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Was ich bis heut an Versen schrieb Und was ich sonst landein, landaus An losen Dichterkünsten trieb, Der ganze leicht gepflückte Strauß -- Mir ist er nichts! Mir welkt er in der Hand, Ich werf ihn weg und geh auf neuen Wegen Hinüber in ein neues, andres Land, Dem ungewissen Reiseziel entgegen. Und war der Strauß auch einmal frisch und bunt, Nach andern Straßen drängen meine Sohlen, Der ganze Tand war doch im Grund -- gestohlen. Hinweg damit! Ich bin ein Vagabund. Stirnrunzelnd untersucht ein Rezensent Die welke Ernte und beginnt zu schelten . . . Ich bin schon weit, auf meinem Hute brennt Schon eine andre Sonne. Ferne Welten Verlocken mich; das alte Leierspiel Mag liegen, wo mir's aus der Tasche fiel. Die Jahre gehn so schnell! Wie lang wird's sein, So steh auch ich im stillen Kreis der Müden Und schaue hinter mich in die verblühten Jahre als in ein fremdes Reich hinein! Das läßt mir keine Rast; eh mich mit kühlen Händen der Schnitter greift, will ich und muß Der Erd' und Sonne Kräfte in mir fühlen, Und was sie hegt an Schmerz und an Genuß Mit starken Armen sehnlich an mich reißen Und Tod und Leben meine Brüder heißen. Ob dann ein neues Liederspiel beginnt, Was liegt daran? Ein Sucher bin ich nur, Der durch die Welt in Sonne, Staub und Wind Begierig tastet nach der Schöpfung Spur. Wo irgendeine unerschöpfte Kraft, Ein Sprossen, Strömen, eine Leidenschaft Sich regt und schafft und probende Flügel spannt, Da ist mir wohl, da ist mein Heimatland. Ein kühler Wind bläst von den Alpen her -- Vergangen ist, vorbei, ertränkt im Meer, Was ich bis heute träumte, irrte, litt . . . Sturm, Bruder, sei gegrüßt! Nimmst du mich mit?
V. Fenigstein sets lines 30-36
About the headline (FAQ)
Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada, but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.
Confirmed with Hermann Hesse, Sämtliche Werke, herausgegeben von Volker Michels, Band 10 Die Gedichte, bearbeitet von Peter Huber, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 2002, pages 127-128.
Authorship:
- by Hermann Hesse (1877 - 1962), "Entschluss", written 1903 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Victor Fenigstein (b. 1924), "Entschluß", 1943, lines 30-36, text begins "Ein Sucher bin ich nur" [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Sharon Krebs) , copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Sharon Krebs [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website: 2009-05-05
Line count: 40
Word count: 287
What verses I have written up to now And whatever else, here, abroad, I have Pursued in the way of wanton poetic arts, The whole, readily-picked bouquet -- It is nothing to me! It wilts in my hand, I toss it away and, upon new paths, I Cross over into a new, different land, Towards an uncertain journey’s end. And though the bouquet might once have been fresh and colourful, My feet are urged towards other streets, All of that frippery was for all intents and purposes -- stolen. Away with it! I am a vagabond. With furrowed brow, a critic investigates The wilted harvest and begins to scold . . . I am already far away, upon my hat there already Burns another sun. Faraway worlds Entice me; the old droned-out poems May lie there where it fell from my pocket. The years pass so quickly! How much longer Until I too stand in the quiet circle of the weary ones And gaze behind me into the withered Years as into a foreign realm! That leaves me no rest; before with his cool hands The reaper catches hold of me, I will and must Feel the powers of the earth and sun within me, And what it harbours of pain and of enjoyment I must yearningly snatch to my bosom And call death and life my brothers. If then a new play of poetry begins, What does it matter? I am only a seeker, Who, through the world in sun, dust and wind, Gropes greedily for the trace of creation. Where any unexhausted strength, A budding, streaming, a passion Stirs and creates and spreads tentative wings, There I feel easy, there is my homeland. A cool wind blows from the Alps Past is, over, drowned in the sea, That which up to now I dreamt, erred, suffered . . . Storm, brother, I greet you! Would you take me with you?
About the headline (FAQ)
Translations of title(s):
"Entschluß" = "Resolution"
"Entschluss" = "Resolution"
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2018 by Sharon Krebs, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Hermann Hesse (1877 - 1962), "Entschluss", written 1903
This text was added to the website: 2018-05-03
Line count: 40
Word count: 320