Let Time right it

Überlaß es der Zeit

Theodor Fontane (1819-98)

Überlaß es der Zeit
Erscheint dir etwas unerhört, Bist du tiefsten Herzens empört, Bäume nicht auf, versuch′ s nicht mit Streit, Berühr es nicht, überlaß es der Zeit. Am ersten Tag wirst du feige dich schelten, Am zweiten läßt du dein Schweigen schon gelten, Am dritten hast du′ s überwunden, Alles ist wichtig nur auf Stunden, Ärger ist Zehrer und Lebensvergifter, Zeit ist Balsam und Friedensstifter.
Let Time right it
Unheard-of? Heartfelt rage? Egregious? Affronted? Roused to wrath? Outrageous? Don’t be rampant, don’t try to fight it, Don’t engage with it, let time right it. On day one you’ll be mean, self-scolding, By day two you’ll be mute, withholding, By day three you’ll be fine, all better: A few short hours and nothing can matter. Anger’s a life-destroyer, a poison, Time is a peace-bestower, a balsam.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Another New Year

Und wieder hier draussen

Theodor Fontane (1819-98)

Und wieder hier draussen
Und wieder hier draußen ein neues Jahr - Was werden die Tage bringen?! Wird's werden, wie es immer war, Halb scheitern, halb gelingen? Wird's fördern das, worauf ich gebaut, Oder vollends es verderben? Gleichviel, was es im Kessel braut, Nur wünsch' ich nicht zu sterben. Ich möchte noch wieder im Vaterland Die Gläser klingen lassen Und wieder noch des Freundes Hand Im Einverständnis fassen. Ich möchte noch wirken und schaffen und tun Und atmen eine Weile, Denn um im Grabe auszuruhn, Hat's nimmer Not noch Eile. Ich möchte leben, bis all dies Glühn Rücklässt einen leuchtenden Funken Und nicht vergeht wie die Flamm' im Kamin, Die eben zu Asche gesunken.
Another New Year
And here outside is another New Year: What will the days be breeding? Will things be just as they always were, Half disaster, half succeeding? Will it foster all upon which I’ve built? Will it destroy, or cherish? Either way, whatever the pot has brewed, I have no desire to perish. I desire again in my own dear land To set the glasses clinking And again to grasp a good friendly hand In mutual concord of thinking. I desire to create and do many a deed And still for a while draw breath, For there is never a pressing need For the graveyard stillness of death. I’d like to live on until all this glow Leaves a shining spark of tinder, Not like the flame in the hearth below That has just collapsed to a cinder.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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The Bridge on the Tay

Die Brück am Tay

Theodor Fontane (1819-98)

