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Best Poems From
ERHARD HANS JOSEF LANG
(January 8,1957)
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89.
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There Is Always Also Madness In A Sound Society (translation with original in German)
In these cells it is where they sleep,
These things here in between human and animal,
Treated they are like good old cattle,
stretched out like the latter on all fours.
How sullen, how dusky it feels all around this house,
And inside of it what a rummaging, stomping and yelling there is!
Here are songs filled with glee and shudder,
There are limbs gone mad chastising themselves.
O madness! Terrible ghost,
Scourge held in hands stripped of flesh,
When soon you come running past with bold looks,
When soon with prying eyes you go stealing yourself off along the walls,
Who shall be there to safe-guard that not your fist all of a sudden
Will be hitting our heads,
And that the mind of one who has shacked up with the insane,
Not long from now will be aping our own selves?
Love fallen sick, pride fallen sick,
We are shutting them all away in iron bars,
From around our measurements made of dried wood,
We tear off each and every unasked-for berry from the vine,
Whatever doesn't think and feel as we do,
We reckon as being of the sickly,
And what if exactly it were a sense of health
Which is speaking from out of their tumbling thoughts?
This is the way you might as well lock away a lion,
With a heartful of courage you'd keep him on display within his bars,
And still your heart be trembling full of fear at his yelling;
Will you call him gorgeous, will you call him free and wild,
When he tears apart the one who cares of him,
And when past his forceful master
He is rambling through the alleys thirsty of blood?
Don't rely too fast on claiming monopoly to 'reason'
Up there on your seats,
The guild of the fools is a big one,
This house of theirs is always kept open for novices.
The one there at the last window,
Years ago she had been a handsome girl,
Diamonds glistening in her hair,
And graceful beauty on her forehead.
For the smiles from her mouth
A gang of foolhardy urchins once were competing,
Now she is laughing on the hallway in a manner,
That makes her voice echo preposterous;
Once they were kneeling down in front of this woman,
Look now, how shameless she is winding herself and
How greedy she is bowing her desecrated body
Toward the knight who is to bind her hands.
I did feel sometimes, when on a walk at night,
Something like the proximity of madness,
Close by, behind of me, clumsy steps,
Laughing and crawing in my ears;
Being seized by the hair in the neck
While hollering my way a frightening tune,
And clear from out of the dark
An eye looking at me in flaming circles.
This is it what makes me shudder and fear:
Not to get into this dreaded house,
Not to be under the fist of these hangmen!
Not to get into that shrieking and that flaunting of teeth!
But yet to this gate all the while
I am being drawn by a mysterious lingering...
Into there, away from it? ...
My foot is on the escape,
As soon as the heavy locks creak.
* * * *
From SONGS OF A COSMOPOLITAN NIGHTWATCH MAN
by Franz Baron von Dingelstedt (1814 - 1881)
[German poet critical of aristocrats' privileges,
leader of Vienna's Burgtheater in later life],
translated by Erhard Hans Josef Lang after its original in German:
In diesen Zellen schlafen sie,
die Mittelding' von Mensch und Tiere,
Behandelt wie das liebe Vieh,
wie dieses gestreckt auf alle Viere.
Wie dumpf, wie dunstig rings um's Haus
Und drin welch' Toben, Stampfen, Schreien!
Hier Lieder voller frohem Graus,
Dort irrer Glieder Selbstkasteien!
O Wahnsinn! Schreckliches Gespenst,
Die Geißel in entfleischten Händen,
Wenn du bald frech vorüberrennst,
Bald lauernd schleichst an uns'ren Wänden,
Wer bürgt dafür, daß deine Faust
Nicht plötzlich uns'ren Scheitel treffe,
Und daß, der bei den Tollen haust,
Der Geist nicht längst uns selber äffe?
