(((Free E-pub))) ⇸ Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems of Ingeborg Bachmann ☞ PDF eBook or Kindle ePUB free

The cards are backed with picturesdisplaying all the world.You ve stacked up all the imagesand shuffled them with words.Reading such poetry can be stressful it may induce pain My wife bought these for my birthday, I am grateful, if reluctantly situated, with an eye towards the terminal Ms Bachmann notes the dirty business with words but also that poetry is bread for a scientific time As the reader progresses the goals for Bachmann veer from transcendence and instead become sleep and ultimat The cards are backed with picturesdisplaying all the world.You ve stacked up all the imagesand shuffled them with words.Reading such poetry can be stressful it may induce pain My wife bought these for my birthday, I am grateful, if reluctantly situated, with an eye towards the terminal Ms Bachmann notes the dirty business with words but also that poetry is bread for a scientific time As the reader progresses the goals for Bachmann veer from transcendence and instead become sleep and ultimately morphine Drinking and nightmares plague Bachmann but birdsong and the laughter of children prop open a window of contentment A catalogue of emotional debris ensues I don t know enough to speculate if the turn away from poetry was a result of a deficit, a calling or a collapse Rimbaud baffled as he became gun runner Bachmann studied Heidegger and then in a certain sense drifted into libretto (((Free E-pub))) ⇭ Darkness Spoken: The Collected Poems of Ingeborg Bachmann ↾ Darkness Spoken gathers together Ingeborg Bachmann s two celebrated books of poetry, as well as early and late poems not collected in book form, overof them appearing in English for the first time, as well aspoems never before published in German Bachmann is considered one of the most important poets to emerge in postwar German letters, and this volume represents the largest collection available in English translation Influencing numerous writers from Thomas Bernhard to Christa Wolf to Elfriede Jelinek winner of theNobel Prize in Literature , Bachmann s poetic investigation into the nature and limits of language in the face of historical violence remains unmatched in its ability to combine philosophical insight with haunting lyricismBachmann was born inin Klagenfurt, Austria She studied philosophy at the universities of Innsbruck, Graz, and Vienna Inshe received the poetry prize from Gruppefor her first volume, Borrowed Time Die gestundete Zeit Her second collection, Invocation of the Great Bear Anrufung des gro en B ren , appeared inHer various awards include the Georg B chner Prize, the Berlin Critics Prize, the Bremen Award, and the Austrian State Prize for Literature Writing and publishing essays, opera libretti, short stories, and novels as well, she divided her time between Munich, Zurich, Berlin, and Rome, where she died from a fire in her apartment in Peter Filkins has published two volumes of poetry, What She Knewand After Homer, and has translated Bachmann s The Book of Franza and Requiem for Fanny Goldmann He is the recipient of an Outstanding Translation Award from the American Literary Translators Association and the Berlin Prize from the American Academy in Berlin He teaches at Simon s Rock College of Bard in Great Barrington, Massachusetts I m pretty sure one is not supposed to read all most of the poems by one of the greatest half dozen German writers of the second half of the 20th century so says Susan Sontag in about two hours But I did have to get the book back to the library, and I wasn t allowed any renewals, and I kept putting off reading this till I was in the proper mood to really enjoy them That time didn t seem to come, so sitting on a crowded subway, on a bus and then in the lounge at school while some of the I m pretty sure one is not supposed to read all most of the poems by one of the greatest half dozen German writers of the second half of the 20th century so says Susan Sontag in about two hours But I did have to get the book back to the library, and I wasn t allowed any renewals, and I kept putting off reading this till I was in the proper mood to really enjoy them That time didn t seem to come, so sitting on a crowded subway, on a bus and then in the lounge at school while some of the dumbest conversations seemed to be going on around me was the best I could muster I will need to give these poemsof a chance to getout of them, but from my speed reading through them I really liked what I read Me qued sin palabras.Mejor que hablen los dem s, que se les da mejor que a m Me qued sin palabras.Mejor que hablen los dem s, que se les da mejor que a m Bug ne kadar neden okumad m denebilecek kitaplardan birisi mgeler ok g l , u suz bucaks z bir d ler d nyas ndan s z l yor adeta. I m very anti reviewing poetry, but not above a crass, unsolicited recommendation to anyone who likes it.Bachmann is certainly one of the most wonderful German language poets, if not any language poets well honed, sharp poetry, dark, moody, and beautiful all at once Nice collection, too, has the original German on the facing page of the translations, which seem pretty spot on. Ancak iir yazmadan ya