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Best Poems From
ERHARD HANS JOSEF LANG
(January 8,1957)
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85.
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The Legend Of The Clocks (translation)
Oh those clocks, those!
It is as if the ore were alive
and ringing like the crying of a man!
Thus said a teenager who was drinking beer.
And the alert keeper of the pub
knew something to say about it: -
In them there is flesh and blood.
A certain madman founded them once,
a man who arrived from over the mountains,
a sad fellow, who only drank pure water,
who only nibbled dry bread.
Since he repented for sins, took to suffering.
'Conscience, ' he exclaimed, 'brought me here;
I came to found clocks;
the handicraft trust had been looking for a foundery blacksmith.'
He got the work,
arranged for a shop, for the moulds.
Until late at night he wrestled in his shop.
And clocks he did found.
He founded many clocks - bad ones, all not ticking.
What could have been lacking, only heaven knew.
He melted the clocks - again to be founding mute ones.
Deep pain came to burn in his eyes.
His mouth was heard babbling strange things:
'No sound of clocks will be carrying up to heaven,
to where the Father is,
unless you give the weightiest of sacrifice; '
thus spoke the Master in the night, verily.'
The man melted his pieces of metal ore;
there, in front of the shop,
his lovely-haired daughter was playing,
a golden child, her father's only treasure on earth.
And when his dear one's laughter rang out,
it gave the man a jolt, as if hit by lightning,
that went into his soul
and paralyzed it by the loading of sin.
In pain he shouted:
'I can't do this! I can't do this! '
The silent clocks to the melting oven he took,
made new ones founded.
A fire, like mad burnt in his eyes.
The clanking of the bronze didn't come alive,
no, it just didn't.
Facing the Holy Virgin the man was,
praying fervently,
staying up all night, until morning.
Had left speaking loudly in delirium:
'Oh mother, with the clock clinking,
I shall not go down to a hell of trouble,
but, enveloped by heaven,
with its sin washed away,
my soul may ring.'
The man melted his pieces of ore;
at the door of the shop sat the lovely-haired daughter,
a golden child, her father's only treasure on earth.
Like snakes of fire the oven glowed.
The father turned his eyes to the child,
hurt, love exhausted his mind.
Like in a dream the hapless man was walking.
Pulled onto his lap his daughter and kissed her,
covered her eyes -
threw her into the molten bronze.
That one devoured the dear one,
hizzing.
Heaven only knows, how in that way,
that day the ore began to be alive.
You may hear how it is ticking.
By nightfall that man was a crazy man.
by Finnish poet Uuno Kailas (1901-1933) ,
transl. by Erhard Lang
note: in the year 1978, in the holy city of Rishikesh, India,
I vowed by myself never again to wear
a time-piece on my body; a vow I kept until now.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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86.
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The Scarecrow (translation)
Oh you big nose of an eagle there!
I am one with a big hard egghead,
got an artistically plumaged wind hat,
greedy of power my eyes like a hawk's are,
the yellow of my beak already faded gray,
the frightening, slanting neck of a snipe is mine,
and really baggy my stomach protrudes,
sharp as a knife are my wing's edges,
and the claw nails of an envious pigeon I got,
and, from running behind after birds,
from all the runs making
goose marches unsuccessful,
for a young feathered one,
I got already quite tattered magpie toes.
by German poet
Bastian Fähnrich, originally written in Finnish,
transl. by Erhard Lang
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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87.
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The Word (translation with original)
In the beginning was the Word
and there was nothing else
and from uppermost its birth was.
And far into primeval night
the Creator's finger let it go:
thus was created land and sea, man.
The Word concluded its work of creation
and returned to the Father.
And the Spirit kept it on his lips.
But once in the middle of the night
an Adder, that spirit of lies,
stealthily took it, and brought it to the world.
And the Word, the maker of everything,
was barren then,
when man raised it to his lips;
a children's plaything only,
merely a broken vessel,
a mute voice only, an echo to nothing.
It suffered much from hunger
and much it was soiled;
the earth's dust covered up its glamour.
- But once in time, when one best man of people
took to dreaming
it flew back home again, to the god.
And the Father took it to his lips to refresh himself,
and the Creator's breath stuck to it.
And people, they have never forgotten that.
And in the hearts went the trembling.
written by Finnish poet Uuno Kailas (1901-1933) of the Firebearer Era,
translated by Erhard Hans Josef Lang
in German:
Das Wort
Am Anfang war das Wort
und sonst war nichts.
Und vom Höchsten war dessen Geburt.
Und weit hinaus in die Urnacht
führte es des Schöpfers Finger aus:
also wurde Land und Meer, der Mensch erschaffen.
Das Wort beschloß sein Schöpfungswerk
und kehrte zum Vater zurück.
Und der Sinn ließ es auf dessen Lippen stehen.
Aber mitten in der Nacht einmal
nahm eine Kreuzotter, jener Sinn fürs Falsche,
es hinterrücks an sich, und brachte es in die Welt.
Und das Wort, der Erschaffer von allem,
war fruchtlos jetzt,
als der Mensch es auf seine Lippen hob;
ein Spielzeug nur von Kindern,
eine zerbrochene Schale nur,
eine stumme Stimme nur, ein Echo auf Leeres.
Es litt viel Hunger
und wurde viel beschmutzt;
seinen Glanz bedeckte der Staub der Erde.
