How long can the thin and soft eyebrows last? Swiftly the white hairs are dishevelled like threads But look at the old site of song and dance Only sparrows crying in the dusk

4. Lone I Walk at NightVykhozhuodinianadorogu – Russian Lone I walk at night upon the highway; In a mist the stony road gleams far. Still the night; to God the barren listens, And each star speaks softly to each star. In the skies what majesty and wonder! Field and wood dream in a haze of blue. Why unresting then my troubled spirit? Do I wait on days of hope anew? Nothing more I hope among the living, Nothing of my past I now regret; All I ask—the hour of peace and freedom; All I wish—to sleep and to forget. In my grave—O not in cold and darkness— Would I lie in my eternal rest! … Let me feel the pulse of life undying Stir forever softly in my breast; Let all night, all day, a voice enchanted Sing of love to me above the grave, And one oak with shadows wide, resounding, Ever green above me watch and wave.

5. The Melody of Stones (the original melody)Чулууны аялгуу(уугаан аялгуу) - Mongolian Gilded by the hazy sun which fills the ritual urn, The waters of good fortune shower into air. Amid tears and suffering, this is a benediction. And how many silver pieces are there in those living waters? And are stones rare on the vast sands of Ongon? There are insects squirming among these lucky stones. They take the stones away, excite the horses, And father’s whip crashes like lightning and thunder. “Have you stolen our lucky stones?

6. Call upon the Buddha and request forgiveness! Keep your ears open, the current is strong! Bring on the melody, call it forth!” The flow of bright fortitude fades away, The voices frightened off from these fawn-colored horses. They tuck in their heads where the two old people are, They regret how little they understand the world. This blazing day moving the agreement of games, The splashing water is taken back. Returning all the stones, I repair my mistakes The melody of the gifts comes gurgling. * * *

7. The Wind with its Smell of FlowersЭНЭ ЦЭЦЭГ ҮНЭРТСЭН САЛХИ… - Mongolian I love this peaceful blue evening It is absolutely a castle of the East I love this cloud with its golden mane It is absolutely a lantern of the East I love this wind with its smell of flowers It is absolutely the fragrance of the East I love this sagacious green locust It is absolutely a darling of the East I love this moon in the white waves absolutely the mirror of the East I love these lukewarm falling tears absolutely a poem of the East This wind with its smell of flowers.

8. Homeland - Отан! - Kazakhs Homeland! Oh, Homeland! What would I do without you? Die… not knowing the joy, And leave the world bereft There is no bird without nest, Nor a beast with no lair, Homeless soul finds no rest, It suffers and lives in-drear Sadness is all that left Life goes on, With no parent along, And you still can breathe, When no family exists, But without Motherland, Your misery has no end. There is one life, And death is only one, One Motherland can ever be! (Trans: AlibekUtiubaev and ZhannaKussainova)

9. In Spring - Im Frühling - German Quietly I sit on the hill's slope. The sky is so clear; a breeze plays in the green valley. Where I was at Spring's first sunbeam once – alas, I was so happy! When I was walking at her side, So intimate and so close, and deep in the dark rocky spring was the beautiful sky, blue and bright; and I saw her in the sky. Look how colorful Spring already looks out from bud and blossom! Not every blossom is the same for me: I like best to pick from the branch from which she picked hers!

10. For all is as it was: the flowers, the field; the sun does not shine less brightly, nor does the spring reflect any less charmingly the blue image of the sky. The only things that change are will and delusion: Joys and quarrels alternate, the happiness of love flies past, and only the love remains – The love and, alas, the sorrow. Oh, if only I were a little bird, there, on the meadow's slope, then I would remain here on these branches, and sing a sweet song about her the whole summer long.

11. You Shall be True Du skal være tro -Norwiegan You shall be true. But not to any man who in cold greed clings to your hands. Not to any ideal flashing in big letters but not touching your heart. Not to any commandment making you a stranger in your own body. Not to any dream you haven’t dreamt yourself… When were you true? Where you true when you knelt in the shadow of other people’s false gods?