Die kranke Lieb', den kranken Stolz,
Wir sperren sie in eh'rne Stäbe,
Um unser Maß aus dürrem Holz
Zieh'n wir jedwede Wucherrebe,
Was nicht so denkt, wie wir, und nicht
So fühlt, das zählen wir zu Kranken,
Und ob nicht just Gesundheit spricht
Aus ihren taumelnden Gedanken?
So sperrst Du auch den Löwen ein,
Du zeigst ihn keck in deinen Gittern,
Und fühlest doch bei seinem Schrei'n
Das Herz im Leib' Dir bang erzittern;
Nennst Du ihn toll, nennst Du ihn frei,
Wenn er zerreißt, der ihn gehütet,
Und seinem Zwingherrn stolz vorbei
Blutlechzend durch die Gassen wütet?
Pocht auf das Monopol 'Vernunft'
Nicht allzufest in Eu'ren Sitzen,
Groß ist der Narren heil'ge Zunft,
Dies Haus stets offen für Novizen.
Die dort am letzten Fenster, war
Vor Jahren eine schmucke Dirne,
Diamanten blitzten ihr im Haar
Und Anmut von der schönen Stirne.
Um ihres Mundes Lächeln rang
Ein Heer von albernen Gesellen,
Jetzt lacht sie, daß den Gang entlang
Die Töne schrecklich widergellen;
Einst kniete man vor diesem Weib,
Jetzt sieh', wie sie sich schamlos windet
Und gierig den entweihten Leib
Dem Knechte beut, dessen Hand sie bindet.
Ich fühlte, wenn ich nächtig schritt
Wohl oft so was von Wahnsinns Nähe,
Dicht hinter mir ein plumper Tritt,
Im Ohr Gelächter und Gekrähe;
Es packte mich im Nackenhaar
Und raunte schauerliche Weisen,
Und aus dem Dunkel starrte klar
Ein Aug' mich an mit Flammenkreisen.
Das ist, wovor mir bangt und graust:
Nur nicht in dieses Hauses Schrecken,
Nicht unter jener Henker Faust.
Nicht in das Schrei'n und Zähneblecken!
Und doch zu diesem Tore zieht
Mich immerfort ein heimlich Harren...
Hinein, hinaus? ...
Mein Fuß entflieht,
Sobald die schweren Riegel knarren.
* * * *
Franz Freiherr von Dingelstedt (1814 - 1881)
XIX - Lieder eines Kosmopolitischen Nachtwächters
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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90.
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To The Fountain Of Bandusia (translation)
Fountain of Bandusia,
thou clear as a crystal,
here I offer wine,
flowers unto thee now;
tomorrow I promise to sacrifice yet
a young capricorn, whose horns already
Are swelling from its head's callous hide
toward the clashing-on of the sexes' passion.
In vain will they come to be with it:
tomorrow your cold wave will crimson
the heated cattle fellow's gore.
Into your hidden place Sirius does not cast his glow,
in the evenings your fresh waters given away
the bull will drink exhausted from the plough,
by your side will stay the roving cattle.
For once, you will gain to fame, O fountain,
when thus today my song will sound forth
from the shade of an oak-tree by the mouth of your cavern,
whose rock joyously challenging your current glides off.
* * *
Bandusian Lähteelle
Lähde Bandusian
kristallikirkas sa,
uhraan viiniä näin,
kukkia sulle nyt;
lupaan huomenna vielä
nuoren jäärän, min sarvet jo
paisuu pahkasta pään
kiimojen otteluun.
Hukkaan hältä ne jää:
huomenna purppuroi
kylmää aaltoas hurme
karjan kiihkeän veitikan.
Piiloos Sirius ei
sinkoa hehkuaan;
illoin tarjoamaas
raittista vettä juo
aurast' uupunut härkä,
luokses kiertävä karja jää.
Maineen kerran sa saat,
lähde, kun sulle näin
tänään lauluni soi
varjosta tammipuun
luolas suulla, min paatta
soluu hauskasti haastain vuos.
by Quintus Horatius Flaccus
(65 - 8 b.Chr.)
