From Wikipedia:

Der von Kürenberg or Der Kürenberger (Kuerenberg, Kuerenberger, fl. mid-12th century) was an Austrian poet, and one of the first named poets to write in German.
He was an Austrian nobleman possibly from the area around Linz. Some of the 14 stanzas that appear in Minnesangsfrühling group themselves into poems. His poems were most likely written before the concept of ideal courtly love was formulated. As their subject they have a more direct and less stylized relationship. Some are in dialogue form (Wechsel). The best known poem is the "falcon song". It is possible that both stanzas were spoken by a woman (it could also be argued that they were written by a woman). His poetry, as well as that of Dietmar von Eist (Aist), suggest that there may have existed a poetic form indigenous to the Upper Germany/Austria before the impact of the Provençal influence.

His poems contrast sharply with those of the later convention. So much so that some have been tempted to suggest that he disapproved of them. (But as Walsche says: This would be presuming too much). His poems are composed almost exclusively in an old Danubic form which is called the Nibelungenstrophe (the Germanic long-line). Most of his poems tell little stories. In one of the poems a woman stands and listens to the song of one knight among all the others. The knight sings "in Kürenberges wise". She states that "either he must leave the country, or she will enjoy his love." The poet's response is to call for his horse and armour and flee. This lady is unique in the poetry of the time in that she wishes to compel the knight's love and seeks to fulfill the promised eroticism of the knight's song. Strangely, one is left with the feeling that the knight was shocked to have been taken seriously. Der von Kürenberg paints bold images with few words and creates men and women who are bold and confident. The impression he leaves seems more true to what one might expect the men and women of a warrior-aristocracy to be like than that portrayed in the following generation's poetry.


Like Ava, the first named female poet writing in German, der Kürenberger lived and worked in the area along the Danube river between Bavaria and Lower Austria. Conventionally he is associated with Linz. He was of knightly family and one of the early travelling singers (Minnesinger) common in this area.
[edit] Work
His poems were written in Middle High German between 1150 and 1170. Fourteen or fifteen of his verses have been preserved in the Codex Manesse, some of which may belong together as poems; the Falcon Song ("Falkenlied") below is the best known. Sometimes he is cited as the author of the Nibelungenlied, on the basis of the similarity of verse form, although on grounds of chronology this is extremely unlikely.

Original text:

Ich zôch mir einen valken mêre danne ein jâr.
dô ich in gezamete als ich in wolte hân
und ich im sîn gevidere mit golde wol bewant,
er huop sich ûf vil hôhe und floug in anderiu lant.

Sît sach ich den valken schône fliegen:
er fuorte an sînem fuoze sîdîne riemen,
und was im sîn gevidere alrôt guldîn.
got sende si zesamene die gerne geliep wellen sin!

I brought up a falcon for more than a year.
When I had him tamed as I wanted
And when I had adorned his feathers with gold,
He hopped up into the sky and flew to another land.

Since then I have seen the falcon flying:
He wore silken jesses on his feet,
And his feathers were all red-gold.
God bring together those who want to love each other!


--------------------------------------------

I thought I'd try my hand at this, so here goes:


A falcon I raised for more than a year
and when he was tamed as I wanted, and reared
and his feathers gilded like golden bands
he flew through the skies to other lands

since then other falcons I’ve seen in the skies
the silken jess straps on his feet as he flies

2nd try

A falcon I raised for more than a year
and when he was tamed as I wished, and reared
and his feathers were gilded like golden bands
he flew through the skies to other lands

since then other falcons I’ve seen in the skies
the silken jess straps on his feet as he flies
all golden and scarlet bedeck the feathers
May God bring true lovers together


3rd

A falcon I raised a for more than a year
and when he was tamed as I wished, and reared
and his feathers were gilded like golden bands
he flew through the skies to other lands

since then other falcons I’ve seen in the sky
the silken jess straps on their feet as they fly
all golden and scarlet bedecking their feathers
And I pray that God bring true lovers together

