Source: https://www.nsf.gov/news/news_summ.jsp?cntn_id=136815
"He [Feuerbach] does not see that the sensual world surrounding him is
not a thing that is immediately given since eternity and thus always
the same thing, but instead the product of industry and of the state of
society, in the sense that it is a historical product, the result of
the activity of a whole series of generations, each of which stood on
the shoulders of the preceding generation, further developing their
industry and trade, modifying their social order. "
(Karl Marx, Die Deutsche Ideologie, in: MEW, Vol. 3, p. 43)
Tanikawa Shuntaro
Landschaft mit gelben Vögeln
da sind vögel
also ist da himmel
da ist himmel
also sind da ballons
da sind ballons
also laufen da kinder
kinder laufen
also ist da lachen
da ist lachen
also ist da traurigkeit
also ist da beten
und boden zum knien
da ist boden
also fließt wasser
und da ist heute und morgen
da ist ein gelber vogel
also ist da mit allen farben formen und bewegungen
die welt
transl. by AW
Vicente Aleixandre
El muerto
Bajo la
tierra el día
Oscurece.
Ave rara,
Ave arriba
en el árbol que cantas para un muerto.
Bajo la
tierra duermo
Como otra
raíz de ese árbol que a solas en mi nutro.
No pesas,
árbol poderoso y terrible que emerges a los aires.
Que de mi
pecho naces con un verdor urgente
Para asomar
y abrirse en rientes ramajes
Donde un ave
ahora canta, vivaz sobre mi pecho.
Hermosa vida
clara de un árbol sostenido
Sobre la
tierra misma de un hombre ha sido un día.
Cuerpo cabal
que aún vive, no duerme, nunca duerme.
Hoy vela un
árbol lúcido que un sol traspasa ardiendo.
No soy
memoria, amigos, ni olvido. Alegre subo,
Ligero,
rumoroso por un tronco a la vida.
Amigos,
olvidadme. Mi copa canta siempre,
Ligera, en
el espacio, bajo un cielo continuo.
Federico García Lorca
Trees
Trees!
Have you been arrows
fallen from out of the blue?
Which terrible warriors have thrown you ?
Was it the stars?
Your music comes from the soul of the birds,
from the eyes of God,
from perfect passion.
Trees!
Will your rough roots know
my heart in the soil?
In Enger...
Federico García Lorca
Bäume
Bäume!
Wart ihr Pfeile
die fielen aus heiterem Himmel?
Welche schrecklichen Krieger haben dich geworfen?
Waren's die Sterne?
Deine Musik kommt aus der Seele der Vögel,
aus den Augen Gottes,
aus vollkommener Leidenschaft.
Bäume!
Werden eure rauen Wurzeln es kennen -
mein Herz in der Erde?
谷川 俊太郎 Tanikawa Shuntarō
TRIP 7
The rocks are in harmony with the sky
It is Poetry
I cannot write it
There is no way to reach words
by working on silence
I will try to arrive at this silence
by polishing words
The tree is shaped like
a tree
singing in the wind
It does not matter where it stands
If I feel just as I see
all will glow in beauty
If I could write like I see
time would cease
transl. by ?
谷川 俊太郎 , Tanikawa Shuntarō
鳥羽 3
粗朶拾う老婆の見ているのは砂
ホテルの窓から私の見ているのは水平線
餓えながら生きてきた人よ
私を拷問するがいい
私はいつも満腹して生きてきて
今もげっぷしている
私はせめて憎しみに価いしたい
老婆よ
もう何も償おうとは思わない
私を縊るのはあなたの手にある
あなたの見ない水平線だ
かすかにクレメンティのソナチネが聞こえる
誰も私に語りかけない
なんという深い寛ぎ
Tanikawa Shuntarō
GOOD-BYE IS A TEMPORARY WORD
No one ever, I think, vanishes.
My dead grandfather grows like wings on my
shoulders.
He takes me to places outside of time
along with seeds left by dead flowers.
‘Good-bye’ is a temporary word.
There are some things that bind us together
far deeper than remembrance and memory.
If you believe it, you needn’t look for it.
Having parted with the evening glow
I meet with night.
But the angrier red clouds go nowhere
and just hide in darkness.
