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Das Wunschgeboresgeist
Contributed by
Drive_By
on
Thursday, 27th May 2004 @ 10:38:32 PM in AEST
Topic:
InspirationalPoems
|
Du der mich folglich mir hast gefragt, hre:
Ich bin gekommen
Aus von frierenden Bergen
Und den frischen grnen Hgeln,
Und ich bin die bin ich,
Ein Engel das trumt,
Auf dem Horizont
Nach den Sonnenuntergang.
Ich habe aber kein Name,
Durch den Sprachen der Maenner
habe ich aber keine Stimme,
Die durch Mann
oder Tier gehrt werden kann..
Noch wird mein Name ist gesagt
Laut vom Wind unter den Bumeblttern
Durch das Gercht des Dmmerungs
Durch die khle Berhrung und die Reflexion von Diana
Durch den Eisenschuhen, schlagende erbarmungslos
Entlang Feldzugwege, gschlagn
Von den geliebten von Ares, der ewige Kmpfer.
Noch wird meine Stimme aufgezeichnet sein,
Vom Meister mit seinem Feder
Durch den Snger mit seinem Geist
Durch den Dichter, jener Krieger-ausgesperrt
Durch den Minnesnger, der gefallen ist,
Seine Stimme, meiner wiederhllt sie;
In Ewigkeit.
Copyright ©
Drive_By
... [
2004-05-27 22:38:32]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Das Wunschgeboresgeist
(User Rating: 1 )
by SugimotoYouki on
Monday, 21st June 2004 @ 02:36:57 PM AEST
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Info | Send
a Message)
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*lets out a sad sigh*
I'm very sorry I have to say this now, really, but I gotta be honest...
The poem itself would be wonderful...
but even I, a german, can barely understand your german...
I'm really sorry :( |
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Re: Das Wunschgeboresgeist
(User Rating: 1 )
by kimi on
Monday, 21st June 2004 @ 05:24:48 PM AEST
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a Message)
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This is my EXTREMELY BAD translation, duno if it helps: (sorry it's not in the original poem form)
'You asked me, therefore hear: I am come out from freezing mountains and the fresh green hills, and I am what they are, an angel dream, on the horizon after the sunset. I have however no name, by the languages of the men have I have no voice which can be heard by man or animal. Still my name is said, sound of the wind under the tree by the rumour dawns by the cool contact and reflection of Diana by the iron shoes, striking pitiless along campaign ways, the loved acre, the eternal fighter. Still my voice will be noted, war-locked out by the master with its feather or spring by the singer with its spirit by the poet, that one by the messenger, who is fallen, its voice, mine again held it; In eternity.'
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