4th
A falcon I raised a for more than a year
and when he was tamed as I wished her, and reared
and her feathers all gilded like golden bands
she flew through the skies to other lands

since then other falcons I’ve seen in the sky
the silken jess straps on their feet as they fly
all golden and scarlet agleam on the feather
May God allow lovers to come together

5th

A falcon I raised for over a year
and when she was tamed as I wished her, and reared,
her feathers all gilded like golden bands
she hopped up and went sailing to other lands

since then other falcons I’ve seen in the sky
the jess straps of silk on their feet as they fly
all golden and scarlet agleam and afeather
May God grant that true lovers come together

6th


I raised a falcon for more than a year
and when she was tame as I wished, and reared,
her feathers all gilded with golden strands,
she hopped up and flew off to other lands

since then other falcons I’ve seen in the sky
their jess straps of silk on their feet as they fly
all golden and scarlet and gleaming afeather
May God grant that true lovers come together


...a work in progress...the last two lines especially...maybe 'afeather' is of my coinage, although I think it's like "awing", and maybe "come together" expands on the original, but such is translation. See Richard Wilbur's wonderful translation of Jorge Luis Borges' "Everness", where "forgetfulness" (olvido) becomes "oblivion"...it's a very wonderful translation.

There Will Come Soft Rain, by Sarah Teasdale

I post this because it's evocative of Alfonsina Storni's Litanies for the Dead Earth, and because it's evocative in itself...thanks to Simran Khurana's poetry blog, where I read it some days ago:


There Will Come Soft Rain

There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone

- Sarah Teasdale

A thought from Erich Fromm

If it is true that the ability to be puzzled is the beginning of wisdom, then this truth is a sad commentary on the wisdom of modern man. Whatever the merits of our high degree of literary and universal education, we have lost the gift for being puzzled. Everything is supposed to be known – if not to ourselves then to some specialist whose business it is to know what we do not know. In fact, to be puzzled is embarrassing, a sign of intellectual inferiority…to have the right answers seems all-important; to ask the right questions is considered insignificant by comparison.

Fromm, Erich: The Forgotten Language: an Introduction to the Understanding of Dreams, Fairy Tales and Myths, GROVE PRESS, INC., NEW YORK, N.Y.

Sonnets

Garcilaso de la Vega (1501-1536)

Escrito está en me alma vuestro gesto...translation:

Written upon my soul your gesture is
and everything I write desire of thee
who wrote it all along, I only read,
yet still I keep myself from you in this.

Thus I am and I will always be;
for though I see I can't contain your good,
as you exceed my fit, I still believe,
and take my faith in you as understood.

I'd not be born except for love of you,
My soul has cut your measure to its size
and made of you a habit for the soul.

I owe you all I have, and can't deny:
From you my birth, for you I live my life,
For you it is I'll die; for you I die.

Keynotes from Robert Graves and Rosalía de Castro

Robert Graves' first verse of....
To Juan at the Winter Solstice

There is one story and one story only
That will prove worth your telling,
Whether by learned bard or gifted child;
To it all lines or lesser gauds belong
That startle with their shining
Such common stories as they stray into.

---------------------------------------
...from Rosalía de Castro:

Yo no sé lo que busco eternamente
en la tierra, en el aire y en el cielo;
yo no sé lo que busco, pero es algo
que perdí no sé cuando y que no encuentro,
aún cuando sueñe que invisible habita
en todo cuanto toco y cuanto veo.

------------------------------------------------------

I don’t know what I’m eternally seeking
on the earth, and in the air and in the sky;
I don’t know what I seek, but it is something
that I lost I don’t know when and do not find,
even when I dream that invisibly it resides
in everything I touch and all I see.

Agostina Storni: Letanías de la tierra muerta -- translation

Litany for the Dead Earth, by Alfonsina Storni


A day will come when the human race
Will have dried, as a vain plant desiccates.

