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May 23, 2008

Der Erlkonig

Found this song on you tube today. Takes me back to high school. My aspiring opera singer roommate would practice this song in our room. "Mein Vater, Mein Vater!!" He was quite good then. Wonder what he sounds like now after intense school years.
Well, the story is quite sad but the song is beautiful.

Original German

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?"
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?"
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?"
"Sei ruhig, bleib ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind."

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?"
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau."

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!"

Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

English translation

Who rides so late through night and wind?
It is the father with his child.
He has the little one well in the arm
He holds him secure, he holds him warm.

"My son, why hide your face in fear?"
"See you not, Father, the Erlking?
The Erlking with crown and flowing cloak?"
"My son, it is a wisp of fog."

"You sweet child, come along with me!
Such wonderful games I'll play with you;
Many lovely flowers are at the shore,
My mother has many golden garments."

"My father, my father, and do you not hear,
What the Erlking quietly promises to me?"
"Be calm, stay calm, my child;
The wind is rustling the dry leaves."

"Won't you come along with me, my fine boy?
My daughters shall attend to you so nicely;
My daughters do their nightly dance,
And they will rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep."

"My father, my father, do you not see there,
Erlking's daughters in that dark place?"
"My son, my son, I see it definitely:
It is the willow trees looking so grey."

"I love you; I'm charmed by your beautiful shape;
And if you are not willing, then I will use force."
"My father, my father, now he has taken hold of me!
Erlking has hurt me!"

The father shudders, he rides swiftly,
He holds in arm the groaning child,
He reaches the farmhouse with effort and urgency;
In his arms, the child was dead.

[edit]

Posted by lukedavidh at 10:18 PM | TrackBack

May 21, 2008

Windows in my head

Dead roses are stuck,
Fingers locked around fire escape's cold arm,
Million red bricks burn with envy.
They call broken occupants
To stop pissing in their eyes.

Dirty Sheet wrestles in the gutter
Waving at gulls to lend half a cigarette.
Window screams at roses, but they are dead.
Two empty curried chicken boxes look up from their filthy conversation
The one nudges lonely Air Jordan who can't remember.
why solemate left.

Smudged glass shakes with another scream
Despair whistles from dark hollow sending paper towel
To attack flowers!
Dead petals fall
Alive once more and free
Gathering strength, holding to gust
Tumbling, fluttering...
Wings on rats, burning eyes
He glides above thronging
Once used plastics and styrofoam cups leap to touch
cold dead skin.

Reminds of gentler days
When river edges beckoned boat
Three-eyed birds rode on bellies of floating fish
Window screams, radiator hisses,
Fridge cries from hunger and routine
Flowers wait irritably, dancing side
to side grasping fire escape like jealous girlfriend with weak fingers.
They are dead and burial eludes them.

Posted by lukedavidh at 5:20 PM | TrackBack