12. Were you true when your actions stifled the sound of your own heartbeat= Were you true when you did not deceive the one you did not love? Were you true when your cowardice put on a disguise and called itself conscience? No. But when whatever touched you made a tune. When your pulse gave rhythm to your movement. When you were one with what sparkled inside of you. Then – you were true.

13. Prometheus - German Shroud your heaven, Zeus, With cloudy vapours, And do as you will, like the boy That beheads thistles, With oak-trees and mountain-tops; You must my Earth Now abandon to me, And my hut, which you did not build, And my hearth, Whose glow You begrudge me. I know of nothing poorer Under the sun, than you, Gods! You are barely nourished By sacrificial offerings And prayerful exhalations Your Majesty And would starve, were Not children and beggars Hopeful fools. When I was a child, And did not know the in or out, I turned my wandering eyes toward The sun, as if beyond it there were An ear to hear my lament, A heart like mine, To take pity on the afflicted.

14. Who helped me Against the Titans' mischief? Who delivered me from Death, From Slavery? Did you not accomplish it all yourself, Holy, burning Heart? And glowed, young and good, Deceived, your thanks for salvation To the sleeping one above? I should honour you? For what? Have you softened the sufferings, Ever, of the burdened? Have you stilled the tears, Ever, of the anguished? Was I not forged as a Man By almighty Time And the eternal Fate, My masters and yours? Do you somehow imagine I should hate life, Flee to the desert, Because not every Flowering dream may bloom? Here I sit, forming people In my image; A race, to be like me, To suffer, to weep, To enjoy and delight themselves, And to mock you – As I do!

15. The Boat Girl - Côláiđò - Vietnamese

16. The Boat Girl - Cô lái đò - Vietnamese Each time it came spring offered its yearning To a boat girl, her heart, and the river The girl thought once more how three springs before A man spoke of one day returning But her beloved from spring long ago Would never return to the river’s edge Many springs were lost in its steady flow Many times she wept at the broken pledge After three years had passed spring came again But time had brought her passion to an end No need to wait for what seasons may bring She gave up her dream of seeing that friend Farewell boat, farewell rowing, farewell tide The boat girl left as another man’s bride But since her leaving the river that spring Many longed for the face of their young guide.

17. IfYou Forget Me - Si túmeolvidas– Spanish I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you.

18. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.

19. Goodbye Again, Cambridge! - 再别康桥 - Chinese Very quietly I take my leave As quietly as I came here; Quietly I wave good-bye To the rosy clouds in the western sky. The golden willows by the riverside Are young brides in the setting sun; Their reflections on the shimmering waves Always linger in the depth of my heart. The floating heart growing in the sludge Sways leisurely under the water; In the gentle waves of Cambridge I would be a water plant! That pool under the shade of elm trees Holds not water but the rainbow from the sky; Shattered to pieces among the duckweeds Is the sediment of a rainbow-like dream?

20. To seek a dream? Just to pole a boat upstream To where the green grass is more verdant; Or to have the boat fully loaded with starlight And sing aloud in the splendor of starlight. But I cannot sing aloud Quietness is my farewell music; Even summer insects keep silence for me Silent is Cambridge tonight! Very quietly I take my leave As quietly as I came here; Gently I flick my sleeves Not even a wisp of cloud will I bring away.

21. On the Lake – Auf dem See – German I DRINK fresh nourishment, new blood From out this world more free; The Nature is so kind and good That to her breast clasps me! The billows toss our bark on high, And with our oars keep time, While cloudy mountains tow’rd the sky Before our progress climb. Say, mine eye, why sink’st thou down? Golden visions, are ye flown? Hence, thou dream, tho’ golden-twin’d; Here, too, love and life I find. Over the waters are blinking Many a thousand fair star; Gentle mists are drinking Round the horizon afar. Round the shady creek lightly Morning zephyrs awake, And the ripen’d fruit brightly Mirrors itself in the lake.

