Two poems by Johannes Bobrowski

Summer Evening

See far, very far, there above the last Red!
There over the Forest, the blackish Walls. One
Water still gleams white. Silence lives there,
Keeping-Secret and Cooling long.

And you, you live where? Is the Earth not
enough for you, the Unspeakable, that
offers Uncounted-Space in front of you,
Space, abundant for both Joy and Death!

And see, above it all the Clouds even float!
And Stars stand! How do I say that to you, how?
Oh Earth, Earth, not too cramped,
too, too abundant; you are too kind!

Sommerabend

Sieh, weit, sehr weit dort drüben das letzte Rot!
Dort überm Wald, den schwärzlichen Mauern. Weiß
aufleuchtet noch ein Wasser. Schweigen
wohnt dort, Verschweigen und Kühle lange.

Und du, wo wohnst du? Ist dir die Erde nicht
genug, die Unaussprechliche, die vor dir
doch Ungezählten Raum geboten,
Raum, so zum Glück wie zum Sterben reichlich! 

Und sieh, darüber treiben die Wolken doch!
und Sterne stehen! Wie soll ich’s sagen, wie?
Oh Erde, Erde, nicht zu enge,
viel, viel zu reich, viel zu gütig bist du!

Winter Image

Only Snow. The vast Plains. Smoothness
tinged with a soft, matte Blue that
always lies thickest before yonder
Hills—Darkness at last, Silence.

These are the Forests. Just lowly Stripes,
poor beneath an excessively high Construction
of the Sky. Far off on the Horizon a
Patchwork of Clouds, already grey, brittle.

No Path pulls itself over the Hill. A Bird
often lifts Black out of the White.
And Fences, reinforced with Wire, cut
a few sharp Lines into the Untrodden.

Winterbild

Nur Schnee. Die weite Ebene. Irgendwo
tönt sich die Fläche leicht in ein mattes Blau,
das immer dichter liegt vor jenen
Hügeln — Zuletzt ist nur Schwärze, schweigend. 

Das sind die Wälder,. Niedere Streifen nur,
arm unterm maßlos höher gehob’nen Bau
des Himmels. Weit, am Horizont ein
Flickwerk von Wolken, ergraut schon, brüchig. 

Kein Pfad müht sich hinüber zum Hügel. Oft
hebt schwarz ein Vogel sich aus der Weiße auf.
Und Zäune, drahtbewehrte, schneiden
scharf ein paar Striche ins Unbetret’ne.

Johannes Bobrowski (1917-1965) was an East Prussian poet and narrative writer. He studied with the renowned teacher Ernst Weichert. Although he was a lance corporal for most of the war, Bobrowski had contact with the resistance against National Socialism. He was subsequently imprisoned by the Soviet Union from 1945 to 1949. He wrote these two poems during those years, which deal with the passing of the seasons. He would later have his poems published in both East and West Germany, and be awarded the prize of “Group 47”.

Currently residing in Berlin, Luke Swenson is especially interested in investigating the legacy of divided Germany. He graduated with a BA in German Literature from Brigham Young University and now work as a technical translator. His poems as well as translations have been published by Bloomsbury Press, FU Review, and Lost Sparrow Press.