I don't say goodnight to the stars
for they always hide in daylight
The baby I once was yet remains
in the center of my growth rings.
No one ever, I think, vanishes.
My dead grandfather grows like wings on my shoulders.
He takes me to places outside of time
along with seeds left by dead flowers.
‘Good-bye' is a temporary word.
There are some things that bind us together
far deeper than remembrance and memory.
If you believe that, you needn't look for it.
Transl. by ?
Robinson Jeffers
Der Juan
Higera Bach
Weder dein
Gesicht, Higera, noch deine Taten
Sind mir bekannt;
und der Tod so viele Jahre schon
Hält dich, unterm
Gras oder des Waldes Schimmel.
Nur ein Bach
trägt deinen Namen: er fließt
Tief versteckt in
laubabwerfender Redwood-Bäume Schatten
Und zwischen
Stämmen, die das Alter heilig machte, und strömt herab
In einem Tal der
Santa Lucia Hügel.
Da hielt ich an,
und obwohl die Sonne, von Wolken nicht verdeckt,
Hoch flog in den
höchsten Himmel, fiel kein Flecken Lichts
Auf diese großen
Stämme unter glänzenden Blättern,
Noch flackerte es
auf deinem Bach: murmelnd suchte er
Den Fluss des
Südens, der zum Ozean hin
Ihn spülen würd.
Ich habe süßes Wasser dort getrunken,
Und ich segnete deine
Unsterblichkeit. Nicht Bronze,
Higera, noch
Marmor kühlen den Durst;
Lass Bronze und
Marmor der Reichen und Stolzen
Ihre Namen ihnen
sichern; dein Denkmal, es wird dauern
Länger, lebendigen
Wassers, das waldrein.
Transl. by AW
Threatened in Enger
Mario Benedetti
Como
árboles
Quién hubiera dicho
que estos poemas de otros
iban a ser
míos
después de todo hay hombres que no fui
y sin embargo quise ser
si no por una vida al menos por un rato
o por un parpadeo
en cambio hay hombres que fui
y ya no soy ni puedo ser
y esto no siempre es un avance
a veces es una tristeza
hay deseos profundos y nonatos
que prolongué como coordenadas
hay fantasías que me prometi
y desgraciadamente no he cumplido
y otras que me cumplí sin prometérmelas
hay rostros de verdad
que alumbraron mis fábulas
rostros que no vi más pero siguieron
vigilándome desde
la letra en que los puse
hay fantasmas de carne otros de hueso
también hay los de lumbre y corazón
o sea cuerpos en pena almas en júbilo
que vi o toqué o simplemente puse
a secar
a vivir
a gozar
a morirse
pero además está lo qe advertí de lejos
yo también escuché una paloma
que era de otros diluvios
yo tambén destrocé un paraíso
que era de otras infancias
yo también gemí un sueño
que era de otros amores
asi pues
desde este misterioso confín de la existencia
los otros me ampararon como árboles
con nidos o sin nidos
poco importa
no me dieron envidia sino frutos
esos otros están
aqui
sus poemas
son mentiras de a puño
son verdades piadosas
están aqui
rodeándome
juzgandome
con las pobres palabras que les di
hombres que miran tierra y cielo
a través de la niebla
o sin sus anteojos
también a mí me miran
con la pobre mirada que les di
son otros que están fuera de mi reino
claro
pero además
estoy en ellos
a veces tienen lo que nunca tuve
a veces aman lo que quise amar
a veces odian lo que estoy odiando
de pronto me parecen lejanos
tan remotos
que me dan vértigo y melancolía
y los veo minados por un duelo sin llanto
y otras veces en cambio
los presiento tan cerca
que miro por sus ojos
y toco por sus manos
y cuando odian me alegro de su rencor
y cuando aman me arrimo a su alegría
quién hubiera dicho
que estos poemas míos
iban a ser
de otros.
Contributions are welcome. If published by Urban
Democracy, the copyright remains with the author(s).
URBAN DEMOCRACY is
published and edited by the Urban Democracy Group.
In order to get in touch, you can send an e-mail
to the editors.
Get
in touch!
This issue was edited by guest editor Karen
O. Wittstock
|
"L'art et la révolte ne mourront qu'avec le dernier homme."
