On poppy poems

[oloriel]

So today is Remembrance Day. Or Armistice Day. Or whatever they call it where you live.

It isn't celebrated where I live for obvious reasons, but as it happens, there is a poem fairly similar to "In Flander's Fields" in German. Well, fairly similar in the beginning. It continues in a rather different vein (that of "Willie MacBride") and reaches a somewhat different conclusion.

Just for fun, I'll put the two songs opposite each other here. With translation in the middle.

IN FLANDERS FIELDS In Flander's fields the poppies blow Between the crosses row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.

THE TIME IS NOW (translation) Far out in Champagne, in the green of Midsummer Where poppies grow between the crosses The grasses shiver and sway in the wind Gently blowing across the burial ground. On your cross, dead soldier, I can see Your name, not just numbers, and somebody has Added the year: “1916”, And you weren’t yet 19 years old. Yes, they tricked you in just the same way As they still do it with us to this day, And you gave all you had to them: Your strength, your youth, and your life. Did you ever love a girl, dead soldier? Likely not, for only when there is peace Tenderness and Trust can grow: You were a soldier to die, not to be young. Perhaps you thought “I’ll fall soon anyway, I’ll take my pleasure as I can, forcibly!” Were you determined to, but then Felt ashamed of yourself and never did? Yes, they tricked... Soldier, did you die faithfully, in good cheer, Or did you, desperate, bitter, brutalised Not recognise your true enemy until the end? I hope you were killed by a clean shot. Or did shrapnel tear your limbs apart? Did you call for your mother with your last breath? Did you keep running on what was left of your legs? And your grave – does it contain more than a leg or a hand? Yes, they tricked... The grave only remains as a trace Of your life, but hear my oath: To fight for peace and be vigilant! If mankind ever falls for lies again, It might happen that nobody’s left alive, Nobody to bury the billions of the dead. But more and more people prove willing today To prevent that war: The time is now!

ES IST AN DER ZEIT (Original) Weit in der Champagne im Mittsommergrün, Dort, wo zwischen Grabkreuzen Mohnblumen blüh’n, Da zittern die Gräser und wiegen sich leicht Im Wind, der sanft über das Gräberfeld streicht. Auf deinem Grab sehe ich, toter Soldat, Deinen Namen, nicht nur Ziffern, und jemand hat Die Zahl „1916“ gemalt, Und du warst nicht einmal neunzehn Jahre alt. Ja, auch dich haben sie schon genauso betrogen, So wie sie es mit uns heute immer noch tun, Und du hast ihnen alles gegeben: Deine Kraft, deine Jugend, dein Leben. Hast du toter Soldat je ein Mädchen geliebt? Sicher nicht, denn nur dort, wo es Frieden gibt, Können Zärtlichkeit und Vertrauen gedeih’n: Warst Soldat, um zu sterben, nicht um jung zu sein. Vielleicht dachtest du dir ja „Ich falle eh bald, Nehme mir mein Vergnügen wie’s kommt, mit Gewalt!“ Warst du dazu entschlossen, hast dich aber dann Vor dir selber geschämt und es doch nie getan? Ja, auch dich… Soldat, gingst du gläubig und gern in den Tod, Oder hast du verzweifelt, verbittert, verroht Deinen wirklichen Feind nicht erkannt bis zum Schluss? Ich hoffe, es traf dich ein sauberer Schuss. Oder hat ein Geschoss dir die Glieder zerfetzt? Hast du nach deiner Mutter geschrien bis zuletzt? Bist du auf deinen Beinstümpfen weitergerannt; Und dein Grab – birgt es mehr als ein Bein? Eine Hand? Ja, auch dich… Es bleibt nur das Grab als die einzige Spur Von deinem Leben, doch hör meinen Schwur: Für den Frieden zu kämpfen und wachsam zu sein! Fällt die Menschheit noch einmal auf Lügen herein, So kann es gut sein, dass bald keiner mehr lebt, Niemand, der die Milliarden von Toten begräbt. Doch finden sich mehr und mehr Menschen bereit, Diesen Krieg zu verhindern – es ist an der Zeit! ~Hannes Wader

Wasn't that interesting.



In completely un-related news, the line of accidents in the house continues. Today it was my turn: While we were up in the attic finishing the flooring, when I was drawing the tension belt tighter for the umpteenth time, the board holding it suddenly decided to break and plinter, and the metal hook of the tension belt not only snapped across half the room but also chose to hit the back of my head. Now tension belts tend to be under a lot of pressure, and catching a metal hook propelled by that pressure against the back of your head is rather unpleasant. Fortunately I have thick hair and an even thicker skull, and aside from a lump the size of a dove's egg I seem to have taken no further damage.

AND we have finally finished the attic floor, and continused insulating the roof. The success is tangible already; the icy draft has lessened immeasurably and it's a lot warmer down here now. Hurray.
(Still not worth the bump on my head, though, nor the incessant itch of my arms because the bloody rock wool crept underneath my pullover again.)

No kendô tomorrow. I need at least one day to heal. >_>

Comments

[mirien.livejournal.com]

Ouch for that smack on the head! *wince*

The German poem was really interesting and...brutal I suppose. Thanks for sharing it, it was fascinating to see them side by side. I think on this day, loss is loss, whatever the nationality. Governments make the wars, but young lives fight them and are lost, on both sides.

[tuxedo-elf.livejournal.com]

I personally think the war dead on all sides should be remembered... after all, they still left loved ones behind.

And ouch! You were lucky that wasn't more serious! Hope that bump goes down soon!

[cowboy-r.livejournal.com]

Did you translate this yourself? You made some interesting choices, if so. Translating poetry is one of the hardest translation tasks, and I applaud yours.

[oloriel.livejournal.com]

Translating poetry is all right if you ignore the rhyme scheme, which I did ;) But thank you!

[aervir.livejournal.com]

Did you translate the song by Wader yourself? Your English version is really impressive! And I, too, think it's an excellent poem for Remembrance Day.

[oloriel.livejournal.com]

I did; I didn't know whether it's ever been translated and was too lazy to look it up. It's one of those campfire songs from my scouting days, but yeah, I thought it fitted the occasion.

[gaharr.livejournal.com]

Yikes, Rock-woll I hate that stuff, hope your head is better soon

[oloriel.livejournal.com]

It's well enough, thank you - only hurts when I touch the bump, which I try to avoid ;) So it's really just superficial damage (I assume!).

[eliathanis.livejournal.com]

Gut, dass es dich nicht schwerer verletzt hat!
Das hätte echt böse ausgehen können!

[oloriel.livejournal.com]

Jo, wir waren auch erstmal einigermaßen in Panik! Aber da es nur weh tat und mir nicht schwindlig war und ich auch nicht doppelt gesehen habe oder so, habe ich mich dann mit einem Kühlpack und allgemeinem Mitleid begnügt ;)

(Und, awww, Tristan! ^__^)