foudebassan (foudebassan) wrote in gedichte, @ 2008-04-03 23:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | minnesinger, mittelalter, vogelweide |
Walther von der Vogelweide
We don’t know a lot about Vogelweide. We don’t know where or when he was born (1170 is an estimation) and we’re not quite sure when or where he died either (probably 1230), though there’s been a lot of research on that. What we do know is that he wrote a lot, and is considered one of the greatest German-speaking minstrels.
This would be a good time to specify that, by “German”, I don’t mean “from Germany” but rather “who spoke German, or a German dialect”. As you are well aware, borders can and do change over time, even more so for the German-speaking area than, for instance, in the French- or English-speaking areas. No offence intended to Austrians or German-speaking Swiss.
So, even though Vogelweide figures here as German, writing German poetry and all that, he actually lived in Vienna for the greater part of what we know of his life.
His best-know poem is the incipit “Unter der Linde…”:
(ETA: Thanks to sylvanawood, you can listen to it here)
'Unter der Linde, auf der Heide, da unser beider Lager war, da könnt ihr schön gebrochen finden die Blumen und das Gras. Vor dem Wald in einem Tal - tandaradei - sang schön die Nachtigall. Ich kam gegangen zu der Aue: da war mein Liebster schon gekommen. Da ward ich empfangen - Gnädige Jungfrau! -, daß ich für immer glücklich bin. Ob er mich küßte? Wohl tausendmal: tandaradei - seht, wie rot ist mir der Mund! Da hat er gemacht so prächtig ein Bett von Blumen. Da lacht noch mancher herzlich, kommt er jenen Pfad daher. An den Rosen mag er wohl - tandaradei - merken, wo das Haupt mir lag. Daß er bei mir lag - wüßte es jemand (das verhüte Gott!), so schämt ich mich. Wie er mit mir war, niemals, niemand erfahre das als er und ich und ein kleines Vögelchen, tandaradei - das kann wohl verschwiegen sein.' |
Under the lime tree On the moor Was our bed : There you can find Flowers and grass Sweetly trampled. In front of the wood, in a valley Tandaradei The nightingale sang prettily. I came To the meadow : There my lover had already arrived. There I was received – Sweet Mary ! – May I forever be happy. Did he kiss me ? Indeed, a thousand times ! Tandaradei See how red my mouth has turned. There he made Such a magnificent bed Out of flowers. There he shall laugh In his heart He who walks the path that leads here. From the roses he may well see- Tandaradei – Where my head did lie. That he laid with me- If someone knew it (God forbid !) I would be ashamed of myself. How he was with me, No one shall ever learn But he and I And a tiny little bird Tandaradei That can well be silent. |