(translated by Erhard Lang from Finnish after a translation from its
original Latin into the Finnish language by Valter Juva [1865 - 1922])
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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91.
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Uuno Kailas In The Bloom Of His Youth - At The Height Of Summer (translation with original)
How wonderful to be lolling about here.
Spreading one's limbs on the palm of a rock's hand.
In the nude.
Just back from a swim.
Strands of wet hair still on my forehead.
It's summer here.
Next to nearest, above and in front.
While frolicking among corollas of pink carnation.
With the cheeks steeped into the strawberry rouge.
Yelling one's joy out into the air like a mockingbird's song on the beach.
You just stretch out your hand, and watch -
it is full of summer!
How wonderful to be here.
Watching the busy ants' toiling through summer.
Without a thought in mind.
The sky above, a tent-like silken blue.
In the horizon a golden coin glittering gorgeous.
Already one's skin has become ripened leather, indeed it has, already,
verily a baking oven of the Creator's
this rock.
* * * * *
translated after the origingal by Uuno Kailas (1901 - 1933) , a poet of
Finland's Firebearer era:
KESKIKESÄLLÄ
Tähän on ihana oikaista.
Kallion kämmenelle.
Alastomana.
Uimasta päästyä juuri.
Otsalla vielä märkien hiusten liuta.
Tässä on kesä.
Vieressä, yllä ja eessä.
Neilikan terissä telmien.
Mansikan punassa posket.
Ilojaan ilmoille huutaen lauluna rantarastaan.
Kurotat kätesi vain ja kas -
se on kesää täynnä!
Tässä on ihana olla.
Kesäkiireitä katsellen muurahaisten.
Tämä on onnea, tämä.
Katsella.
Aatoksitta.
Taivas telttana yllä niinkuin sininen silkka.
Katossa huikean kiiltävä kultaraha.
On nyt nahka jo kypsä, on totta maarin, jo, jopa onkin Luojan leivinuuni
kallio tämä.
by Uuno Kailas
translated into English by Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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92.
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Wanna Have A Non-Fictional Poem Popularized By Having It Sued Through American Courts?
Wanna have a poem popularized by having it sued through American
courts?
Yes! ?
Then write a non-fictional address, disguised as a poem,
To all and whoever else it may concern,
That runs like this (and leave the dots out!) :
What Had Unleashed The Wave Of Massive Drug Addiction In This Modern World?
At the turn of the 19th to 20th century, it chanced to happen that
More & more innovations
By freaky inventor-scientists of the Modern World
Came tumbling in,
Pepping up, around the globe,
Wealthier people's taste for mechanized comforts in life,
Most especially so, and also,
In this new-world melting pot country there overseas,
This new country of hopes for the many
Of meanwhile emporealistic high global acclaim,
That until to-date couldn't have found
A name proper for itself,
Still calling themselves simply united states of America.
(What, if in a European context
The French should have said, if the Germans had opted
To call themselves
U.S.E, as an example? !)
Better comforts in life also meant
To come up with a new class of
Delicious and enjoyable thirst-quencher drinks,
Given to the masses,
And they had contrived and, bottled up en masse,
Put out on the tables of all homes,
Something unique, a Black Liquid as drink.
They came to call it after one of the juice's main ingredients -
Latin America's coca plant, a traditional locals' cheer-up medicine,
And, as we all know,
Its name has become so much of a standard,
Meanwhile, all over the globe.
Co.a-Co.a was said by a smiling certain actress,
- Hillary, or so, her name, -
It was yet before the year 1900 -
In a funny ad of the day,
To be 'an exhilarating and invigorating drink'.
