Author Topic: Hermann Hesse  (Read 67 times)

Offline Michael

  • Administrator
  • Rishi
  • ******
  • Posts: 18283
    • Michael's Music Page
Hermann Hesse
« on: April 27, 2009, 10:40:20 PM »
Some of you know that I have read all of Hermann Hesse's translated works a long time ago - he is one of my foundational influences.

I wish to post some of his poems here.

When he was young he wanted to be a poet, not a novelest, which is what he is now famous for. But his poems are a delight, and even today never fail to move me. A truly beautiful being!


Offline Michael

  • Administrator
  • Rishi
  • ******
  • Posts: 18283
    • Michael's Music Page
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #1 on: April 27, 2009, 10:46:41 PM »

Lonesome Night

    You brothers, who are mine,
    Poor people, near and far,
    Longing for every star,
    Dream of relief from pain,
    You, stumbling dumb
    At night, as pale stars break,
    Lift your thin hands for some
    Hope, and suffer, and wake,
    Poor muddling commonplace,
    You sailors who must live
    Unstarred by hopelessness,
    We share a single face.
    Give me my welcome back.

Offline Michael

  • Administrator
  • Rishi
  • ******
  • Posts: 18283
    • Michael's Music Page
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #2 on: April 27, 2009, 10:48:12 PM »
How Heavy The Days

    How heavy the days are.
    There's not a fire that can warm me,
    Not a sun to laugh with me,
    Everything bare,
    Everything cold and merciless,
    And even the beloved, clear
    Stars look desolately down,
    Since I learned in my heart that
    Love can die.

Offline Michael

  • Administrator
  • Rishi
  • ******
  • Posts: 18283
    • Michael's Music Page
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #3 on: April 27, 2009, 10:49:44 PM »
Thinking Of A Friend At Night

    In this evil year, autumn comes early...
    I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters,
    The wind on my hat...And you? And you, my friend?

    You are standing--maybe--and seeing the sickle moon
    Move in a small arc over the forests
    And bivouac fire, red in the black valley.
    You are lying--maybe--in a straw field and sleeping
    And dew falls cold on your forehead and battle jacket.

    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 candlelight, and tapping
    On the piano keys by the window,
    Groping for a sound...

    --And maybe
    You are already silent, already dead, and the day
    Will shine no longer into your beloved
    Serious eyes, and your beloved brown hand hangs wilted,
    And your white forehead split open--Oh, if only,
    If only, just once, that last day, I had shown you, told you
    Something of my love, that was too timid to speak!

    But you know me, you know...and, smiling, you nod
    Tonight in front of your strange castle,
    And you nod to your horse in the drenched forest,
    And you nod to your sleep to your harsh clutter of straw,
    And think about me, and smile.
    And maybe,
    Maybe some day you will come back from the war,
    and take a walk with me some evening,
    And somebody will talk about Longwy, Luttich, Dammerkirch,
    And smile gravely, and everything will be as before,
    And no one will speak a word of his worry,
    Of his worry and tenderness by night in the field,
    Of his love. And with a single joke
    You will frighten away the worry, the war, the uneasy nights,
    The summer lightning of shy human friendship,
    Into the cool past that will never come back.

Offline Michael

  • Administrator
  • Rishi
  • ******
  • Posts: 18283
    • Michael's Music Page
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #4 on: April 27, 2009, 10:52:51 PM »
On A Journey

    Don't be downcast, soon the night will come,
    When we can see the cool moon laughing in secret
    Over the faint countryside,
    And we rest, hand in hand.


    Don't be downcast, the time will soon come
    When we can have rest. Our small crosses will stand
    On the bright edge of the road together,
    And rain fall, and snow fall,
    And the winds come and go.

Offline Michael

  • Administrator
  • Rishi
  • ******
  • Posts: 18283
    • Michael's Music Page
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #5 on: April 27, 2009, 10:58:53 PM »
Autobiography delivered his receipt of the Nobel Prize in Literature, 1946

I was born in Calw in the Black Forest on July 2, 1877. My father, a Baltic German, came from Estonia; my mother was the daughter of a Swabian and a French Swiss. My father's father was a doctor, my mother's father a missionary and Indologist. My father, too, had been a missionary in India for a short while, and my mother had spent several years of her youth in India and had done missionary work there.

My childhood in Calw was interrupted by several years of living in Basle (1880-86). My family had been composed of different nationalities; to this was now added the experience of growing up among two different peoples, in two countries with their different dialects.

I spent most of my school years in boarding schools in Wuerttemberg and some time in the theological seminary of the monastery at Maulbronn. I was a good learner, good at Latin though only fair at Greek, but I was not a very manageable boy, and it was only with difficulty that I fitted into the framework of a pietist education that aimed at subduing and breaking the individual personality. From the age of twelve I wanted to be a poet, and since there was no normal or official road, I had a hard time deciding what to do after leaving school. I left the seminary and grammar school, became an apprentice to a mechanic, and at the age of nineteen I worked in book and antique shops in Tübingen and Basle. Late in 1899 a tiny volume of my poems appeared in print, followed by other small publications that remained equally unnoticed, until in 1904 the novel Peter Camenzind, written in Basle and set in Switzerland, had a quick success. I gave up selling books, married a woman from Basle, the mother of my sons, and moved to the country. At that time a rural life, far from the cities and civilization, was my aim. Since then I have always lived in the country, first, until 1912, in Gaienhofen on Lake Constance, later near Bern, and finally in Montagnola near Lugano, where I am still living.

