Marianne 
Der Blätter zwey
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Registriert seit: 10.03.2006
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Nachricht senden |  Erstellt am 22.03.2006 - 19:45 |      |
Auf Wunsch einer Dame aus diesem illustren Kreise, möchte ich hier meine kleine Ecke eröffnen, wo ich Dichter und ihre Gedichte aus der frühen englischen Romantik vorstelle.  Zu jedem neuen Dichter versuche ich lustige/spannende/skandalöse Anekdoten und Bilder zu finden und natürlich einige Gedichte. Insbesondere möchte ich mich dabei auf meinen Lieblingsdichter Byron konzentrieren, um den sich ja auch einige Gerüchte ranken. Ich gebe mir Mühe und versuche möglichst zu vielen der Gedichte eine deutsche Version zu finden, aber, dass muss ich jetzt schon sagen, ist es recht schwer im Internet welche zu finden und ich besitze kaum welche. Ich hoffe, dass Ihr trotzdem an den Gedichten Freude haben werdet. Vielleicht ergibt sich ja auch mal eine Möglichkeit für mich, Euch welche persönlich vorzutragen. 
Den Anfang macht dann auch gleich Lord George Gordon Byron.
Hier findet Ihr eine Biografie
Portrait von Richard Westall 1813
Und hier mein Lieblingsgedicht von ihm. Schon mal eine Vorwarnung an unsere empfindsamen Damen ihr Taschentüchlein bereit zu halten. Mich rührt es auch bei jedem Lesen auf's Neue.
Fare Thee Well
"Alas! they had been friends in youth:
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain;
________
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining -
They stood aloof, the scars remaining.
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been."
Coleridge, Christabel
Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well:
Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.
Would that breast were bared before thee
Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o'er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again:
Would that breast, by thee glanced over,
Every inmost thought could show!
Then thou wouldst at last discover
'Twas not well to spurn it so.
Though the world for this commend thee -
Though it smile upon the blow,
Even its praise must offend thee,
Founded on another's woe:
Though my many faults defaced me,
Could no other arm be found,
Than the one which once embraced me,
To inflict a cureless wound?
Yet, oh yet, thyself deceive not;
Love may sink by slow decay,
But by sudden wrench, believe not
Hearts can thus be torn away:
Still thine own its life retaineth,
Still must mine, though bleeding, beat;
And the undying thought which paineth
Is - that we no more may meet.
These are words of deeper sorrow
Than the wail above the dead;
Both shall live, but every morrow
Wake us from a widowed bed.
And when thou wouldst solace gather,
When our child's first accents flow,
Wilt thou teach her to say "Father!"
Though his care she must forego?
When her little hands shall press thee,
When her lip to thine is pressed,
Think of him whose prayer shall bless thee,
Think of him thy love had blessed!
Should her lineaments resemble
Those thou never more may'st see,
Then thy heart will softly tremble
With a pulse yet true to me.
All my faults perchance thou knowest,
All my madness none can know;
All my hopes, where'er thou goest,
Wither, yet with thee they go.
Every feeling hath been shaken;
Pride, which not a world could bow,
Bows to thee - by thee forsaken,
Even my soul forsakes me now:
But 'tis done - all words are idle -
Words from me are vainer still;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle
Force their way without the will.
Fare thee well! thus disunited,
Torn from every nearer tie.
Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted,
More than this I scarce can die.
Und nun einige spannende Meinungen von anderen Schriftstellern:
Goethe
„Lord Byron is to be regarded as a man, an Englishman, and as a great genius. His good qualities belong chiefly to the man, his bad to the Englishman and the peer, his talent is incommeasurable.”
“ Lord Byron is only great as a poet; as soon as he reflects, he is a child.”
Stendhal
“Like a child, Lord Byron exposed himself to the attacks of English high society, that aristocracy all-powerful, inexorable, terrible in its vengeance, which makes of so many wealthy sots very respectable men, but which cannot, without utter loss of self-control, bear the mockery of its children. The fear generated, throughout Europe, by the great nation led by Danton and Carnot has made the English aristocracy what we see today, this body so strong, so morose, so riddled with hypocrisy.“
Virginia Woolf
“Anyhow, I was very glad to go on with my Byron. He has at least the male virtues. In fact, I'm amused to find how easily I can imagine the effect he had upon women - especially upon rather stupid or uneducated women, unable to stand up to him. So many, too, would wish to reclaim him“
Einer der skandalösesten Dichter, der heute sicherlich in der Gothicszene zu finden wäre, starb am 19. April 1824 in Griechenland. In seinem letzten Liede, das er dichtete, es war am 22. Januar 1824 zu Missolunghi, an seinem 37. Geburtstage also, singt er: Die Jugend schwand – wozu noch leben? Hier winkt ein ehrenvoller Tod; Drum säume nicht, dich hinzugeben Für bessrer Tage Morgenrot. Such' dir ein Grab, das manche fanden, Die's nicht gesucht – ein Heldengrab! Zerreiße freudig deine Banden Und sink auf ewig dann hinab. Ihm ward sein Wunsch erfüllt.
Byron auf dem Totenbett
Signatur
Run mad as often as you chuse; but do not faint. |