Then afterwards on came the stern Puritans sweeping in,
And in basic conflict with major business interests,
The high aspiring drink plant was to give in
Chosing to replace their chemistry of
The original Co.a-Co.a formula
By taking the 'flavour's stress off its 'exhilarating' component -
To the effect that thus plain 'invigorated'
NewWorld coolant imbibers
Were left, and still are so, everafter,
When enjoying the mysterious black juice,
With a subtle craving for the 'exhilaration' of the old days,
With this craving subconsciously mounting up over time
Into one mass movement of undistilled desires.
The tickle of its primeval coka inebriation
The said sad drink, it still holds,
The satisfaction of which but has ultimately passed away
With the coming of the new lighter, and,
A hundred years later now into time,
All the more so, with the new
Expressedly 'light' you-name-it-what.
Co.a-Co.a drinkers of yore,
When the new Co.e was to be taking over then,
Over one hundred years ago,
Must have felt themselves betrayed,
From one day to the other
Left with a sheer toothless version of their old-time favourite.
Instinctively, huge numbers of people,
When victims of mass disappointment
Tend to easily identify themselves as
One large group of same-minded,
Eventually more and more of them
Setting out for amending the loss they were made to suffer.
And thus also then, it simply had to happen
That those thirsty souls of then,
Suddenly then deprived of their old Co.a-Co.a 'exhilarant',
Over time were to go and find for themselves
Their wanted additives that make up for
That fun state of one's life's -,
That selfsame fun which once upon a time
Cheering Co.e bibbing fans of great American poetesse
Ella Wheeler Wilcox' time,
Were quite happy with.
And lo! washing in came all over the thirsty countrysides
Abundantly, and even overly so,
All the many natural & chemical
Enlivener stuffs, -
This time not from one single manufacturing plant anymore that
Could have been put under pressure as before,
But instead from syndicated interests of towers of power,
Tested well enough any time to be
Outsmarting any administrational-vested anti-agents -
Plus, along the surge of these potents' wash-over
Came all the many dreaded physical addictives and givers of confusion & paranoia,
A focused theme problem of today, called 'illicit drugs'
Of world-wide extent,
Of which it is no fun, but rather appalling to speak.
Whereas I, for one, had silently always hoped that they
- At length at a land that had arrived
At a 'lend-a-cock-to-your-coax'
For its mind-relishing people -
Would have been as smart,
Ready right in for the year 2000,
To chip in back the original pioneers Co.a-Co.a formula,
As THE Century Promo Gimmick of the millennium, and:
And I bet you what,
This would have been THE great savior to relieve the burdens of
This drugs-infested new millennium
They're still hassling themselves with,
No end in sight to the unforgiving damages
Done to young and old!
'Why further dive underworld for an illegal, dangerous high,
When we've gotten back our old original Co.a-Co.a? ',
Why were we contemporaries not allowed to
Hear that type of applause,
We the kids of a new era?
Atalanta, the golden apple has been dashed your way,
Dashed again by your horse-minded sprint contest partner Hippomenes!
He's wooing you and he will be outrunning you once more.
Better be shrewder this time, Atalanta!
Take up the golden apple, yes, you can!
But give in to your marriage, right at the winning post!
And lasting happiness will be beginning
Right from the end of the old spell.
* * * *
(You may want to read more on the invention of this black drink in 1886 and of its inventor, U.S. pharmacist John Stith Pemberton. You may get its story at http: //www.cocaine.org/coca-cola/index.html.
My informations on the black juice's original formula are based on an article I read about it in an old National Geographic Magazine issue from the '50s, which sadly cannot be retrieved anymore, I believe. In that lengthy article of then, there was also a copy of that advertisemnt header with an image of a then famous U.S. actress, by the name of something like Hill, if not Hillary, I just can't recall anymore exactly, under whose little drawn picture with her smiling face was her promo statement, that is mentioned in my non-fictional poem. I recollect the year 1903 as the year the article had mentioned that the original drink formula was eventually replaced - its inventor John Pemberton not having lived up to that time anymore...)
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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