Britta's Happiness of the Day

'Because You Asked About the Line...' by Howard Nemerov

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 14:45:00 +0000

Because You Asked About the Line

Between Prose and Poetry


Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle


That while you watched turned into pieces of snow 


Riding a gradient invisible



From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.



There came a moment that you couldn't tell. 

And then they clearly flew instead of fell. 





Howard Nemerov (1920 - 1991) 


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XXVII 'Winter' by William Shakespeare

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 14:34:00 +0000

XXVII. WINTER

WHEN icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail;
When blood is nipt, and ways be foul,	5
Then nightly sings the staring owl
Tu-whoo!
Tu-whit! tu-whoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all around the wind doth blow,	10
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw;
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl—
Then nightly sings the staring owl	15
Tu-whoo!
Tu-whit! tu-whoo! A merry note!
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. William Shakespeare

"Early Spring/ Vorfrühling" by Ina Seidel

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 12:23:00 +0000

Durch die frühe Dämmerung Through the early dawn
Geh ich ganz in Träumen I walk, all lost
hin, In dreams,
Und ich weiß es nicht, warum And I don't know why
Ich so still und selig bin, I am so silent and so blissful,
dass mein Herz ganz hold That my heart quite fair
und leicht And light
wie ein Veilchenstrauß sich Carries itself
trägt - Like a bunch of violets -
Plötzlich überkommt es mich: Suddenly it grows on me:
Horch, die erste Amsel Listen, the first blackbird
schlägt... Sings...

Ina Seidel (1885 - 1975) (Rough translation by me)

'Composed Upon Westminster Bridge' by William Wordsworth

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 15:09:00 +0000

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802

Earth has not anything to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty:

This City now doth, like a garment, wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky;

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

William Wordsworth

PS: As it seems, it will be London for me this year!

'To Say For Falling Asleep' by Rainer Maria Rilke

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 19:08:00 +0000

Zum Einschlafen zu sagen To Say For Falling Asleep

Ich möchte jemanden einsingen, I would like to sing someone to sleep,
bei jemandem sitzen und sein. sit by someone and be there.
Ich möchte dich wiegen und kleinsingen I want to cradle you and sing you to hushbaby
und begleiten schlafaus und schlafein. and escort you sleep-in and sleep-out.
Ich möchte der Einzige sein im Haus, I want to be the Only One in the house
der wüßte: die Nacht war kalt. who knew: the night was cold.
Und möchte horchen herein und hinaus And want to harken inside and out
in dich, in die Welt, in den Wald. in to you, in to the world, in to the woods.
Die Uhren rufen sich schlagend an, The clocks call each other by chiming,
und man sieht der Zeit auf den Grund. And one looks to the bottom of time.
Und unten geht noch ein fremder Mann And outside even now walks an unknown man
und stört einen fremden Hund. And disturbs an unknown dog.
Dahinter wird Stille. Ich habe groß Behind that grows silence. I have layed
die Augen auf dich gelegt; my wide eyes on you;
und sie halten dich sanft und lassen dich los,/ and they hold you softly and let you go,
wenn ein Ding sich im Dunkel bewegt. when something moves in the dark.

Aus: Das Buch der Lieder From: Book of Hours
Rainer Maria Rilke ( Rough translation by me)

'Her Anxiety' by W.B. Keats

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 16:09:00 +0000

Her Anxiety

Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.

W.B.Yeats

'La Belle Dame Sans Merci' by John Keats

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 15:01:00 +0000




















































(...)

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!         5
  So haggard and so woe-begone? 
The squirrel’s granary is full, 
  And the harvest’s done. 
(...)
        10

IV.

I met a lady in the meads, 
  Full beautiful—a faery’s child, 
Her hair was long, her foot was light,         15
  And her eyes were wild. 

V.

I made a garland for her head, 
  And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; 
She look’d at me as she did love, 
  And made sweet moan.         20

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed, 
  And nothing else saw all day long, 
For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
  A faery’s song. 

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet,         25
  And honey wild, and manna dew, 
And sure in language strange she said— 
  “I love thee true.” 
 (...) 

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep, 
  And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide! 
The latest dream I ever dream’d         35
  On the cold hill’s side. 