22. The Lake – Le Lac – French Thus driven forth forever to new shores, Born toward Eternal Night and never away, Sailing the Sea of Ages, can we not Drop anchor for one day? O Lake! The year has scarcely spun its course. Now, by the waves she should have seen again, Watch how I sit, alone, upon this stone On which you saw her then. You lowed as now below those plunging cliffs. As now, you broke about their riven flanks. As now, the wind flung your foam forth to wash Her feet which graced your banks. One evening we two roamed -recall?- in silence: On waves and under heaven, far and wide, No sound came save the cadence of the oarsmen Stroking your tuneful tide.

23. Then sudden tones, unfathomed on this earth, Resounded round the echoing, spellbound shore. The tide turned heedful; and I heard these words From the voice I adore: Suspend your trek O Time! Suspend your flight O favoring hours, and stay! Let us pause, savoring the quick delight That fills the dearest day. Unhappy crowds cry out to you in prayers. Flow, Time, and set them free. Run through their days and through their ravening cares! But leave the happy be. In vain I ask for hours to linger on And Time slips into flight. I tell this night: "Be slower!" and the dawn Undoes the raveled night.

24. Let's love, then! Love, and feel while feel we can The moment on its run. There is no shore of Time, no port of Man. It flows, and we go on. Covetous Time! Our mighty drunken moments When love pours forth huge floods of happiness; Can it be true that they depart no faster Than days of wretchedness? Why can't we keep some trace of them, at least? Why lost forever? Why beyond recall? Will Time that gave them, Time that now destroys them Not bring them back at all? Eternity, naught, past, dark gulfs: what do You do with days of ours which you devour? Speak! Will you not bring back those things sublime? Return the raptured hour?

25. O Lake! Caves! Speechless ledges! Gloaming glades! You whom Time shields or can bring back to light, Beautiful Nature, keep the memory- The memory of that night: Memory in your stillness and your storms, Fair Lake, in your cavorting sloping sides, In the black firtrees, in the savage rocks Rising above your tides; Memory in the breathings of the zephyr, In shore whose sounds resound to shore each night, And in the silver visage of the star Touching you with soft light. Let the bewailing winds and sighing reeds, Let the light balm you blow through cliff and grove, Let all that man can hear, behold or breathe All say: "They were in love."

26. The Flower – Цветок – Russian A dried-out flower without fragrance Forgotten in a book I see; My soul's somehow already racing And fills with a strange reverie. Where did it bloom? In which spring? When? Did it bloom long? Who picked it then? By stranger's hand or by a friend? Who put it here and to what end? In memory of tender trysting Or else of fateful parting day? Or else perhaps a lone walk wistful In silent fields and wooded shade? Do he and she still live, I wonder? And where now is their little nook? Or have they faded, lost their luster, Like this small flower in this book?

27. My Heart, myheartisMein Herz, Mein Herz ist Traurig -German My heart, my heart is sad, Yet so gaily shines the month of May; I stand leaning against a lime-tree, High on the old bastion's way. Far below, the quiet town moat Flows and its waters are blue. On it a young boy in a boat, Is fishing and whistles a song too. Yonder, appear in a colourful miniature, As friendly as they ever could, Pavilions, gardens and people, And oxen and meadows and wood.

28. The maids are bleaching their washing, And jump about on the lawn; The mill wheel is spraying diamonds, I hear its distant moan. At the old grey tower There is a sentry booth; There, a lad in a red uniform Is pacing back and forth. He is toying with his rifle, It glitters in the sunshine's red; He presents and shoulders his weapon- I wish he would shoot me dead.

