By Sebald, Winfried Georg; Galbraith, Iain
A publishing landmark--the first significant choice of poems by way of one of many past due 20th century's literary masters
German-born W. G. Sebald is better referred to as the leading edge writer of Austerlitz, the prose vintage of global struggle II culpability and moral sense that The Guardian referred to as "a new literary shape, half hybrid novel, half memoir, half travelogue." Its ebook placed Sebald within the corporation of Nabokov, Calvino, and Borges. but Sebald's brilliance as a poet has been mostly unacknowledged--until now.
Skillfully translated via Iain Galbraith, the approximately 100 poems in Across the Land and the Water diversity from these Sebald wrote as a scholar within the sixties to these accomplished correct prior to his premature loss of life in 2001. that includes eighty-eight poems released in English for the 1st time and thirty-three from unpublished manuscripts, this assortment additionally brings jointly all of the verse he positioned in books and journals in the course of his...
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Extra info for Across the land and the water : selected poems, 1964-2001
Sebald’s poems present the translator with a number of quandaries, at least one of which does not derive from disparities between the English and the German languages, or directly from the poet’s wide-ranging allusiveness. The problem I am referring to arises because the translation—in bodying forth a poem that claims to address exactly the same subject that the poem does in German, and even to represent the author’s language—has no choice but to turn itself into a vehicle of the very difficulties that may have prompted Sebald’s poem in the first place.
My day is truly Wrecked. Matins for G. There he stood In the early morn And wanted in. It’s warm In front of the fire. Lug a-cock The man waited For some response To his knock. Came a bawl from within: Jesus Mary A pain in the neck In the early morn. Where no kitchen There no cook. We don’t need no King. The man has heard As much before. He has heard enough. Right then: all or nothing. Winter Poem The valley resounds With the sound of the stars With the vast stillness Over snow and forest. The cows are in their byre.
And C. Artmann, Royal Engineers. ’s Emigration His personal effects are ready to leave Entered well in advance the calligraphic endorsement an analphabetic cipher valid for a single journey Pictures sent en route greetings from Bohemian Switzerland and a group photo in front of the High Tatras Didn’t you have your photograph taken in Franzensbad too Through Holland in the Dark The cucumbers lurk in their greenhouses The customs official borrows my evening paper A wet hand casts no shadow Kaiser Willem is still smoking his cigars No sign of the reclaimed land Abandoned like Kafka’s essay on Goethe’s abominable nature Mölkerbastei Beethoven’s room is tidy now The pictures straightened the curtains washed and week for week the floors polished anew But the chair for the grand has been taken away He still comes in at night sometimes and composes something standing up The proviso is it be audible only with an ear-trumpet A Galley Lies off Helsingborg Such desolation in Harwich Harbor when I am here it always seems to me as if we were in the throes of a silent war The hollow barges all that bulky worn-out iron the oil-green water and the ever stiller county of Essex round about The poor travelers with their woe-begone faces oppressed hapless folk standing here waiting on the Red Sea shore Nobody tells them where the ferries are heading for tonight Holkham Gap A green zone for field glasses and camouflaged ornithologists Beyond it the bay its sweep broader than the furthest horizon The Home Guard waited here for the sea lion to appear When the monster didn’t show the marram was permitted to reoccupy the fortified strip But Uncle Toby doesn’t entirely trust the peace Stuffing his pillow with sand he wishes the deluge would begin Norfolk Sailing backwards as a passenger with banished time A Louisianian landscape populated by invisible windmillers Where the Egyptian in his painted boat sails between fields Crossing the Water In early November 1980 walking across the Bridge of Peace I almost went out of my mind Natural History In Man it is the Quadruped in Woman the Amphibian who has the upper Hand Ballad Is Carl Löwe’s heart really immured in a column in the Church of St.