Albert Camus
Albatros
Tanikawa Shuntaro
Landscape with Yellow Birds
there are birds
so there is sky
there is sky
so there are balloons
there are balloons
so children are running
children are running
so there is laughter
there is laughter
so there is sadness
so there is prayer
and ground for kneeling
there is ground
so water is flowing
and there’s today and tomorrow
there is a yellow bird
so with all colours forms and movements
there is the world
Transl. by Harold Wright
Vicente Aleixandre
The Dead One
Under the earth, the day
darkens. Rare bird,
Bird up in the tree that sings for a dead one.
Under the earth I sleep
Like another root of that tree that is alone in my heart.
You don't weigh, powerful, terrible tree that reaches into the air.
That is born from my chest with an urgent greenness
To appear and open up in laughing branches
Where a bird now sings, lively, on my chest.
Beautiful clear life of a tree sustained
On the very earth of a man has been one day.
Complete body that still lives, does not sleep, never sleeps.
Today a magnificent tree is watching over a sun that's aflame.
I am not memory, friends, nor forgetfulness. Gladly I reach up,
Lightly, brought by a trunk to life.
Friends, forget me. My treetop always sings,
Lightly, in the space, under a continuous sky.
Vicente Aleixandre
Der Tote
Unter der Erde
wird der Tag
dunkel. Seltener
Vogel,
Vogel oben im
Baum, der du für einen Toten singst.
Unter der Erde
schlafe ich
wie eine andere
Wurzel von diesem Baum, die allein ist in meinem Herzen.
Du lastest nicht,
mächtiger und schrecklicher Baum, der du in die Lüfte ragst,
der du aus meiner
Brust geboren bist mit drängendem Grün,
um zu spähen und dich
zu öffnen in lachenden Zweigen,
wo jetzt ein
Vogel singt, lebhaft, auf meiner Brust.
Schönes, klares
Leben eines Baums, bewahrt
auf der Erde eines
Manns, war einen Tag.
Ganzer Körper,
der noch lebt, nicht schläft, nie schläft.
Heute wacht ein
leuchtender Baum, den eine Sonne brennend durchbohrt.
Ich bin weder
Gedächtnis, Freunde, noch Vergessen. Froh rage ich auf,
leicht, erweckt durch einen Baumstamm zum Leben.
Freunde, vergesst
mich. Meine Baumkrone singt immer
leicht, im Raum,
unter einem andauernden Himmel.
Pablo Picasso, Tree
Federico García Lorca
Árboles
¡Árboles!
¿Habéis sido flechas
caídas del azul?
¿Qué terribles guerreros os lanzaron?
¿Han sido las estrellas?
Vuestras músicas vienen del alma de los pájaros,
de los ojos de Dios,
de la pasión perfecta.
¡Arboles!
¿Conocerán vuestras raíces toscas
mi corazón en tierra?
Trees suffering the effects of global warming
Source: environment.yale.edu
谷川 俊太郎 , Tanikawa Shuntarō
旅 7
岩が空と釣り合っている
詩がある
私には書けない
沈黙を推敲し
言葉に至る道は無い
言葉を推敲し
この沈黙に至ろう
樹の形して
樹は風に鳴っている
それはどこの風景でもいい
見える通りに感ずるなら
すべては美しく輝くだろう
見える通りに書けるなら
時はとどまるだろう
谷川 俊太郎 , Tanikawa Shuntarō
TOBA 3
Picking up brushwood, the old woman sees the sand
What I see from the window of the hotel, is the horizon
You, who have lived through hunger,
torture me
Come on, I have always lived well-nourished
I'm still belching At least, I want to be hated
Old woman
I don't think I can make up for anything anymore
It is up to you to hang me
It's a horizon that you don't see
Faintly, I hear Clementi's sonatina
No one speaks to me
What a deep relaxation
Transl. by AW
谷川 俊太郎 , Tanikawa Shuntarō
TOBA 3
Reisig sammelnd sieht die alte Frau den Sand
Was ich aus dem Hotelfenster sehe, ist der Horizont
Du, die du den Hunger durchlebt hast,
quäle mich!