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too, 
  Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; 
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci 
  Hath thee in thrall!”         40


(...) 

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here,         45
  Alone and palely loitering, 
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake, 
  And no birds sing. 
 
John Keats

Abendlied/ Evening Song (Der Mond ist aufgegangen) by Matthias Claudius

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Wed, 07 Nov 2012 20:01:00 +0000

My rough translation of Matthias Claudius' Abendlied - Evening Song (1778 or earlier) is especially for Sapphire - in her blog I saw - in a painting from the Edo period - a full moon rising out of a meadow for the first time in my life.

Claudius' poem is much longer - you can hear it in the added link.

Der Mond ist aufgegangen The moon has come up.
Die gold'nen Sternlein prangen Little golden stars are shining
am Himmel hell und klar. On the sky, bright and clear.
Der Wald steht schwarz und schweiget The wood stands black and silent
Und aus den Wiesen steiget and out of the meadows rises
der weiße Nebel, wunderbar. the white mist, wonderful.
Wie ist die Welt so stille How still the world is,
und in der Dämm'rung Hülle and in the cover of dusk
so traulich und so hold so cozy and so meek
als eine stille kammer like a quiet chamber
wo ihr des Tages Jammer where you should forget
verschlafen und vergessen sollt. the sorrows of the day.
Seht ihr den Mond dort stehen? Can you see the moon up there?
Er ist nur halb zu sehen You can only see the crescent of it,
und ist doch rund und schön. yet she is round and beautiful.
So sind gar manche Sachen So are quite a lot of things
die wir getrost belachen, that we laugh at mockingly,
weil uns're Augen sie nicht seh'n. because our eyes cannot see them.
(...) (...)

Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 06:30:00 +0000

SONNET 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire

Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

Well, it Is November now, isn't it? But trust me - not all poems will be in minor, I am on the lookout for inner beauty and sunshine.

"I do love you so much/Ich habe dich so lieb" by Joachim Ringelnatz

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Sun, 14 Oct 2012 14:39:00 +0000

Joachim Ringelnatz was a German poet, cabaret artist and painter, The poem "Ich habe dich so lieb" is difficult to translate - you find the very free translation of Ernest A. Seemann and a rough, though very literal one by me.

Ich habe dich so lieb I do love you so much

Ich habe Dich so lieb! I do love you so much!
Ich würde Dir ohne Bedenken Without hesitation I would give you
Eine Kachel aus meinem Ofen A Dutch tile of my stove
Schenken. As a present.

Ich habe dir nichts getan. I did not touch you.
Nun ist mir traurig zu Mut. Now I feel blue.
An den Hängen der Eisenbahn At the hillsides of the railway
Leuchtet der Ginster so gut. The gorse flashes so bright.

Vorbei - verjährt Gone, all over and done with
Doch nimmer vergessen. But never forgotten
Ich reise. I travel.
Alles, was lange währt, Everything that lasts long
Ist leise Is low-voiced.

Die Zeit entstellt Time deforms
Alle Lebewesen. All living beings.
Ein Hund bellt. A dog barks.
Er kann nicht lesen. He cannot read
Er kann nicht schreiben. He cannot write.
Wir können nicht bleiben. We cannot remain.

Ich lache. I laugh.

Die Löcher sind die Hauptsache The holes are the main thing
An einem Sieb. In a sieve.

Ich habe Dich so lieb. I do love you so much.

Joachim Ringelnatz (1883 - 1934) rough translation by me

I Love You So

I love you so!
I would, without any regret
Give you a mattress spring
Of my bed.

I've not been untrue
Now I am quite low.
Aslant of the railroad berm new
Yellow the gorse bushes glow.

Past, gone without woe
Though never forgotten.
I rove.
Long lasting things are slow
And mauve.

Time disbowels
The living breed.
A dog growls.
He cannot read.
He cannot write
We cannot sit tight.

