Poetry in an Age of Crisis

A splintered, crooked branch, Still clinging year on year, Drily creaks its song in the wind, Without leaves, without bark, Stripped, pale, tired from a long life, And also a long death. Its singing sounds harsh and tough, Defiant, secretly scared Just one more summer Just one more winter long. Knarren eines geknickten Astes  Hermann Hesse, 1-8 August, 1962

The autumn rain has churned up the grey wood, The valley shudders cold in the morning wind, Fruit has fallen hard from the chestnut tree Burst open and it’s laughing damp and brown. Autumn has really churned up my life too, Ripped leaves being pulled away by the wind And branch shaken against branch - where’s the fruit? I blossomed love, and the fruit was suffering. I blossomed faith, and the fruit was hatred. The wind is pulling my barren branches, I laugh at it, I can still withstand storms. And what’s fruit to me? What’s my aim! - I blossom, And blossoms are my aim. Now I wilt, And wilting is my aim, nothing else, The goal is near on which the heart is fixed. God lives in me, God dies in me, God suffers In my breast, that is goal enough for me. On the way or wandering, blossom or fruit, Is all one to me, they are all just names. The valley shudders cold in the morning wind, Fruit has fallen hard from the chestnut tree It’s laughing hard...

All the books in the world Will bring you no joy, So turn away secretly Back into yourself. There you will find all you need, The sun, stars and moon, For the light you’re looking for, Is already in you. The wisdom which you have long Been seeking in books, Is shining from every sheet - For now it is yours. Bucher, April 1918 Hermann Hesse

For moments now the distance is silent, All the mountains are shining Like they’re newer, whiter ornaments, It’s blue above from damp November air. All the summits stand naked, Which in some better times I have often seen with pleasure Covered in freshly fallen snow. No one around, the flocks in the valley, Empty meadows silent, bare for winter.       At a cool spot I judge the distance       With a peaceful glance, see the evening blue,       Intuit the first star just behind the ridge,       And breathing, sniff the nearing frost and dew -       Then with this evening shower       My memories come back to me       And fury and grief and deep mourning -       Farewell, my rambling joy! And once again my thoughts are coming up Trembling over the distant fight, Breathing in the fire and the steam, Trembling along with thousands of wou...

After so many years of study and thought An old man distils down his old-age work, In all these curling tendrils of reflection He spins out much sweet wisdom playfully. Full of fire an eager student storms on, Takes so much found in libraries and archives  And burning with ambition transforms it Into a youthful work of brilliant insights. A young boy sits and blows into a straw, He fills colourful soap bubbles with air, each one Magnificent and praising like a psalm, He puts the whole of his soul into blowing. All three, old man, boy and student creating Magic dreams from the illusions of the world, None of them being more valid than another, In all of them eternal light, smiling,  Recognises itself and burns joyfully. Seifenblasen Hermann Hesse, 14 January 1937