Die Brück am Tay
"Wann treffen wir drei wieder zusamm′?" "Um die siebente Stund′, am Brückendamm." "Am Mittelpfeiler." "Ich lösche die Flamm′." "Ich mit." "Ich komme vom Norden her." "Und ich von Süden." "Und ich vom Meer." "Hei, das gibt ein Ringelreihn, Und die Brücke muss in den Grund hinein." "Und der Zug, der in die Brücke tritt Um die siebente Stund′?" "Ei der muß mit." "Muß mit." "Tand, Tand, Ist das Gebilde von Menschenhand." Auf der Norderseite, das Brückenhaus - Alle Fenster sehen nach Süden aus, Und die Brücknersleut′, ohne Rast und Ruh Und in Bangen sehen nach Süden zu, Sehen und warten, ob nicht ein Licht Übers Wasser hin "ich komme" spricht, "Ich komme, trotz Nacht und Sturmesflug, Ich, der Edinburger Zug." Und der Brückner jetzt: "Ich seh einen Schein Am anderen Ufer. Das muß er sein. Nun Mutter, weg mit dem bangen Traum, Unser Johnie kommt und will seinen Baum, Und was noch am Baume von Lichtern ist, Zünd′ alles an wie zum heiligen Christ, Der will heuer zweimal mit uns sein, - Und in elf Minuten ist er herein." Und es war der Zug. Am Süderturm Keucht er vorbei jetzt gegen den Sturm, Und Johnie spricht: "Die Brücke noch! Aber was tut es, wir zwingen es doch. Ein fester Kessel, ein doppelter Dampf, Die bleiben Sieger in solchem Kampf, Und wie′s auch rast und ringt und rennt, Wir kriegen es unter: das Element." "Und unser Stolz ist unsre Brück′; Ich lache, denk ich an früher zurück, An all den Jammer und all die Not Mit dem elend alten Schifferboot; Wie manche liebe Christfestnacht Hab ich im Fährhaus zugebracht, Und sah unsrer Fenster lichten Schein, Und zählte, und konnte nicht drüben sein." Auf der Norderseite, das Brückenhaus - Alle Fenster sehen nach Süden aus, Und die Brücknersleut′ ohne Rast und Ruh Und in Bangen sehen nach Süden zu; Denn wütender wurde der Winde Spiel, Und jetzt, als ob Feuer vom Himmel fiel′, Erglüht es in niederschießender Pracht Überm Wasser unten … Und wieder ist Nacht. "Wann treffen wir drei wieder zusamm′?" "Um Mitternacht, am Bergeskamm." "Auf dem hohen Moor, am Erlenstamm." "Ich komme." "Ich mit." "Ich nenn euch die Zahl." "Und ich die Namen." "Und ich die Qual." "Hei! Wie Splitter brach das Gebälk entzwei." "Tand, Tand, Ist das Gebilde von Menschenhand."
The Bridge on the Tay
When shall we three meet again? - Macbeth "When shall we three meet again?" "At the seventh hour, at the bridge's dam." "At the middle pier." "I shall quench the flame." "And so shall I." "From the North I’ll come." "From the South I’ll come." “And I from the foam." "Ho, it shall be a ring-around. And the bridge shall sink, shall sink to the ground." "And the train on the bridge, at the seventh hour?" “That too shall be drowned.” “That too shall be drowned.” “Baubles vain, Such is the handiwork of man!” In the bridge house on the northern side The windows look south, and the folk inside anxiously, restlessly, southward gaze, waiting and watching, whether a light over the water speaks amain braving the dark and stormy night: ‘From Edinburgh coming, ’tis I, the train.’ And the bridgeman speaks: “A light I see on the further bank. The train it must be. Now, Mother, an end to your brooding drear, our Jock is coming, he wants his tree, so light every light on the Christmas fir as if for the Christ our Saviour dear. He will come twice for us this year, and in twelve minutes' time he shall be here." And the train was passing the southern tower, straining against the tempest’s power. “Only the bridge,” says Jock. “What then? Tight-wrought boiler, full head of steam, into battle, an unconquered team! For all it may wrestle and rage and rant, we yet shall master the element. “Our bridge is our pride. I recall and laugh, when I think of old times and of all the grief and all the distress with the poor old skiff: how many times past at Christmastide in the ferryman’s house I’ve had to bide and I gazed at our windows’ merry glare and counted the hours and couldn’t be there.” In the bridge house on the northern side the windows look south, and the folk inside anxiously, restlessly, southward gaze, as ever more furious the wild wind plays… And hurtling from heaven a fearsome blaze, a fiery thunderbolt, blinding bright, embroils the water! …Again it is night. “When shall we three meet again?” “At midnight, on the mountain-comb.” “By the alder-stump on the lofty plain.” “I’ll come.” “And I’ll come.” “The number I’ll name.” “I’ll name every name.” “I’ll tell the pain.” “Ho, how it splintered and split, the span.” “Baubles vain, Such is the handiwork of man!”

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Lyra Limerica

Limericks

Edward Lear (1812-88)