anamayacak hale gelinmesi durumunda iir yazmak gerekiyordemi airimiz Felsefesi olan airlerden ama felsefesi fazlaca iirine bula m gibi iir ba l ba na, z lmek ve sindirilmek zorunda olan edebi bir delilik oldu u i in, felsefeyle daha a r bir g kta haline gelebiliyorKitap ok ba l kl fakat benim i in iki b l mden olu uyor Kendimce ay rd m ilk k s mda,Kendi dilinin zerine km , ba ka dillere ve zdeyi lere dokunan bir hali var Ancak iir yazmadan ya anamayacak hale gelinmesi durumunda iir yazmak gerekiyordemi airimiz Felsefesi olan airlerden ama felsefesi fazlaca iirine bula m gibi iir ba l ba na, z lmek ve sindirilmek zorunda olan edebi bir delilik oldu u i in, felsefeyle daha a r bir g kta haline gelebiliyorKitap ok ba l kl fakat benim i in iki b l mden olu uyor Kendimce ay rd m ilk k s mda,Kendi dilinin zerine km , ba ka dillere ve zdeyi lere dokunan bir hali varBu k s m ger ekten beni etkiledi kinci k s ma geldi imde ise, Her bat l yazar ve air gibi, W Sheakspeare at fta bulunan, yk nen ve g zellemelerle onun etraf nda dola an bir durum olu mu Bu bir s re sonra s k c olmaya ba l yor Burada W Sheakspeare dokunan bir halim yok ama bir airin de cesur olmas ve kendi sular n n s n rlar n belirlemesi gerekti ini d n yorumKitapta, d nya ehirleri i in yaz lm iirlerin ok sempatik oldu unu d n yorum.Ve tabi kit m harflerin cennetidir iirdiyerek alt n izdiklerime buyurun derimBen de Orpheus gibi al yorum imdiHayat n tellerinde l m n ezgisiniVe yery z n n, bir de cennetin efendisiG zlerinin g zelli ine s yleyebileceklerimKaranl k ark lard r yaln zca Gecenin arm hlar na gerilmi Uyumaktalar, her eylerinin yitirenler,G r lt lerle sars lan dehlizlerde,Ama biz neredeysek, orada k var Uzun g nlerde ekerler bizi, fikrimizi sormadan,O arp k ve uzun izgiler boyunca ve ekilir y ld zlar Bizler ise o tarlalardaGeli ig zel ya ye erir ya da r r z,Ya murun ve ard ndan g n n n Bir ekme i ya murla payla yoruz,Bir ekme i, bir borcu ve bir evi Bakma etraf na.Ba la pabu lar n.Geri kovala k pekleri.D k bal klar denize.S nd r kandilleri Daha etin g nler gelmekte the sprained two step of Emily Dickinson, but withof a condemning slight Not so much a dreamer as an imaginer of dreams past, full of dread, lost hopes and wonder Like from Salt and bread You, in fever white vestments,Gather the exiled and tear,From the flesh of cactus, a thorn symbol of impotenceTo which we meakly bow.In order to enact this history, she steps out of her person, becomes She plays a character to invite the engagement of a pervading atmosphere In the papers I read abou the sprained two step of Emily Dickinson, but withof a condemning slight Not so much a dreamer as an imaginer of dreams past, full of dread, lost hopes and wonder Like from Salt and bread You, in fever white vestments,Gather the exiled and tear,From the flesh of cactus, a thorn symbol of impotenceTo which we meakly bow.In order to enact this history, she steps out of her person, becomes She plays a character to invite the engagement of a pervading atmosphere In the papers I read about the coldAnd its effects, about fools and dead men,About exiles, murderers and myriadsOf ice floes, but little that comforts me.Why should it be otherwise In the face of the beggarWho comes at noon I slam the door, for we live in peacetimeAnd one can spare oneself such a sight, but notThe joyless dying of leaves in the rain.the austerity and bleak depth of a troubled national history, carries over into a universal tome A slate of subdued tragedy always existing, like in Message Out of the corpse warm foyer of the sky steps the sunThere it is not the immortals,But rather the fallen, we perceive.And brilliance doesn t trouble itself with decay.Our Godhead, History, has ordered for us a graveFrom which there is no resurrection.She is a dreamer in a dreary parthenon, history built on its slaves and victims She emerges as one could emerge cognizant, but not proud Limber, rattled Lonely are all bridges,And fame is as dangerous for themAs it is for us, yet we presumeTo feel the tread of starsUpon our shoulders.Still, over the slope of transienceNo dream arches us.I wish she wasn t dead I would really like to shake her hand For most people, i wouldn t care But i want to feel this woman s hand I bet it s like touching the soft root of a still young tree Disarming.If you know German, you can hear her read To the Sun here poem begins in praise and then ends in lament, a deep, passionate lamentation which at the same time feels to me understated And my enchanted eyesWiden again and blink and burn themselves sore.Beautiful sun, which even from dust deserves the highest praise,Causing me to raise a cry, not to the moon,The stars, the night s garish comets that name me a fool,But rather to you, and Disarming.If you know German, you can hear her read To the Sun here poem begins in praise and then ends in lament, a deep, passionate lamentation which at the same time feels to me understated And my enchanted eyesWiden again and blink and burn themselves sore.Beautiful sun, which even from dust deserves the highest praise,Causing me to raise a cry, not to the moon,The stars, the night s garish comets that name me a fool,But rather to you, and ultimately to you alone,As I lament the inevitable loss of my sight