Soon after I settled in Switzerland in 1912, the First World War broke out, and each year brought me more and more into conflict with German nationalism; ever since my first shy protests against mass suggestion and violence I have been exposed to continuous attacks and floods of abusive letters from Germany. The hatred of the official Germany, culminating under Hitler, was compensated for by the following I won among the young generation that thought in international and pacifist terms, by the friendship of Romain Rolland, which lasted until his death, as well as by the sympathy of men who thought like me even in countries as remote as India and Japan. In Germany I have been acknowledged again since the fall of Hitler, but my works, partly suppressed by the Nazis and partly destroyed by the war; have not yet been republished there.

In 1923, I resigned German and acquired Swiss citizenship. After the dissolution of my first marriage I lived alone for many years, then I married again. Faithful friends have put a house in Montagnola at my disposal.

Until 1914 I loved to travel; I often went to Italy and once spent a few months in India. Since then I have almost entirely abandoned travelling, and I have not been outside of Switzerland for over ten years.

I survived the years of the Hitler regime and the Second World War through the eleven years of work that I spent on the Glasperlenspiel (1943) [Magister Ludi], a novel in two volumes. Since the completion of that long book, an eye disease and increasing sicknesses of old age have prevented me from engaging in larger projects.

Of the Western philosophers, I have been influenced most by Plato, Spinoza, Schopenhauer, and Nietzsche as well as the historian Jacob Burckhardt. But they did not influence me as much as Indian and, later, Chinese philosophy. I have always been on familiar and friendly terms with the fine arts, but my relationship to music has been more intimate and fruitful. It is found in most of my writings. My most characteristic books in my view are the poems (collected edition, Zürich, 1942), the stories Knulp (1915), Demian (1919), Siddhartha (1922), Der Steppenwolf (1927) [Steppenwolf], Narziss und Goldmund. (1930), Die Morgenlandfahrt (1932) [The Journey to the East], and Das Glasperlenspiel (1943) [Magister Ludi]. The volume Gedenkblätter (1937, enlarged ed. 1962) [Reminiscences] contains a good many autobiographical things. My essays on political topics have recently been published in Zürich under the title Krieg und Frieden (1946) [War and Peace].

I ask you, gentlemen, to be contented with this very sketchy outline; the state of my health does not permit me to be more comprehensive.

Offline Michael

  • Administrator
  • Rishi
  • ******
  • Posts: 18283
    • Michael's Music Page
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #6 on: April 27, 2009, 11:14:02 PM »
The Poet

    Only on me, the lonely one,
    The unending stars of the night shine,
    The stone fountain whispers its magic song,
    To me alone, to me the lonely one
    The colorful shadows of the wandering clouds
    Move like dreams over the open countryside.
    Neither house nor farmland,
    Neither forest nor hunting privilege is given to me,
    What is mine belongs to no one,
    The plunging brook behind the veil of the woods,
    The frightening sea,
    The bird whir of children at play,
    The weeping and singing, lonely in the evening, of a man secretly in love.
    The temples of the gods are mine also, and mine
    the aristocratic groves of the past.
    And no less, the luminous
    Vault of heaven in the future is my home:
    Often in full flight of longing my soul storms upward,
    To gaze on the future of blessed men,
    Love, overcoming the law, love from people to people.
    I find them all again, nobly transformed:
    Farmer, king, tradesman, busy sailors,
    Shepherd and gardener, all of them
    Gratefully celebrate the festival of the future world.
    Only the poet is missing,
    The lonely one who looks on,
    The bearer of human longing, the pale image
    Of whom the future, the fulfillment of the world
    Has no further need. Many garlands
    Wilt on his grave,
    But no one remembers him.

Offline Nichi

  • Global Moderator
  • Rishi
  • ******
  • Posts: 24262
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #7 on: April 28, 2009, 12:31:26 AM »
Interesting poetry, M -- thanks for adding this collection.

The lonely one who looks on,
The bearer of human longing, the pale image
Of whom the future, the fulfillment of the world
Has no further need. Many garlands
Wilt on his grave,
But no one remembers him.
Not here, not there, but everywhere - always right before your eyes.
~Hsin Hsin Ming

Jahn

  • Guest
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #8 on: April 28, 2009, 04:58:23 AM »

Yes, Hermann Hesse was one of the authors that I read with delight. As a kind of coincidence they made all his books available as pocket books at the supermarket, then, back in the early 1970's. Steppenwolf, Demian, Siddharta, Glasperlenspiel, Klingsor etc.

I have forgotten what it was all about but I know that Hermann belonged to the us.

Offline Firestarter

  • Ellen
  • Rishi
  • *
  • Posts: 14770
  • Love You ALL To The Moon and Back...
    • SIR
Re: Hermann Hesse
« Reply #9 on: April 28, 2009, 05:46:38 AM »
I like Hesse because he understood the archetypes and was influenced by Jung. His work in Demain and Steppenwolf worked well with the archetypes, esp the nature of the anima for a man.
"A warrior doesn't seek anything for his solace, nor can he possibly leave anything to chance. A warrior actually affects the outcome of events by the force of his awareness and his unbending intent." - don Juan

 

SMF spam blocked by CleanTalk