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Mein Bild
In Mori (Stockelsdorf) bei Lübeck aufgewachsen, habe ich bereits von 1916 bis 1918 am Ersten Weltkrieg im Füsilierregiment "Königin" Nr. 86 teilgenommen. Im August 1939 wurde ich als Veteran in die Wehrmacht eingezogen. In diesem Blog veröffentliche ich mein Kriegstagebuch.

Freitag, 2. September 2011

Walter Flex: Der Urlauber

Im Kriegslärm war ich aus der Welt verschollen,
ein Heimatloser, der kein Obdach hat.
Nun leb´ ich wieder in dem schicksalsvollen,
rastlosen Lärm der Stadt.

Ich geh´ die Straßen auf, die Straßen nieder
Und trete suchend in die Schenken ein
und suche wieder, suche immer wieder
und bleibe unter Tausenden allein.

Verscholl´ne schöne Jugend, du! Vergebens
im Schwall der bunten Stadt such´ ich nach dir,
und schauernd fühl´ ich´s: ach, die Gier des Lebens
ist fremd und furchtbar wie des Todes Gier.

Zuweilen nur auf menschenstillen Wegen,
wenn sich der dunkle, scheue Abend naht,
spür´ ich´s im Dämmern wie ein Handauflegen,
und eine Stimme ruft mir: „Kamerad!“ …

Dann bleib´ ich mit geschloss´nen Augen stehen,
indes mir alles Blut zum Herzen treibt,
und höre Stimmen, die im Winde verwehen,
und nur das Heimweh nach den Toten bleibt.


Walter Flex: Im Feld zwischen Tag und Nacht. Gedichte

deutscher Schriftsteller und Lyriker,
(* 6. Juli 1887 in Eisenach; † 16. Oktober 1917 bei Pöide (Peude) auf der estnischen Insel Saaremaa (Ösel)).




The following text is a translation of the poem "Der Urlauber" from Walter Flex. It tries to capture the mood and idea of the poem, without trying to keep up rhymes. It is not an official english version of the poem.


Walter Flex: The Vacationer

Lost from the world in the noise of war,
a homeless without shelter.
Now again I live in the ceaseless noise of the city,
full of destiny.

I walk the streets, up and down,
entering the Inns I am searching,
searching again and again,
and still stay alone amongst thousands.

Oh wonderful, missing youth! In vain
I search the colorful city for you,
and shuddering I feel: oh, the greed of life
is as strange as the greed of death.

Sometimes only, on deserted pathes,
when dark and shy evening closes in,
I feel it in the dawn like a resting hand,
and a voice calls to me "Comrade!".....

Then I pause for a moment with eyes closed,
with all blood streaming to my heart,
hearing voices that are gone with the wind,
and only the yearning for dead remains.


From:
Walter Flex: In the field between day and night. Poems.


Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Flex

FRA


Il seguente testo è la traduzione della poesia "il soldato in licenza", di Walter Flex. Essa cerca di trasmettere il sentimento della poesia, senza la ricerca della rima. Non è una versione ufficiale in inglese della poesia.


Walter Flex: il soldato in licenza

Perso nel mondo nel fragore della guerra,
senza casa ne' rifugio.
Adesso, di nuovo, vivo nel fragore incessante della città,
in balìa della sorte.

Cammino per le strade, su e giù,
entrando nelle bettole che vado cercando,
continuando a cercare,
e sono comunque solo tra migliaia.

Oh, bellissima giovinezza che se ne va! Invano
cerco per te la città piena di colori,
e mi sento rabbrividire: oh, la bramosia della vita
è strana tanto quanto quella della morte.

Talvolta, su sentieri deserti,
quando finisce la scura e timida sera,
all'alba mi sento come una mano languida,
e una voce mi chiama: "Camerata!"....

Allora mi fermo per un momento, con gli occhi chiusi,
con tutto il sangue che corre verso il cuore,
ed odo voci che sono andate nel vento,
e resta solo il rimpianto dei caduti.


Da:
Walter Flex: al fronte tra giorno e notte. Poesie


Kommentare:

  1. Note:
    The following text is a translation of the poem "Der Urlauber" from Walter Flex. It tries to capture the mood and idea of the poem, without trying to keep up rhymes. It is not an official english version of the poem.


    Walter Flex: The Vacationer

    Lost from the world in the noise of war,
    a homeless without shelter.
    Now again I live in the ceaseless noise of the city,
    full of destiny.

    I walk the streets, up and down,
    entering the Inns I am searching,
    searching again and again,
    and still stay alone amongst thousands.

    Oh wonderful, missing youth! In vain
    I search the colorful city for you,
    and shuddering I feel: oh, the greed of life
    is as strange as the greed of death.

    Sometimes only, on deserted pathes,
    when dark and shy evening closes in,
    I feel it in the dawn like a resting hand,
    and a voice calls to me "Comrade!".....

    Then I pause for a moment with eyes closed,
    with all blood streaming to my heart,
    hearing voices that are gone with the wind,
    and only the yearning for dead remains.


    From:
    Walter Flex: In the field between day and night. Poems.


    Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walter_Flex

    AntwortenLöschen
  2. This poem does reflect a lot of what other sources also show: Soldiers coming home from the front do feel "misplaced" in peace. A good example for that is Rearques's book "The way back", describing the survivors's difficulries to find their way back into the private life. Seems to be a very common experience for soldiers.

    AntwortenLöschen