Komm, ich habe immer gesättigt gelebt
Ich rülpse noch
Zumimdest möcht ich gehaßt sein
Alte Frau
Ich denk nicht, dass ich etwas wiedergutmachen kann
Es liegt an dir, mich zu hängen
Es ist ein Horizont, den du nicht siehst
Leise höre ich Clementis Sonatine
Niemand spricht mit mir
Welch eine tiefe Entspannung
Transl. by AW
"Er [Feuerbach] síeht nicht, wie die
ihn umgebende sinnliche Welt nicht ein unmittelbar von Ewigkeit her
gegebenes, sich stets gleiches Ding ist, sondern das Produkt des
Industrie und des Gesellschaftszustandes, und zwar in dem Sinne, daß
sie ein geschichtliches Produkt ist, das Resultat der Tätigkeit einer
ganzen Reihe von Generationen, deren jede auf den Schultern der
vorhergehenden stand, ihre Industrie und ihren Verkehr weiter
ausbildete, ihre soziale Ordnung modifizierte."
(Karl Marx, Die Deutsche Ideologie, in: MEW, Bd.3, S.43)
Robinson Jeffers
Juan Higera Creek
Neither your face, Higera, nor your deeds
Are known to me; and death these many years
Retains you, under grass or forest-mould.
Only a rivulet bears your name: it runs
Deep-hidden in undeciduous redwood shade
And trunks by age made holy, streaming down
A valley of the Santa Lucian hills.
There have I stopped, and though the unclouded sun
Flew high in loftiest heaven, no dapple of light
Flecked the large trunks below the leaves intense,
Nor flickered on your creek: murmuring it sought
The River of the South, which oceanward
Would sweep it down. I drank sweet water there,
And blessed your immortality. Not bronze,
Higera, nor yet marble cool the thirst;
Let bronze and marble of the rich and proud
Secure the names; your monument will last
Longer, of living water forest-pure.
(1916)
In California, 3,600 Sequoias died due to drought
during the last two years, a report said in 2021.
https://www.usda.gov/media/blog/2016/03/10/managing-forests-face-drought-there-help
Conservative legislators in California suggested
that all trees in the state should be felled in order to rule out
further devastating forest fires.
democracy
as
a permanent,
unfinished
process
Mario Benedetti
Like
trees
Who would
have said
that these
poems of others
would be
mine
after all
there are men that I have not been
and yet I
wanted to be
if not for a
lifetime, then at least for a while
or for a
brief moment
on the other
hand, there are men that I was
and am no
longer nor can I be
and this is
not always a progress
sometimes it
is a sadness
there are
deep and unborn desires
that I
prolonged as coordinates
there are
fantasies that you promised me
and that I unfortunately
have not fulfilled
and others
that I fulfilled without promising
there are
real faces
that
illuminated my fables
faces that I
did not see any more but they continued
watching me
from
the letter
in which I put them
there are
ghosts of flesh, others of bone
there are
also those of fire and heart
I mean,
bodies in pain, souls in joy
that I saw
or touched or just made
to dry
to live
to enjoy it
to die
but there is
also that which I noticed from afar
I also heard
a dove
which was
from other floods
I also
destroyed a paradise
that was
from other childhoods
I also
moaned a dream
that was
from other loves
so that
from this
mysterious edge of existence
the others
sheltered me like trees
with nests
or without nests
this does
not matter
they did not
give me envy but fruits
those others
are
here
their poems
they are
lies big as fists
they are
pious truths
they are
here
surrounding
me
judging me
with the
poor words that I gave them
men who look
at earth and sky
through the
mist
or without their
glasses
look at me,
too
with the
poor look that I gave them
there are
others who are outside my kingdom
that’s clear
but then
I am in them
sometimes
they have what I never had
sometimes
they love what I wanted to love
sometimes
they hate what I'm hating
suddenly
they seem far away
so remote
that they
make me dizzy and melancholic
and I see
them undermined by a duel without tears
and at other
times, however
I feel them
so close
that I see
things through their eyes
and I play with
their hands
and when they
hate I am happy about their resentment
and when
they love I feel close to their joy
who would
have thought
that these
poems of mine
would be
someone
else’s.
Transl. by AW
|