I laugh.
Caviar is an epitaph
On sturgeon's roe.
I love you so.

translated by Ernest A. Seemann

"A Guest May Come" by Vojka Djikic

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Tue, 09 Oct 2012 05:55:00 +0000

Hold on tight to me

And we'll find the way home

There's the fire still burning

And in the corners

Books lie open

That ought to be read

And the garden's there to dig

The roses to prune

Thus it was said

When we mend the roof

And paint the red door red

A guest may come

Vojka Djikic

translated by Chris Agee

PS: I know that I should have choosen this photograph, but I wouldn't :

'The Angels/ Die Engel' by Rainer Maria Rilke

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Fri, 05 Oct 2012 15:30:00 +0000

Sie haben alle müde Münde They all have tired lips

und helle Seelen ohne Saum. And lucid seamless souls.

Und eine Sehnsucht (wie nach Sünde) And a yearning (as if for sin)

geht ihnen manchmal durch den Traum. Sometimes passes through their dream.

Fast gleichen sie einander alle; They almost all resemble one another;

in Gottes Gärten schweigen sie, In God’s garden they are silent,

wie viele, viele Intervalle Like many, many intervalls

in seiner Macht und Melodie. In His might and melody.

Nur wenn sie ihre Flügel breiten, Only when they spread their wings,

sind sie die Wecker eines Winds: They are the rousers of a wind:

als ginge Gott mit seinen weiten As if God thumbs with his broad

Bildhauerhänden durch die Seiten Sculptors' hands through the pages

im dunklen Buch des Anbeginns. In the dark book of The Beginning.

Rainer Maria Rilke (rough translation by me)

'Shoes' by Charles Bukowski

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Tue, 02 Oct 2012 06:21:00 +0000

No - this isn't my normal outfit (though I own more than one pair of Highheels). At an exhibition about shoes in Bremen everybody - also the men! - could try to walk in them... Neither comfortable nor healthy for 'everyday wear', but I am utterly convinced that even in old age imagination and bones can be fired, Mr. Bukowski!

Shoes by Charles Bukowski

when you're young

a pair of

female

high-heeled shoes

just sitting

alone

in the closet

can fire your

bones;

when you're old

it's just

a pair of shoes

without

anybody

in them

and

just as

well.

'Travel' by Edna St. Vincent Millay

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Sat, 15 Sep 2012 05:34:00 +0000

Travel

The railroad track is miles away,

And the day is loud with voices speaking,

Yet there isn't a train goes by all day

But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn't a train goes by,

Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,

But I see its cinders red on the sky,

And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with friends I make,

And better friends I'll not be knowing;

Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,

No matter where it's going.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

'Wild Geese' by Mary Oliver

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Wed, 12 Sep 2012 11:47:00 +0000

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Mary Oliver (* 1935)

'Sea Love' by Charlotte Mew

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Tue, 11 Sep 2012 05:28:00 +0000

Tide be runnin` the great world over:
`Twas only last June month I mind that we
Was thinkin` the toss about the call in the breast of the lover
So everlastin` as the sea.

Heer`s the same little fishes that sputter and swim,
Wi` the moon`s old glim on the grey, wet sand;
An` him no more to me nor me to him
Than the wind goin` over my hand.

Charlotte Mew (1869 - 1928)

'The Geranium' by Theodore Roethke

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 15:47:00 +0000

When I put her out, once, by the garbage pail,
She looked so limp and bedraggled,
So foolish and trusting, like a sick poodle,
Or a wizened aster in late September,
I brought her back in again
For a new routine--
Vitamins, water, and whatever
Sustenance seemed sensible
At the time: she'd lived
So long on gin, bobbie pins, half-smoked cigars, dead beer,
Her shriveled petals falling
On the faded carpet, the stale
Steak grease stuck to her fuzzy leaves.
(Dried-out, she creaked like a tulip.)
The things she endured!--
The dumb dames shrieking half the night
Or the two of us, alone, both seedy,
Me breathing booze at her,
She leaning out of her pot toward the window.

Near the end, she seemed almost to hear me--
And that was scary--
So when that snuffling cretin of a maid
Threw her, pot and all, into the trash-can,
I said nothing.

But I sacked the presumptuous hag the next week,
I was that lonely.

Theodore Roethke (1908 - 1963)

Sonnet 87: Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possesing' by William Shakespeare

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Fri, 07 Sep 2012 05:46:00 +0000

Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;

My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,

And for that riches where is my deserving?

