by
Gottfried Keller (1819 - 1890)
Horch! Stimmen und Geschrei
Language: German (Deutsch)
Available translation(s): ENG FRE
Horch! Stimmen und Geschrei, doch kaum zu hören;
Dumpf und verworren tönt es, wie von ferne,
Und ich erkenne, die allnächtlich stören
Der Toten Schlaf, den stillen Gang der Sterne.
Der trunkne Küster, aus der Schenke kommen,
Setzt sich noch in den Mondschein vor dem Hause,
Kräht einen Psalm; doch kaum hat sie's vernommen,
So stürzt sein Weib hervor, daß sie ihn zause,
Heißt ihn hineingehn und beschilt ihn grimmig,
Hell kräht und unverdrossen der Geselle;
So mischen sich geübt und doppelstimmig
Ihr Katzmiaulen und sein Mondsgebelle.
Sie muß ganz nah sein, da ich es kann hören,
Die überkommne alte Pfründerhöhle;
Laß sehn, ob das Gesindel ist zu stören:
Schrei, was du kannst, o du vergrabne Seele!
Die Tür schlägt zu - der Lärm hat sich verloren,
Es hülfe nichts, wenn ich zu Tod mich riefe!
Sie stopfen furchtsam ihre breiten Ohren
Vor jedem Ruf des Lebens aus der Tiefe.
Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Martin Stock) , title 1: "Hark! Voices and yelling, hardly to be heard, though", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , title 1: "Écoute ! des voix et des cris", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 20
Word count: 150
Hark! Voices and yelling, hardly to be heard, though
Language: English  after the German (Deutsch)
Hark! Voices and yelling, hardly to be heard, though;
Muffled, intermingled sounds I hear from far away,
I recognise those who disturb at night
The sleep of the dead, the stars' silent path.
The drunken sexton, weaving his way from the tavern,
Sits down in front of the house in the moonlight,
Croaks a psalm; but no sooner has she heard him yell
Than his wife dashes out to pull him by the hair.
Tells him to go in and scolds him grimly,
Undauntedly the fellow yells about;
In practised duet their voices mingle,
Her cat-meows, his howling at the moon.
It can't be far, as I can hear it,
The old prebendary's den
Let's see if the riff-raff can be disturbed,
Cry out as loud as you can, buried soul!
The door slams shut - the noise abates,
No use - and if I cried myself to death!
Fearsomely thy plug their large ears
To any sound of life that comes from underneath.
Authorship:
- Translation from German (Deutsch) to English copyright © 2004 by Martin Stock, (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.
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Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2004-04-10
Line count: 20
Word count: 164