Limericks
BIRDS IN THE BEARD (published in CA News, December 2004) There was an Old Man with a beard, Who said, 'It is just as I feared! Two Owls and a Hen, Four Larks and a Wren, Have all built their nests in my beard!' CAPRICIOUS CAPERS published in CA News There was an Old Person of Ischia, Whose conduct grew friskier and friskier; He danced hornpipes and jigs, And ate thousands of figs, That lively Old Person of Ischia. DEFLATED published in CA News, said at Horatian Society There was an Old Man in a boat, Who said ‘I’m afloat! I’m afloat!’ When they said ‘No! you ain’t!’ He was ready to faint, That unhappy Old Man in a boat. TERRA FIRMA published in CA News There was a Young Lady of Portugal, Whose ideas were excessively nautical: She climbed up a tree, to examine the sea, But declared she would never leave Portugal. SHOE SHOCK Said at Horatian Society dinner There was an Old Man of the Wrekin Whose shoes made a horrible creaking; But they said ‘Tell us whether Your shoes are of leather, Or of what, you Old Man of the Wrekin?’ NONCHALANT There was a Young lady of Norway Who sat herself down in a doorway. When the door squashed her flat, She exclaimed ‘What of that?’ This courageous Young lady of Norway. TOO LONG BY HALF There was an old man of Coblenz, The length of whose legs was immense ; He went with one prance, from Turkey to France, That surprising old man of Coblenz. EASTERN PROMISE There was a young lady of Tyre, Who swept the loud chords of a lyre ; At the sound of each sweep, she enraptured the deep, And enchanted the city of Tyre. UNHEEDED There was an Old Man who said, "Well! Will nobody answer this bell? I have pulled day and night, till my hair has grown white, But nobody answers this bell!" DIRGE OF A SHREW There was an old person of Tartary Who divided his jugular artery. But he screeched to his wife, and she said »Oh, my life! Your death will be felt by all Tartary. » VULCAN’S STITHY published in CA News There was an Old Person of Gretna, Who rushed down the crater of Etna; When they said, ‘Is it hot?’ he replied, ‘No, it’s not!’ That mendacious Old Person of Gretna. ATHLETE’S FEAT There was a Young Girl of Majorca, Whose Aunt was a very fast walker; She walked seventy miles, and leaped fifteen stiles, Which astonished that Girl of Majorca. STRICT REGIMEN published in CA News There was an Old Person of Sparta Who had twenty-five sons and one daughter; He fed them on snails, and weighed them in scales, That wonderful person of Sparta. MAD COW There was an Old Man of Aôsta, Who possessed a large Cow, but he lost her; But they said, 'Don't you see, she has rushed up a tree? You invidious Old Man of Aôsta HONG KONG There was an old man of Hong Kong Who never did anything wrong. He lay on his back With his head in a sack, That innocuous old man of Hong Kong. DOOM WITH A VIEW There was an Old Person of Florence, Who held mutton chops in abhorrence; He purchased a Bustard, and fried ihm in Mustard, Which choked that Old Person of Florence, DISCOMBOBULATED CA News and Horatian Society There was an Old Person of Diss, Who said, ‘It is this! It is this!’ When they said, ‘What?’ or ‘Which?’ – He jumped into a ditch, Which absorbed that Old Person of Diss.
Lyra Limerica
* barbatus hospes nidificantium: ‘fit quod timebam! strix, trochilus, canens gallina cum bubone, alaudae quattuor, inseruere nidos.’ * lasciviores Inarimae, senex, misces choreas; innumerabiles mandis, Pithecusæe, ficus; fersque pedem numeris marinis. * ‘heus, nonne no? no! nat mea trabs,’ ait vir lintre vectus; praetereuntium cui turba: ‘tu non nas.’ recessit deficiens miserandum in alveum. * non Lusitanae mente cadunt maris naves; ut aequor spectet, in arborem conscendit. inde effata: ‘nunquam te, Tage, teque, Duri, relinquam.’ * raucis cothurnis improbe Cornovi, crepide crocis. ‘ num corio crepis? quonamve?’ sic horrent canoras carbatinas Viroconienses. * Septentrionum nubilis incola incauta portae sedit in ostio. elisa, ‘quidnam tum?’ vigore clamat Hyperboreos feroci. * immensa saltans ex Asia gradu imponit uno crura Parisiis, quem Rhenus eduxit Mosella compare sesquipedaliorem. * Phoenissa chordas raucisonas lyrae cum nympha magnis verreret ictibus, immane delectabat aequor et Tyriam recreabat urbem. * ‘longum sonanti num quis adest seni? canescit, inquam, caesaries mihi: pernoxque tinnitu vocavi perque diem: neque oboedit ullus.’ * qui Chersonesi se iugulaverat dat soricinas gutture nenias. cui sponsa: ‘vexabuntur omnes morte tua, mea vita, Tauri.’ * ex Hadriani moenibus advena cratera in Aetnae desilit irruens. ‘ardetne?’ ‘nequaquam.’ fefellit Scoticus Empedocles Sicanos. * tu dena vadis milia septies, ter quinque sepes tu superevolas, matertera, admiranda nepti: quin Baliaris hians stupescit. * o pasta proles fotaque cochleis! examinasti tu, pater, unicam post quinque vigintique natos, mire Lacon, trutina puellam. * Praetorianus possidet haud levem perditque vaccam. ‘nonne vides?’ ait vicinus, ‘ascendit comantes, invidiose, oneratque ramos.’ * urbs, a Britannis reddita Seribus! vir, purus omnis criminis improbi, velavit in sacco supinus innocuum caput, et recumbit. * non Arniensem lanigeri caro delectat agni. comparat otidem, quae fricta cum flavo sinapi fauce premit perimitque Tuscum. * Icenus, annis nempe senilibus marcens, ‘id hoc est’, inquit, ‘et hoc id est’. cum ‘quid? quod?’ aut ‘quod? quid?’ rogarent, desilit excipiturque fossa.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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I Said to my Heart

