Theodor Storm’s Poetry of Love and Death (Translations)

I really like Theodor Storm as a poet because he seems to me to be incredibly conventional. There is almost nothing special about either the form or the content of Storm’s poetry, but these little pieces are (forgive the translations if they don’t convey this) perfectly crafted all the same. There is no danger of ambition getting in the way of the message. While it is true that Storm wrote longer poems that I haven’t translated here, even those are all limited in formal and thematic scope. It seems he understood his talents and never thought it was worth the danger of trying to move beyond them, something he did in the formal experimentation of his novellas.

Storm was born in 1817 in Husum, a small town in the duchy of Schleswig, at that time ruled by the Danish crown, even though it contained a sizeable German population. He studied law further south, wrote poems and novellas (I’ve written on Aquis Submersus here, and Immensee here), and returned to Husum after it had come under Prussian rule following a brief war with Denmark. There is a political slant to his work at times, but this doesn’t come across in the selection I’ve translated. I don’t feel the patriotism translates well without notes and I’m not sure it’d be enjoyable with them either.

Storm died at the age of 70 from cancer, shortly after completing “The Rider on the White Horse”, perhaps his greatest novella.

The Poems

I’ve translated several of Storm’s poems. His topics within them range from life and love to death and decay. My only regret with them is that I haven’t yet translated his more nature-based poems. I find them particularly beautiful. But that means I’m harder on myself – I want to do them justice. Since I myself grew up by a grey and northern coastline, I’m especially fond of Storm’s poetry dealing with his homeland.

But anyway, here are the poems. Following them will be a few comments.

 Beginning of the End
 
 It's just a point, not even pain -
 It's just a feeling you perceive -
 And yet it hangs around your thoughts,
 And yet it makes it hard to breathe.
  
 And when you try to tell your friends,
 You find you cannot find the words. 
 You tell yourself: "this is no end."
 And yet there's no peace from its birth.
  
 And now the world becomes so strange, 
 And quietly your hopes depart,
 Until you see at last - at last! -
 That death's dark arrow's found your heart. 

 

 Insomnia
  
 I woke from dreams in worried fright -
 Why is the lark's song out in the night?
  
 The day's gone by, the morning's still far,
 Down onto my pillow there shines a star.
  
 Yet on and on there floats the lark's song -
 O voice of day, what has gone wrong? 

 
 
 Early Morning

 Above the roof the sun's gold shines,
 And cocks begin to crow the time;
 The one crows here, the other there,
 Their call rings out from everywhere.
 Now in the distance dies the cry -
 There's nothing more to fill the sky.
 Oh brave old cocks, sing on your song!
 They are still sleeping, sleeping on. 

 
 
 A Whisper
  
 It is a whisper in the night,
 And yet it set my peace to flight.
 I feel it's there, it wants to say
 Some thing but cannot find the way.
  
 Is it love's words, their secrets thrown
 Into the wind, blown far from home?
 Or is it pain from future days
 That hopes to help me change my ways? 

 
 "One body and one soul..."

 One body and one soul, as once we were,
 - Seen thus, how great your death to me appears.
 As you, alone, within the grave decay,
 So too feel I, myself, decay up here. 

 
 "A man held once..."

 A man held once by loving arms,
 Need never ask in life for alms.
 If he must die far off, alone, 
 Still yet he'll feel those blessed hours,
 When her mouth loved with all its powers,
 And now in death she'll stay his own. 

 
 Consolation
 Whatever happens, come what may!
 If you still live I'll love this day. 

 The feeling goes, the world to roam -
 Wherever you are, that's my home.

 I see your lovely face before me,
 And know the future cannot hurt me. 

Closing Remarks

If I had to write about these in an essay, I’d find more to say than I will say now. But essays are always unnatural; they just get in the way of enjoying the simplicity of the poetry. Storm’s poetry is often about love, about the changes in love brought by death and separation. In this he seems quite similar to another major German poet of the same period, Eduard Mörike. But Storm’s poetry, at least here, also has a much greater sense of apprehension and anxiety about it. Death is always just around the corner, and however beautiful the natural world is there’s also a sense that Storm is not always certain that he can correctly interpret the world’s symbols. The gap between perception and his understanding seems to torment him, as in “Insomnia” and “A Whisper” – both end in questions.

I hope you enjoyed my translations. If you have any comments, why not leave a comment? If you want more German poetry, I have a piece on Hugo von Hofmannsthal here.