- Aber irgendwann, als von den Menschen ein bester
am Träumen war,
flog es wieder nach hause, zum Gott.
Und der Vater führte es an seine Lippen, sich daran labend,
und es blieb an ihm der Hauch des Schöpfers hängen.
Und die Menschen, sie hatten dies nie vergessen,
und in den Herzen ging das Beben um.
in the original Finnish:
SANA
Alussa oli Sana.
Ja muuta ollut ei.
Ja Ylimmäisest' oli synty sen.
Ja alkuyöhön kauas sen Luojan sormi vei:
niin luotiin maa ja meri, ihminen.
Sana luomistyönsä päätti
ja palas Isän luo.
Ja Henki kantoi sitä huulillaan.
Mut kerran keskiyöllä
Kyy, valheen henki tuo
sen varkain otti, vei sen maailmaan.
Ja Sana, kaiken luoja,
oli hedelmätön nyt,
kun ihminen sen nosti huulilleen;
vain lasten leikkikalu,
vain malja särkynyt,
vain mykkä ääni, kaiku tyhjyyteen.
Se näki paljon nälkää
ja paljon tahraantui;
sen kimmellyksen peitti tomu maan.
- Mut joskus, ihmisistä
kun paras uneksui,
se lensi jälleen kotiin, jumalaan.
Ja Isä huulillensa
sen virvoittaen vei,
ja siihen tarttui Luojan hengitys.
Ja ihmiset, he koskaan
sitä unohtaneet ei.
Ja sydämissä kävi väristys.
Uuno Kailas
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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88.
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The World's Complex Differences Are Of Aztec Dimensions (with orig. in German)
What holds true for the past
will have to hold true
also for the future.
Not all things will have to stay the way
they are today.
Likewise thinkable were, indeed,
at a suitable time to come,
once also a world wholly without money
which came to redeem one beautiful day
this money-mediated madness of
the capitalistically exaggerated world
which sows so much sorrow next to additional work
and all the unloved pains.
Thus rode, yet completely different from us today,
no real Aztec of his day
ever along on any vehicle on wheels.
To him the round of the wheel exclusively
belonged to the greatest of stars,
to the sun,
so as by visibly keeping with this law
to see to it that he would be walking alway
under his beneficial influence.
Thus on foot only he walked
- moving forward on beasts to ride on
offered itself in hilly areas -
otherwise, if his aristocratic stature allowed for it,
on silent soles he was carried through the countryside
in swaying carriages.
Thus had been the custom among true Aztecs,
and none of them could imagine,
not even in hushed tones,
that things with regards to that would ever be run different.
And yet, all of us today do drive on wheels.
Not even the virgin sacrifices of the early Aztecs
performed with divinely statistical prudence
could have prevented that long since
also their offspring's heads
had become twisted
by the wheel to be ridden on for one's own motion
— though this passed to happen for them
in a through and through ill-forboding shadowy light
far off the old lucky, strictly sunwheel-driven lanes of life.
What holds true for the past
will have to hold true
also for the future.
Not all things will have to stay the way
they are today...
* * * **
the original version of this poem in German:
Die Andersartigkeiten Der Welt Sind Aztekischen Ausmaßes
Was für die Vergangenheit gilt,
hat auch für die Zukunft zu gelten:
Es muß nicht immer alles so bleiben, wie es heute ist.
Denkbar wäre dementsprechend zur gegebenen Zeit
durchaus auch einmal eine Welt so ganz ohne Geld,
die den geldvermittelten Wahn der kapitalistisch übertriebenen
und so viel Leid nebst zusätzlicher Arbeit
und all den ungeliebten Nöten aussähenden Welt
eines schönen Tages abzulösen käme.
So fuhr, noch ganz anders als wir Heutigen,
ein wahrer Azteke seiner Zeit niemals
auf einem beräderten Gefährt mit.
Für ihn blieb das Rund des Rades ausschließlich
dem größten Gestirn, der Sonne, vorbehalten,
um mit dem sichtlichen Einhalt dieses Gebots
gewährleistet zu sehen,
daß er stets und immer auch ja
unter deren wohltuendem Einfluß wandelte.
So wandelte er nur zu Fuß -
das Sich-Vorwärtsbewegen auf Reittieren bot sich im hügeligen Gelände an -
oder, so seine aristokratische Figur dies erlaubte,
er wurde auf leisen Sohlen
in einer wiegenden Sänfte durchs Terrain getragen.
So war der Brauch gewesen unter den wahren Azteken
und keiner der Ihren konnte auch nur im leisesten sich vorstellen,
daß die Dinge diesbezüglich je irgendwann einmal anders laufen würden.
Und doch fahren wir heute alle auf Rädern.
Auch die mit göttlich statistischem Vorwitz durchgeführten Jungfernopfer der frühen Azteken
konnten nicht verhindern,
daß schon längst auch deren Nachkommen das Rad
zum eigenen Befahrenwerden den Kopf verdreht hat —
wenn auch ganz und gar im üblen Schattenlicht
fernab der alten glücksverheißenden, ausschließlich sonnenradbefahrenen Straßen des Lebens.
Was für die Vergangenheit gilt,
hat auch für die Zukunft zu gelten:
Es muß nicht immer alles so bleiben, wie es heute ist...
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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