J'ai dit à mon coeur

ALFRED DE MUSSET (1810-57)

J'ai dit à mon coeur
J'ai dit à mon cœur, à mon faible cœur : N'est-ce point assez d'aimer sa maîtresse ? Et ne vois-tu pas que changer sans cesse, C'est perdre en désirs le temps du bonheur ? Il m'a répondu : Ce n'est point assez, Ce n'est point assez d'aimer sa maîtresse ; Et ne vois-tu pas que changer sans cesse Nous rend doux et chers les plaisirs passés ? J'ai dit à mon cœur, à mon faible cœur : N'est-ce point assez de tant de tristesse ? Et ne vois-tu pas que changer sans cesse, C'est à chaque pas trouver la douleur ? Il m'a répondu : Ce n'est point assez, Ce n'est point assez de tant de tristesse ; Et ne vois-tu pas que changer sans cesse Nous rend doux et chers les chagrins passés ?
I Said to my Heart
I said to my heart, my heart so weak, ‘Is it not enough to love one’s mistress, And do you not see, when change is ceaseless, We lose in yearning the bliss we seek ? It is not enough,’ said my heart so weak, It is not enough to love one’s mistress, And do you not see, when change is ceaseless, Past joys are made sweeter and mild and meek ? I said to my heart, my heart so weak, Is it not enough to have so much sadness, And do you not see, when change is ceaseless, Our sorrow is new, every day of the week? It is not enough,’ said my heart so weak, It is not enough to have so much sadness, And do you not see, when change is ceaseless, Past griefs are made sweeter and mild and meek.’
A jazz version, an urgent version, a thoughtful version...

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Quercus

The Oak

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-92)

His English, my Latin
The Oak
Live thy Life, Young and old, Like yon oak, Bright in spring, Living gold; Summer-rich Then; and then Autumn-changed Soberer-hued Gold again. All his leaves Fall'n at length, Look, he stands, Trunk and bough Naked strength.
Quercus
vive prout quercus iuvenisque senexque propinqua: aurea uti quercus tu quoque vere nite, aestiva locuples, autumna fronde minori, aurea tranquillo rite colore novo. denique nudata est foliis, en robore rami stant nudo, nudo robore truncus item.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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In the Luxembourg Gardens

Une Allée du Luxembourg

Gérard de Nerval (1808-55)

Une Allée du Luxembourg
Elle a passé, la jeune fille Vive et preste comme un oiseau : À la main une fleur qui brille, À la bouche un refrain nouveau. C’est peut-être la seule au monde Dont le cœur au mien répondrait, Qui venant dans ma nuit profonde D’un seul regard l’éclaircirait ! Mais non, – ma jeunesse est finie... Adieu, doux rayon qui m’as lui, – Parfum, jeune fille, harmonie... Le bonheur passait, – il a fui !
In the Luxembourg Gardens
She passed by, she was young, Lithe as bird on the wing, In her hand a bright flower, On her lips a new song. Could her heart, of all hearts, Give my heart a response? Could she lighten my dark With the fire of her glance? But no, my youth is finished... Farewell, sweet ray that shone, Girl, music, perfume, vanished: Happiness, passing, gone ! And here's a translation by Anon: E’ passata la gaia ragazza, svelta e vispa come un fringuello: con in mano una rosa di guazza, ed in bocca un suo fresco stornello. Ella è forse la sola nel mondo che darebbe il suo cuore al mio cuore: e che il buio in cui vivo, profondo, con un bacio farebbe splendore. Ma la mia giovinezza è già via… Ti saluto, miraggio fugace! Oh! Profumo, fanciulla, armonia, non son più che un ricordo mendace.
'Ivann', singer-songwriter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZTV62LuYow