The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,

And so my patent back again is swerving.

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,

Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;

So thy great gift upon misprision growing,

Comes home again, on better judgement making.

Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter,

In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

William Shakespeare

Nice and easy?

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Wed, 05 Sep 2012 05:38:00 +0000

Y' know, every now and then
I think you might like to hear something from us
Nice and easy
But there's just one thing
You see we never ever do nothing
Nice and easy
We always do it nice and rough
So we're gonna take the beginning of this song
And do it easy
Then we're gonna do the finish rough
This is the way we do "proud mary"

And we're rolling, rolling, rolling on the river
Listen to the story :

'Indian Summer' by Emily Dickinson

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Sun, 02 Sep 2012 06:39:00 +0000

XXVII.

INDIAN SUMMER.

These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June, --
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!

Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,

Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!

Emily Dickinson

'The Red Dress' by Dorothy Parker

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Sun, 02 Sep 2012 04:45:00 +0000

I always saw, I always said

If I were grown and free,

I'd have a gown of reddest red

As fine as you could see,

To wear out walking, sleek and slow,

Upon a Summer day,

And there'd be one to see me so

And flip the world away.

And he would be a gallant one,

With stars behind his eyes,

And hair like metal in the sun,

And lips too warm for lies.

I always saw us, gay and good,

High honored in the town.

Now I am grown to womanhood….

I have the silly gown.

Dorothy Parker (1893 - 1967)

'Words, Wide Night' by Carol Ann Duffy

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Fri, 31 Aug 2012 05:44:00 +0000

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you

and this is what it is like or what it is like in words.

Carol Ann Duffy

'To the Lighthouse' by Virginia Woolf

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Wed, 29 Aug 2012 04:38:00 +0000

20. 129 "What people had had shed and left--a pair of shoes, a shooting cap, some faded skirts and coats in wardrobes--those alone kept the human shape and in the emptiness indicated how once they were filled and animated; how once hands were busy with hooks and buttons; how once the looking-glass had held a face; had held a world hollowed out in which a figure turned, a hand flashed, the door opened, in came children rushing and tumbling; and went out again. Now, day after day, light turned, like a flower reflected in water, its sharp image on the wall opposite. Only the shadows of the trees, flourishing in the wind, made obeisance on the wall, and for a moment darkened the pool in which light reflected itself; or birds, flying, made a soft spot flutter slowly across the bedroom floor."

Virginia Woolf To the Lighthouse

'The Door' by Miroslav Holub

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Mon, 27 Aug 2012 05:25:00 +0000

The Door

Go and open the door.

Maybe outside there’s

a tree, or a wood,

a garden,

or a magic city.

Go and open the door.

Maybe a dog’s rummaging.

Maybe you’ll see a face,

or an eye,

or the picture

of a picture.

Go and open the door.

If there’s a fog

it will clear.

Go and open the door.

Even if there’s only

the darkness ticking,

even if there’s only

the hollow wind,

even if

nothing

is there,

go and open the door.

At least

there’ll be

a draught.

Miroslav Holub (1923 - 1998)

translated from the Czech by Ian Milner and George Theiner

The Meadow

noreply@blogger.com (Brigitta Huegel) — Sat, 25 Aug 2012 04:29:00 +0000

In the meadow of the valley,
Where wild flowers are roaming free.
There are multitudes of colors
And their backdropp forest greens.

There I sit and watch reflections
Of the clouds above the lake.
And the creatures drinking from it,
A deer, a swan, a snake.

To accentuate this beauty,
Are the mountains far away.
That rise above the woodlands,
“Look up” they seem to say.

While climbing one great mountain,
I see the meadow that’s below.
Looking even now more lovely,
Than when I was below.

So when you’re in a valley,
Looking up, you’ll want to climb.
But you’ll see that this new vision
Is no more lovely than what’s behind.

Let’s plan while on our front porch
As we both sip lemonade,
To go exploring in open meadows,
And leave behind this cooling shade!

Won’t you join me in my meadow?
Let’s delight in all we see.
And frolic in the sunshine,
As our love grows by degrees!

Robert Edgar Burns