29. KARAWANG-BEKASI – Indonesian We who now lie between Karawang-Bekasi No longer able to shout “Freedom”, nor wield our weapons But who now still ignores hear our roars Imagine us marching with our hearts pounding? We speak to you in the silence of the barren night When your chest feels hollow and the wall-clock ticks We died young. All that remains are dust-covered bones Remember, remember us We who have tried all we could try But the work remains unfinished, we’ve done nothing yet We who gave our souls The work is unfinished, unable to calculate the value of 4-5 thousand souls We are just scattered bones

30. But we are yours For you to determine the value of scattered bones Perchance our souls were lost for independence, for victory and hope Or for nothing We wouldn’t know, we can no longer speak We speak to you in the silence of the barren night When your chest feels hollow and the wall-clock ticks Remember- remember us. We who guarded Bung Karno We who guarded Bung Hatta We who guarded Bung Syahrir We who are now corpses Give us a value Continue to watch the line between actualizations and dreams Remember, remember us Who are now mere scattered bones In thousands, lying between Karawang-Bekasi

31. YaşamakŞakayaGelmez - Turkish Living is no laughing matter: you must live with great seriousness like a squirrel, for example– I mean without looking for something beyond and above living, I mean living must be your whole occupation. Living is no laughing matter: you must take it seriously, so much so and to such a degree that, for example, your hands tied behind your back, your back to the wall, or else in a laboratory in your white coat and safety glasses, you can die for people– even for people whose faces you've never seen,

32. even though you know living is the most real, the most beautiful thing. I mean, you must take living so seriously that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees– and not for your children, either, but because although you fear death you don't believe it, because living, I mean, weighs heavier. -

33. Let's say we're seriously ill, need surgery– which is to say we might not get up from the white table. Even though it's impossible not to feel sad about going a little too soon, we'll still laugh at the jokes being told, we'll look out the window to see if it's raining, or still wait anxiously for the latest newscast. . . Let's say we're at the front– for something worth fighting for, say. There, in the first offensive, on that very day, we might fall on our face, dead. We'll know this with a curious anger, but we'll still worry ourselves to death about the outcome of the war, which could last years. Let's say we're in prison and close to fifty, and we have eighteen more years, say, before the iron doors will open. We'll still live with the outside, with its people and animals, struggle and wind– I mean with the outside beyond the walls. I mean, however and wherever we are, we must live as if we will never die.

34. This earth will grow cold, a star among stars and one of the smallest, a gilded mote on blue velvet– I mean this, our great earth. This earth will grow cold one day, not like a block of ice or a dead cloud even but like an empty walnut it will roll along in pitch-black space . . . You must grieve for this right now --you have to feel this sorrow now– for the world must be loved this much if you're going to say "I lived". . .

35. The SunLe Soleil – French Along the old street on whose cottages are hung The slatted shutters which hide secret lecheries, When the cruel sun strikes with increased blows The city, the country, the roofs, and the wheat fields, I go alone to try my fanciful fencing, Scenting in every corner the chance of a rhyme, Stumbling over words as over paving stones, Colliding at times with lines dreamed of long ago.

36. This foster-father, enemy of chlorosis, Makes verses bloom in the fields like roses; He makes cares evaporate toward heaven, And fills with honey hives and brains alike. He rejuvenates those who go on crutches And gives them the sweetness and gaiety of girls, And commands crops to flourish and ripen In those immortal hearts which ever wish to bloom! When, like a poet, he goes down into cities, He ennobles the fate of the lowliest things And enters like a king, without servants or noise, All the hospitals and all the castles.

37. Found – Gefunden - German I was walking in the woods Just on a whim of mine, And seeking nothing, That was my intention. In the shade I saw A little flower standing Like stars glittering Like beautiful little eyes. I wanted to pick it When it said delicately: Should I just to wilt Be picked? I dug it out with all Its little roots. To the garden I carried it By the lovely house. And replanted it In this quiet spot; Now it keeps branching out And blossoms ever forth.

