By Günter Eich
This can be the main entire English translation of the paintings of Günter Eich, one of many maximum postwar German poets. the writer of the POW poem "Inventory," between essentially the most well-known lyrics within the German language, Eich used to be rivaled purely by way of Paul Celan because the top poet within the new release after Gottfried Benn and Bertolt Brecht. Expertly translated and brought by way of Michael Hofmann, this assortment gathers 80 poems, many drawn from Eich's later paintings and so much of them translated right here for the 1st time. the amount additionally contains the unique German texts on dealing with pages.
As an early member of "Gruppe 47" (from which Günter Grass and Heinrich Böll later shot to prominence), Eich (1907-72) used to be on the forefront of an attempt to revive German as a language for poetry after the vitriol, propaganda, and lies of the 3rd Reich. brief and transparent, those are undying poems during which the ominousness of fairy stories meets the delicacy and suggestiveness of a ways jap poetry. In his past due poems, he writes usually, movingly, and infrequently wryly of disease and disorder. "To my mind," Hofmann writes, "there's whatever in Eich of Paul Klee's photographs: either are selfmade, modest in scale, instantly pleasant, creative, cogent."
Unjustly missed in English, Eich reveals his perfect translator the following.
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Extra info for Angina Days: Selected Poems
A palace orgy of the gods but what “we” see is “Blast Zone” sprinkled with clustered white flowers “Do not be tricked by human-centered views,” says Dogen, And Siddhartha looks it over, slips away — for another forest — — to really get right down on life and death. If you ask for help it comes. indd 21 7/2/14 10:26 AM Enjoy the Day One morning on a ridgetop east of Loowit after campstove coffee looking at the youthful old volcano breathing steam and sulfur sunrise lava bowls of snow went up behind a mountain hemlock asked my old advisors where they lay what’s going on?
I had asked Mt. St. indd 20 7/2/14 10:26 AM The trees all lying flat like, after that big party Siddhartha went to on the night he left the house for good, crowd of young friends whipped from sexy dancing dozens crashed out on the floor angelic boys and girls, sleeping it off. A palace orgy of the gods but what “we” see is “Blast Zone” sprinkled with clustered white flowers “Do not be tricked by human-centered views,” says Dogen, And Siddhartha looks it over, slips away — for another forest — — to really get right down on life and death.
Cyndra tracing manzanita On the tile wall shower, Sliding doors Smooth new floors — Old house a big hall now Big as a stable To bang the mead-stein on the table Robin got a room to write a poem, & no more nights out walking to the john. indd 48 7/2/14 10:26 AM Carole finally coming home Peeking at her many rooms. Oak and pine trees looking on Old Kitkitdizze house now Has another wing — So we’ll pour a glass and sing — This has been fun as heaven Summer of ninety-seven. C. all the way, the new suburban projects with cement roof tiles neatly piled on unfinished gables, turn onto Twin Cities Road, then Franklin Road pull in by the sweet little almost-wild Cosumnes River right where the Mokulumne meets it, (umne a Miwok suffix meaning river) walking out on a levee trail through cattail, tule, button-brush, small valley oaks, algae on the streams.
Angina Days: Selected Poems by Günter Eich