foudebassan (foudebassan) wrote in gedichte, @ 2008-04-29 23:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | bachmann |
Ingeborg Bachmann
(1926-1973) was born in Austria in a modest family (her father was a teacher). As a child she was very bright, and right after the war she left for Vienna where she studied Philosophy (and met Celan, with whom she lived for a short while, but they couldn't stand each other's close proximity so they split up). All her poems were written in the 1950s; her stated intent was to re-create a new poetical language, to differenciate it both from what the Nazis had spoken and from the patriarchal mores of society at large.
She didn't feel it worked and so suddenly stopped and turned to prose - mostly centered on death and destruction. Her most famous pieces are probably the short story Undine or the novel Malina, that was later adapted to the screen by Elfriede Jelinek. She had a relationship with fellow writer Max Frisch and became addicted to various pills.
She was working on the sequel to Malina in a hotel room in Rome when she got stoned and left a lighted cigarette on the bed covers; she died of the ensuing burns. It was probably an accident, but given the leitmotiv of her literary work it might have been suicide.
The title of today's poem is also the title of her main poetry book.
Die gestundete Zeit Es kommen härtere Tage. Die auf Widerruf gestundete Zeit wird sichtbar am Horizont. Bald mußt du den Schuh schnüren und die Hunde zurückjagen in die Marschhöfe. Denn die Eingeweide der Fische sind kalt geworden im Wind. Ärmlich brennt das Licht der Lupinen. Dein Blick spurt im Nebel: die auf Widerruf gestundete Zeit wird sichtbar am Horizont. Drüben versinkt dir die Geliebte im Sand, er steigt um ihr wehendes Haar, er fällt ihr ins Wort, er befiehlt ihr zu schweigen, er findet sie sterblich und willig dem Abschied nach jeder Umarmung. Sieh dich nicht um. Schnür deinen Schuh. Jag die Hunde zurück. Wirf die Fische ins Meer. Lösch die Lupinen! Es kommen härtere Tage. |
The deferred time Harder days are coming. The time deferred to cancellation becomes visible at the horizon. Soon you must lace your shoe and hunt the dogs back in the march farms. For the fish innards have gone cold in the wind. The lupines' light burns miserably. Your gaze sprints (1) in the fog: the time deferred to cancellation becomes visible at the horizon. Over there your beloved (2) sinks into the sand, he climbs around her streaming hair, he falls into her words (3), he orders her to remain silent, he finds her mortal and ready to say goodbye after each embrace. Don’t look around yourself. Lace your shoe. Hunt back the dogs. Throw the fish into the sea. Turn out the lupines! (4) Harder days are coming. |