38. Azaleas 진달래꽃 - Korean If you grow so sick of me you want to go, I’ll let you go-gently-I won’t say a word. I’ll pluck an armful of azaleas on Yaksak, Yungbyon: I’ll strew them in your path

39. Tread gently on these flowers: they deck your parting steps. If you grow so sick of me you want to go Though I die, I won’t shed a tear

40. May Night - Majnat – Danish The lonely young lamb on the hill beyond can be heard with its plaintive small baa, and the frogs all croak from puddle and pond, as if now star were singing to star.

41. Hab‘ Hass‘ – Havin‘ Hatin‘ - German I hate that you smile at me (‘cause you have a pretty smile), I hate that you laugh with me (‘cause you sound so good), I hate that you don’t know me (while I watch you everyday), I hate that you never spoke to me (but my tongue wouldn’t work either). I hate when you dance perfectly (‘cause then you mesmerize me),

42. I hate when you called my name (‘cause you paralyzed me), I hate when you jump into the swimming pool (‘cause you’re dreamy when you wear a bikini), I hate when you enjoy yourself without me (without you I feel lost). I hate that you look so beautiful, I hate that you fly like a bird, I hate that you shine like a star, I hate that you don’t fall in love with me (when I’ve already fallen in love with you).

43. Via Crucis – Via crúcis - Portuguese Waves of sound weave the script of the streets (unrelenting fire Feline ferocity).

44. Crashing waves of sound collapse among sanctuaries of stone and sounds of solitary anonymity. They prowl about -- bipeds and their vehicles— the drive-in this, our via crucis.

45. Invitation the VoyageInvitation au Voyage – French My child, my sister, Think of the rapture Of living together there! Of loving at will, Of loving till death, In the land that is like you! The misty sunlight Of those cloudy skies Has for my spirit the charms, So mysterious, Of your treacherous eyes, Shining brightly through their tears. There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

46. Gleaming furniture, Polished by the years, Will ornament our bedroom; The rarest flowers Mingling their fragrance With the faint scent of amber, The ornate ceilings, The limpid mirrors, The oriental splendor, All would whisper there Secretly to the soul In its soft, native language. There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure. See on the canals Those vessels sleeping. Their mood is adventurous; It's to satisfy Your slightest desire That they come from the ends of the earth. — The setting suns Adorn the fields, The canals, the whole city, With hyacinth and gold; The world falls asleep In a warm glow of light. There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

47. Whatitis – Was es ist – German It is nonsense says reason It is what it is says love It is misfortune says calculation It is nothing but pain says fear It is hopeless says insight It is what it is says love It is ridiculous says pride It is careless says caution It is impossible says experience It is what it is says love

48. The Flower - Korean Before I called her name, she was nothing more than a gesture. When I called her name, she came to me and became a flower. Like I called her name, will someone please call my name that suits my light and fragrance? I, too, long to come to her and become her flower. We all long to be something. You, to me, and I, to you, long to become a gaze that won’t be forgotten.

49. Das Strafgesetzbuch/Gaspara Stampa – Code of Criminal Law/Gaspara Stampa German The beetle, spiked, the butterfly pressed into the album, the leaf inserted between the pages of a book – reality murdered in the finest of ways, only humans permitted, and that, too, is allowed, to give poison, I I read it in the code of criminal law and find no section that would forbid it. Lost, bargained away, a love carried to the pawn shop, no longer released, victims deported, kisses spat out sick people thrown on the street, yelled at, imperfect understanding on my part, required and deplored.

50. In heaven, should there be such a thing as heaven, in heaven, what will there be. And should a sufferer, who is far away from god, start praying, cold, laughter, vote: I see it coming, it is naked violence that triumphs and that none of my pains touches him, no sweat dampens him, not the sweat of death not yellow fever, not even the burning of scarlet fever burns him, makes him burn, and no litany, and calls, letters, screams as they have never before existed, what else shall there be, More cannot be anymore. That none of these deaths, and no torn flesh, gets a grip, nor a brain, that cannot grasp that not now and never will these touch him, how can that be.