"Heine, to put it in a word, the majority of his poems are really saying anything, but he does very well. And because he is too smart to not realize that many readers see through the game, he breaks through it like an ironic punch line. "So wrote the " Orientals " a little bad about Christian Johann Heinrich Heine , on 17 Died in February 1856. I have, in fact, just as my problems with Mr. Heine, as you often do not know if his ironic refractions at some point simply, only to stitch, or you ought to look for a deeper meaning. This seems not to have disturbed many, it is as noted, I still hear my late step-grandmother devotedly "I do not know what it means to" sing. Anyway, life is often not easy and it often leaves his mark on the poetry, at least his are clearly original.
I must admit, his preface to the book of the songs touched me when I re-read: "First Poems! You must be written in sloppy, faded leaves, and in between, here and there, have withered flowers lie, or a blond curl, or a discolored piece of tape, and in some places still have the trace of a tear to be visible ... First poems, however, which are printed, brightly printed in black on horrible black paper, they have their sweetest, virginal charm lost and arouse in the author a horrible despondency ...
, The Homecoming ', which first appeared in the travel images, is the blessed dedicated Friederike Varnhagen von Ense, and I may boast of having been the first to this great woman with a public tribute to revered. It was a great act of August Varnhagen that he, rejecting all petty concerns, published those letters, reflecting Rachel reveals her whole personality. This book came at the right time when it just contribute best to strengthen and comfort could. The book was in need of comfort at the right time. It is as if Rachel knew the shipment was destined posthumous her. She believed, however, it would be better, and waited, but when the waiting was endless, she shook her head impatiently, looking at Varnhagen, and died quickly - to the faster rise can ...
That time is over! I am now more enlightened than heated. Such enlightenment is cool but always late with the people. I now see in the clearest light the stones, over which I stumbled. I could avoid them easily, without thereby convert a wrong way. Now I know that one can deal with everything in the world, if you put on only as necessary to do gloves. And then we should only do what is reasonable and what we have the most skill, in life as in art. Oh! one of the most unfortunate mistakes of man, that he the value of the gifts of nature with him most conveniently meet, childish fails, however, and the goods that it most difficult for are, look for the most precious. The gem rooted in the bosom of the earth, the pearl hidden in the depths of the sea, holds the man for the best treasures, he would despise, if the same nature, they put pebbles and shells at his feet. Against our assets, we are indifferent about our infirmities we look so long to deceive, until we finally stop for excellences. When I once opposed to a concert by Paganini, the master of passionate eulogies on his violin playing, he interrupted me by saying: But how you liked my compliments today, my bows?
...
In a piece of Raymond, the brave comedian, who recently shot to death from melancholy, youth and age appear as allegorical persons, and sings the song that the youth, when she takes leave of the hero, begins with the aforementioned verses ...
O, ye gods! I beg you not to let my youth, but let me have the virtues of youth, the disinterested resentment, the unselfish tear! Let me not be an old Boisterous, the yapping of envy the younger minds, and a feeble human misery, the cries speak about the good old days resistant ... Let me be an old man who loves the youth, and despite the old age still takes part in their games and danger! After all, like my voice tremble and shake, if only the meaning of my words remain undaunted and fresh! "
Posted to Paris in early 1837th
Heinrich Heine
I walked among the trees
with my grief alone;
Then came the old dreams,
And crept into my heart. Who taught you
this little word,
your bird in lofty heights?
still silent when my heart hears it, does
Then again so painful.
"There came a young lady walked, sang The
it on constantly, Since we have
birds seized
The beautiful, golden word "
The Ye shall not tell me everything,
wondrous sly you birds;.
you want me to steal my grief, but no one
I trust '.
0 comments:
Post a Comment