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Vier Gedichte von Emily Dickinson
Translations © by Bertram Kottmann
Song Cycle by John Woods Duke (1899 - 1984)
View original-language texts alone: Four Poems by Emily Dickinson
New feet within my garden go, New fingers stir the sod; A troubadour upon the elm Betrays the solitude. New children play upon the green, New weary sleep below; And still the pensive spring returns, And still the punctual snow!
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
See other settings of this text.
Neues durch meinen Garten geht, im Boden regt sich’s leis, ein Vogel singt im Ulmenbaum, gibt sein Alleinsein preis. Und neue Kinder spiel’n im Gras neue, die müd, ruhn drunt - doch ewig tut bedacht der Lenz, pünktlich der Schnee sich kund!
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2016 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2016-05-04
Line count: 8
Word count: 41
The rose did caper on her cheek, Her bodice rose and fell, Her pretty speech, like drunken men, Did stagger pitiful. Her fingers fumbled at her work, - Her needle would not go; What ailed so smart a little maid It puzzled me to know, Till opposite I spied a cheek That bore another rose; Just opposite, another speech That like the drunkard goes; A vest that, like the bodice, danced To the immortal tune, - Till those two troubled little clocks Ticked softly into one.
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
See other settings of this text.
Röte ihr in die Wangen stieg, ihr Mieder hob sich, sank, als sie, wie jemand der beschwipst, nach richt’gen Worten rang. Sie fingerte am Stoff herum, die Nadel blieb ihr stehn; was sie wohl durcheinander bringt - gern würd ich es verstehn. Bis vis-à-vis die Wang ich blickt’, auf der auch Röte stand, und jemand, der auch wie beschwipst, nicht richt’ge Worte fand. Ein Hemd, das, wie ihr Mieder, tanzt’ zur ewgen Melodie, bis beide wilde Herzchen sanft schlugen in Harmonie.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2019 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems by Emily Dickinson, first published 1891
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2019-01-15
Line count: 16
Word count: 80
Have you got a brook in your little heart, Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so? And nobody knows, so still it flows, That any brook is there; And yet your little draught of life Is daily drunken there. Then look out for the little brook in March, When the rivers overflow, And the snows come hurrying from the hills, And the bridges often go. And later, in August it may be, When the meadows parching lie, Beware, lest this little brook of life Some burning noon go dry!
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
See other settings of this text.
Hast du einen Bach tief im Herzen drin, wo scheue Blumen blühn, und schüchtern Vögel trinken gehn, und Schatten schwankend ziehn? ’s ist niemand gewiss - so stille er fließt -, dass er im Herzen rinnt; doch dieser Lebensbach es ist, aus dem du täglich trinkst. Im Märzen beacht’ diesen kleinen Bach, wenn die Flüsse treten aus, und der Schnee stürzt von den Bergen herab, und mit Brücken oft geht’s aus. Und später, im August vielleicht, wenn versengt die Aue liegt, gib acht, dass dieses Bächlein nicht in Mittags Glut versiegt!
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2019 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website: 2019-01-15
Line count: 16
Word count: 90
I taste a liquor never brewed, From tankards scooped in pearl; Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air am I, And debauchee of dew, Reeling, through endless summer days, From inns of molten blue. When landlords turn the drunken bee Out of the foxglove's door, When butterflies renounce their drams, I shall but drink the more! Till seraphs swing their snowy hats, And saints to windows run, To see the little tippler Leaning against the sun!
Text Authorship:
- by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
See other settings of this text.
Ich kost’ Likör, der nie gebraut, aus perlengroßem Krug, nicht jedes Fass mit Wein vom Rhein solch einen Trank je trug. Betrunken von der Luft bin ich, bade im Morgentau, taumle endlose Sommer lang durch Schenken ganz aus Blau. Und wirft der Wirt die trunk’ne Bien’ aus seinem „Fingerhut“, und Falter meiden weitren Trunk - mir ist’s nach mehr zumut! Bis Seraph schwenkt den weißen Hut, und zu den Fenstern rennt die heil’ge Schar, mich „blau“ zu sehn gegen die Sonn’ gelehnt.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2016 by Bertram Kottmann, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Bertram Kottmann.  Contact: BKottmann (AT) t-online.de
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886), no title, appears in Poems of Emily Dickinson, first published 1890
Go to the general single-text view
Translation of title "I taste a liquor" = "Ich kost’ Likör"This text was added to the website: 2016-05-04
Line count: 16
Word count: 81