And that old sun up in space will be
A carbonized torch snuffed out uselessly.

A day will come when the world around's
Lugubrious, silent and profound:

Great black shadow will surround the sphere,
And spring never come to the hemispheres;

A dead world like a blinded eye,
Forever restless sails the sky,

But fumbling in shadow and all alone
Not a song nor a cry nor a prayer intone.

Alone, with the creatures it preferred
In its breast worn out and in sleep interred.

(A mother moving on with venom pressed
from the children, dead now, in her breast.)

Not a city erect…just ruin and soot
Will shoulder the dead no longer afoot.

From way up there, black in the sky
A mountain will watch with baleful eye.

The sea, perchance a darkened block
Of ice like all else hard as rock.

And so, in hard anxieties
It will dream of ships on billowing seas,

And pass the years in hoping vain
For a single ship to plow the main.

And there where earth is all a dune,
Its beaches will dream about the moon,

And nothing from this desire will come,
For the moon’s just another mausóleum.

In vain it will want, this icy block,
To suck men under with the rocks

To hear the horrid screech of it,
As the shipwrecked beseech the infinite:

Nothing will remain; from pole to pole
The wind will sweep it all up whole:

Voluptuous Latin palaces
Miserable Beduoin refuges;

Eskimos in dark igloos,
Fine, luxurious cathedrals, too;

Black and yellow and copper skin,
White and Malay all mixed in

Will see each other beneath the earth
And ask forgiveness for so much war.

Holding hands, though underground
They’ll circle the earth as they go around.

And groaning in chorus they will sing:
¡Oh, vain and stupid suffering!

The earth was a rose garden all the time
Full of cities in their prime;

Some on the banks of rivers lay,
Others by forest lake and bay.

Between them the finest rails went
As if in hope, and confident,

Fields in flower all the while,
On plains so fresh they seemed to smile;

And instead of men who understand,
Brother against brother, knife in hand;

Women who gossip and berate,
A world that merchants populate;

Everyone against the good
Hurling mud, poisoning their food…

And now, we’re white bones in the ground
Circling in fraternal round.

And so, of the human flame bereft,
Above the ground there’s nothing left!

* * *

But who knows if some statue, mute,
Lonely stands, yet still afoot.

And thus, in deep shade, it may be the
Final refuge of the idea.

The ultimate refuge for the form
God wanted to define the norm.

And, though by subtlety oppressed,
Unknowing loveliness expressed.

A tender star perchance may see,
And sweetly question, who is she?

Who’s that brave girl stands her ground
Alone, as the dead world circles 'round?

And love her so by heaven’s instinct
Until she's fallen off her plinth.

Some nameless mercy for mankind,
And for poor earth may someday find

A passing beam an errant sun
Will come to shine, and a bright one,

Insinuating, “Tired sphere:
Dream a moment spring is here!

—Absorb my spirit, if you will
I'm the changing Universe, never still…

How beneath the earth they’ll stir
Those dead ones in its breast interred!

¡As if to reach the light divine
They'll want to fly up to its shine!

But their dead eyes will search in vain
For those red rays unseen again.

In vain! In vain! The layered stone’s
Too thick, oh, lying on those bones!...

Heaped up, defeated, now they rest,
And cannot leave their ancient nests,

And should some star espy their haunt,
There's no man left can cry: “I want!...”


Autora : Alfonsina Storni
Translated by Elwin Wirkala



There Will Come Soft Rain, by Sarah Teasdale
I post this because it's evocative of Alfonsina Storni's Litanies for the Dead Earth, and because it's evocative in itself...thanks to Simran Khurana's poetry blog, where I read it some days ago:


Here's something similar written by Sarah Teasdale.


There Will Come Soft Rain

There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone

- Sarah Teasdale

See also Ray Bradbury's "There Will Come Soft Rains" story.