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mlindner's review
4.0
"He is homesick. But what is home? I do not know the answer, but I cherish Hesse because he at least knew how to ask the question." (James Wright in the Translator's Introduction)
Wright selected and translated these poems which, yes, could be said to center around the theme of homesickness. It is a short book but the poems are well chosen and cohere superbly. Few are truly dark but some menace and they all question (in the larger sense).
I will need to revisit this volume from time to time, no doubt.
This edition is a bilingual one with the German on the left and the English on the right so may be of help to those trying to learn or better their German/English.
Wright selected and translated these poems which, yes, could be said to center around the theme of homesickness. It is a short book but the poems are well chosen and cohere superbly. Few are truly dark but some menace and they all question (in the larger sense).
I will need to revisit this volume from time to time, no doubt.
This edition is a bilingual one with the German on the left and the English on the right so may be of help to those trying to learn or better their German/English.
rivercrow's review against another edition
3.0
There is probably a reason that Herman Hesse is not known for his poetry and I should have realized taht prior to picking up this little book of poems. Perhaps the poems really don't translate well or maybe poetry simply is not his forte. Some of the poems are boring and it seems impossible they could have came from the same man as Siddhartha.
But it is Hesse and there are some treasures here. He has thoughtful comments and great turns of phrase when speaking about death, the natural world, and the cycle of life. The three poems written in 1914 about and because of WWI redeem this little collection for me.
From -Thinking of a Friend at Night (September 1914)
. . .
It's Possible tonight you're on horseback,
The farthest outpost, peering along, with a gun in your fist,
Smiling, whispering, to your exhausted horse.
Maybe--I keep imagining--you are spending the night
As a guest in a strange castle with a park
And writing a letter by candelight, and tapping
On the piano keys by the window,
Groping for a sound . . .
--And maybe
You are alredy silent, already dead, and the day
Will shine no longer into your beloved
Serious eyes . . .
But it is Hesse and there are some treasures here. He has thoughtful comments and great turns of phrase when speaking about death, the natural world, and the cycle of life. The three poems written in 1914 about and because of WWI redeem this little collection for me.
From -Thinking of a Friend at Night (September 1914)
. . .
It's Possible tonight you're on horseback,
The farthest outpost, peering along, with a gun in your fist,
Smiling, whispering, to your exhausted horse.
Maybe--I keep imagining--you are spending the night
As a guest in a strange castle with a park
And writing a letter by candelight, and tapping
On the piano keys by the window,
Groping for a sound . . .
--And maybe
You are alredy silent, already dead, and the day
Will shine no longer into your beloved
Serious eyes . . .
daisyshaw's review
4.0
the poetry is beautiful. i love having it in two languages. it just exemplifies the beauty in language. my copy is from a charity shop and has someone else’s annotations which almost makes it more special; poetry is a connection between the poet and the reader and mine is connected to someone else’s corner of the world. it also inspired in someways a play i wrote!!
moosegurl's review
3.0
"I know many countries and cities are still waiting,
But never again will the night of the forests,
The wild fermenting garden of the earliest world
Lure me in, and horrify me with its magnificence.
Here in this endless and gleaming wilderness
I was removed father than ever from the world of men--
And i never saw so close or so clearly
The image in the mirror of my own soul."
"Now I drink pain in every delight
And poison in every wine;
I never knew it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Alone, without you."
But never again will the night of the forests,
The wild fermenting garden of the earliest world
Lure me in, and horrify me with its magnificence.
Here in this endless and gleaming wilderness
I was removed father than ever from the world of men--
And i never saw so close or so clearly
The image in the mirror of my own soul."
"Now I drink pain in every delight
And poison in every wine;
I never knew it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Alone, without you."
bowierowie's review
1.0
Over the years, I've gotten into the habit of collecting used, hardbound copies of Hermann Hesse's books. This one in particular is quite a gem. It was once owned by the John C. Hart Memorial Library in Yorktown, New York, so it still has the awesome pocket with the stamped due date card. Unfortunately, I enjoyed the aesthetic of the book much more than its contents. I suppose I was expecting a lot as I'm a huge fan of Hesse's Siddhartha and Steppenwolf. I was expecting to be inspired and moved, but instead I felt adrift and a bit agitated by Hesse's lack of precision and momentum in these poems. I find him to be much more confident and in control of image and rhythm in his prose. "Ravenna (1)" and "Childhood" are somewhat memorable, but I don't feel the desire to read them again and again. Perhaps I'll come across this book at a later date and discover something more worthwhile, but for now, I'm tempted to tear out the pages and use the beautiful binding and nostalgic library details as a new journal. I'm sorry, Hermann!
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