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Fantasy

Fantaisie

Gérard de Nerval (1808-55)

Fantaisie
Il est un air pour qui je donnerais Tout Rossini, tout Mozart et tout Wèbre : Un air très vieux, languissant et funèbre, Qui pour moi seul a des charmes secrets! Or, chaque fois que je viens à l’entendre, De deux cents ans mon âme rajeunit... C’est sous Louis treize; et je crois voir s’étendre Un coteau vert, que le couchant jaunit. Puis un château de brique à coins de pierre, Aux vitraux teints de rougeâtres couleurs, Ceint de grands parcs, avec une rivière Baignant ses pieds, qui coule entre des fleurs; Puis une dame, à sa haute fenêtre, Blonde aux yeux noirs, en ses habits anciens, Que, dans une autre existence peut-être, J’ai déjà vue... et dont je me souviens!
Fantasy
Rossini, Mozart, yes, and Weber, I’d give them all for just one tune: It’s ancient, languid and sepulchral, It keeps its charms for me alone. I hear it, and my soul is younger: Each time, two centuries are gone. Louis the Thirteenth; a green hillside Turns golden in the setting sun. Stately brick house with fine stone corners: Red colours tint its window-glass. A river laves its feet, goes flowing Through parks in flower, swathes of grass; Fair lady at her lofty window, Black eyes, her dress historical, Whom in some earlier existence I may have seen ... and can recall!

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Notre-Dame, Paris

Notre-Dame de Paris

Gérard de Nerval (1808-55)

Notre-Dame de Paris
Notre-Dame est bien vieille: on la verra peut-être Enterrer cependant Paris qu’elle a vu naître; Mais, dans quelque mille ans, le Temps fera broncher Comme un loup fait un bœuf, cette carcasse lourde, Tordra ses nerfs de fer, et puis d’une dent sourde Rongera tristement ses vieux os de rocher! Bien des hommes, de tous les pays de la terre Viendront, pour contempler cette ruine austère, Rêveurs, et relisant le livre de Victor; – Alors ils croiront voir la vieille basilique, Toute ainsi qu’elle était, puissante et magnifique, Se lever devant eux comme l’ombre d’un mort!
Notre-Dame, Paris
Notre-Dame’s old. Who knows if, by and by, She, who saw Paris born, shall see her die? Ages shall pass. Time, as the wolf subdues The ox, shall bring her heavy carcass down With his dull tooth, shall twist her iron thews, And gnaw her skeleton of ancient stone. From every land on earth a throng shall stream To view the dismal ruin, and shall dream, Reading the fable that great Victor made: They’ll see a vision of the hallowed pile, Mighty and splendid in its antique style, Rise up before them like a spectral shade!
Published in Festschrift for Patricia Oxley

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Sunset

Le Coucher du Soleil

Gérard de Nerval (1808-55)

Le Coucher du Soleil
Quand le soleil du soir parcourt les Tuileries Et jette l’incendie aux vitres du château; Je suis la Grande Allée et ses deux pièces d’eau Tout plongé dans mes rêveries! Et de là, mes amis, c’est un coup d’œil fort beau De voir, lorsqu’à l’entour la nuit répand son voile, Le coucher du soleil, riche et mouvant tableau, Encadré dans l’Arc de l’Étoile!
Sunset
When sunset penetrates the Tuileries, Kindling a blaze on all the stately glass, By the Grand Avenue’s twin pools I pass, Plunged deep in my reveries! From there, my friends, it is spectacular: I watch, as round me spreads the veil of Night, The setting of the sun, a sumptuous sight, Framed in the Arch of the Star!

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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