an unfamiliar, silent place

but i must interrupt myself to introduce you to quite an amazing, and growing, image source. in keeping with our exploration of turn-of-the-century vienna, wiener werkstatte, ver sacrum, et al, i tried to find some of the poetry that had been published in that magazine. but i failed. so here we have poems from poets who were in ver sacrum, if not necessarily with these poems.

LOVESONG

How shall I withhold my soul so that
it does not touch on yours? How shall I
uplift it over yours to other things?
Ah, willingly would I by some
lost thing in the dark give it harbor
in an unfamiliar, silent place
that does not vibrate on when your depths vibrate.
Yet, everything that touches us, you and me,
Takes us together as a bow's stroke does,
That out of two strings draws a single voice.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what player has us in his hand?
O sweet song.

Rainer Maria Rilke
trans. M.D. Herter Norton, from Translations from the Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, 1938, 1966. 1

AN EXPERIENCE

What wondrous flowers had bloomed there,
cups of colors darkly glowing! And a thicket
Amidst which a flame like topaz rushed, Now
surging, now gleaming in its molten course.
All of it seemed filled with the deep swell
Of a mournful music. This much I knew,
Though I cannot understand it – I knew
That this was Death, transmuted into music,
Violently yearning, sweet, dark, burning,
Akin to deepest sadness.

Hugo von Hofmannsthal
translation. D. McClatchy? 3

HUNTING LASSES

My soul is sick to-day;
my soul is sick with absence;
my soul has the sickness of silence;
and my eyes light it with tedium.

I catch sight of hunts at a standstill,
under the blue lashes of my memories;
and the hidden hounds of my desires
follow the outworn scents.

I see the packs of my dreams
threading the warm forests,
and the yellow arrows of regret
seeking the white deer of lies.

Ah, God! my breathless longings,
the warm longings of my eyes,
have clouded with breaths too blue
the moon which fills my soul.

Maurice Maeterlinck 3

no. i don't really love those last two poems, but i think i'm a translation snob. but it doesn't take snobbery to recognize treasure.

all of these images are but a particle of what awaits you at mattia moretti's photosets on flickr.

included are not only two complete volumes of ver sacrum, which is 40% of the total run, but stunning secessionist buildings throughout europe (mostly), decorative objects, and much more. don't miss his blog, either: http://www.szecesszio.com/.

versions of rilke -- from 'the book of hours'

Ich finde dich in allen diesen Dingen,
denen ich gut und wie ein Bruder bin;
als Samen sonnst du dich in den geringen
und in den großen giebst du groß dich hin.

Das ist das wundersame Spiel der Kräfte,
dass sie so dienend durch die Dinge gehn:
in Wurzeln wachsend, schwindend in die Schäfte
und in den Wipfeln wie ein Auferstehn.

(the original german)

I find you in all these things of the world
that I love calmly, like a brother;
in things no one cares for you brood like a seed;
and to powerful things you give an immense power.

Strength plays such a marvelous game --
it moves through the things of the world like a servant,
groping out in roots, tapering in trunks,
and in the treetops like a rising from the dead.

(robert bly translation)

In all these thing I cherish as a brother
still it is you I find; seedlike you wait,
basking serenely in the narrowest compass,

and greatly give yourself in what is great.

This is the marvel of the play of forces,
that they so serve the things where
through they flow: growing in roots, to dwindle in the tree-trunks,
and in the crowns like resurrection show.

(babette deutsch translation)

I find you there
in all these things
I care for like a brother.
A seed, you nestle in the smallest of them,
and in the huge ones spread yourself hugely.

Such is the amazing play
of the powers:
they who give themselves
so willingly,
swelling in the roots, thinning as the trunks rise,
and in the high leaves, resurrection.

(anita barrows, joanna macy translation)

i see you in all
these things
that i love like my own brother:
the lowly, for whom you are the seed,
the grand
whom you crown.

such is the marvel of your power,
freely to each
as she needs:
thickening her roots,
rising through her trunk,
and from her leaves, resurrection.

(my own attempt, as i really hate the one remaining that i could put my hands on, and because i think this really is the song of spring and i don't know that the truest essence is captured yet. care to try?)

can you solve this riddle?

this is a double page spread from the austrian magazine ver sacrum. this issue was published in 1901.

i initially posed this question here.

at that point i hadn't seen the accompanying page. today i tried researching this poem to see if it really was that poem by rilke as i had read.

obviously not.

here is the poem with its original version in german:

Early Spring

Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows' wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,

hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees.

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1924


Vorfrühling

Härte schwand. Auf einmal legt sich Schonung
an der Wiesen aufgedecktes Grau.
Kleine Wasser ändern die Betonung.
Zärtlichkeiten, ungenau,

greifen nach der Erde aus dem Raum.
Wege gehen weit ins Land und zeigens.
Unvermutet siehst du seines Steigens
Ausdruck in dem leeren Baum.

Rainer Maria Rilke, 1924

see how this is confusing to me? and i can find nothing online that seems to match the right-hand poem. if it's rilke it should be? even if it isn't it should be just for being in ver sacrum.

do you speak german? can you help lead us all out of confusion???!!!!

thirty six and four

THE MOUNTAIN

Six and thirty times and hundred times
the painter tried to capture the mountain,
tore it up,

then pushed on again
(six and thirty times and hundred times)

to the incom- prehen- sible volca- noes,
blissful, full of temptation, without counsel,—
while the outlines of his glory
went on without coming to an end:

Fading a thousand times out of all the days,
nights without comparison from which
dropped, as if they were all too small;
each image at the moment it was needed,
increasing from figure to figure,
not partaking and far and without viewpoint—,
then suddenly knowing, as in a vision,
lifting itself up behind every crevice.

from: New Poems, the other part
translated from rilke: 'der berg,' which was inspired by hokusai's 'thirty-six views of mt fuji' of which 'the great wave' was one. also see an earlier version in the hokusai manga spread.

there is of course tintin, and the other is a 'colorized' very poor scan of a grey-scale illustration of 'the fisherman and his wife' in a german book 'japonismus und art nouveau,' of which i'd love to find a copy! i think i might need a new scanner....

separated at death?

in the kabuki play Bancho Sarayashiki, Okiku is a maid at the mansion of the Japanese samurai Tessan Aoyama. The samurai wants to seduce the lovely girl but she rejects his advances. Aoyama uses a trick. He hides one of ten valuable Dutch plates and threatens Okiku to make public that she had stolen the plate unless she agrees to become his mistress. In her desperation Okiku throws herself into the well and drowns.

Okiku's ghost comes out every night, counting from one to nine and then breaks out into a terrible howling and sobbing. Finally Aoyama goes insane by the daily apparitions at night. on the right is her ghost, as depicted by yoshitoshi.

the one on the left is by koloman moser, a founding member of the vienna secession. it is an illustration for rilke's poem,

Early Spring

Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows' wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,

hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

i couldn't find another translation. also, not really sure how the illustration relates to it. anyone have any ideas? moser said the one in black and white is the duchess, a character in the poem. ??? i could find no other rilke poem about spring. as always, all commentary is welcomed.