I spend my days in the library where strange old men whisper about Ancient Greek grammar. When I get home, it's already dark. Artificial light everywhere, I do not like that. There's this Rilke poem, one of my favourites, that perfectly sums up how I feel in places where people gather under lightbulbs. Die Menschen sind furchtbar vom Licht entstellt, das von ihren Gesichtern träuft. There's an English translation here and I must say that it's extremly strange to read this most German of poetry in English.
Can you describe how it feels different to read them in two languages?
ReplyDeleteI was reading the duino elegies earlier today, and lamenting my inability to understand German. Even when there are bits I enjoy, I feel like I never can fully, and there is always something missing.
Like I am reading the words secondhand, obscured by something I can't really see or identify. Not being able to understand what it is that is lost.