Gedichte (German Edition)
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Welcome to the club. Anna Blume has a bird. Anna Blume is red. What color is the bird? Blue is the color of your yellow hair. Red is the cooing of your green bird. You plain girl in an everyday dress, you dear green animal, I love ya! That incidentally belongs in the ember box.
Anna Blume! Anna, a-n-n-a, I am dripping your name. Your name drips like soft suet. Do you know, Anna, do you know yet? Anna Blume, you droppy animal, I love ya!
12 Gedichte, Op.35 (Schumann, Robert)
Flies have short lice. To hurry is wit in a flurry. Red raspberries are red. The end is the beginning of every end. The beginning is the end of every beginning. Banality becomes all respectable citizens. Bourgeoisie is the beginning of every bourgeois. Spice makes short jokes nice. All women hate mice. Every beginning has an end. The world is full of smart people. Smart is dumb. Not everything called expressionism is expressive art. Dumb is smart. Smart remains dumb. They had buried me.
I heard them say I was dead. But as the shiver of resurrection went through the earth and the floods of the eternity reached me with their starless blue days I woke up in the light of your eyes and called, called your name soundlessly.
You kissed me, and I became like your lips: somewhat pale, turning a bloody dark in kiss and merrily curved, became a high rose, your mouth in the wind, to which this rose, shining from its purple depths, bent down, weighted down, to open for a kiss. And the way you were, rigid, your hands hot! As if such sadness were already hope, you sang almost inaudibly: Never again shall I freeze at day in blazing heat and see morning melt on flower beds like big kisses. I do not like you like this; but when the storm howls across your expanse and when the clouds rage through you like winter wolves, ravenous and mute with hunger, my agitation will show how much I crave your freedom.
I do not like you like this, not this cloudless braggart whose boastful purity crushes me like one would crush a leaf.
The world's ablaze in wind, the cities blister. Hello, the storm, the great storm is at the hilt. A little girl is ripped away from her sister. Escaping to Ithaca is a car just built. A path has lost its way entirely. The stars in the sky have been eroded. A future madhouse inmate's born prematurely.
In San Francisco the moon has exploded. These translations are based on German original texts collected in Lyrik des expressionistischen Jahrzehnts introduction by Gottfried Benn , published by Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag in Munich in Benn's introduction dates from Gedichte Translation index Literature and art index.