Harry´s Blog

Einladung

 Lyrikabend mit Gedichten aus der einzigartigen Sammlung von Herbert Kuhner (Lyriker, Dramatiker, Übersetzer, Poet)

Mit ausgewählten Gedichten bedeutender jüdischer LyrikerInnen (Alter Brody, Else Keren, Selma Meerbaum-Eisinger, Tamar Radzyner, Stella Rotenberg, Thomas Sessler, Herbert Kuhner)

Es interpretieren: Rita Dummer, Karsten Rühl, Herbert Kuhner

Republikanischer Club, Rockhgasse 1- 1010 Wien

25.Feb 2010 19Uhr

Rita DUMMER & Karsten RÜHL

This brilliant acting duo will be reading Austrian exile poets,
from collections by Herbert Kuhner
& poetry by Alter Brody, the American Jewish poet,
in German translations by Heinrich Eggerth and others

Rein literarisch: Jüdische Lyrik aus Österreich ist eine der interessantesten Lyrikanthologien, die ich kenne.
- Konstantin Kaiser, Literatur und Kritik

Daß tragische Töne in dieser Anthologie überwiegen, kann nicht verwundern. Mit Sicherheit ist in Österreich seit 1945 kein wichtigeres, kein erschütternderes literarisches Sammelwerk erschienen als dieses.
- Klara Köttner-Benigni, ORF; Die Gemeinde, Wien

Herbert Kuhner hat tatsächlich mit Erfolg subtile Abstraktionen mit kontrollierter Einbildungskraft von einer Sprache in die andere transportiert, und nicht ein Wort hat in der Prozedur Schaden erlitten. Inhalt und Übersetzung sind für Sprachunterricht in beide Richtungen geeignet.
- James Wilkie, Austria Today, Wien

Else Keren
Verloschene Funken

Verloschene Funken

aschentrüb
auf den entlegenen Schienen
streckenweit

Viele Züge fuhren diese Wege

Der entgleiste Wind
ruft
nach den toten Namen

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 ”Herr Strudl”:  “Anders als viele ihrer politischen korrekten Kollegen ham Österreichs UNO-Delegierten während der Rede vom Ahmedi-Nejad net den Saal verlassen. Recht hams. Weil diesmal war fast olles, was er gsagt hat, völlig richtig” .

- Kronen-Zeitung, 25. September 2009

The Austrian “Kronen-Zeitung” and Ahmadinejad

Here’s “Herr Strudl”, who gives streetwise comments in the largest-selling Austrian tabloid:

“Unlike their politically correct colleagues, Austria’s UNO delegates did not leave the hall during Ahmadinejad’s speech. Right they were! This time almost everything he said hit the mark.”
- Kronen-Zeitung, September 25, 2009

English translation: Herbert Kuhner

PEN American Center - Forum
E-mail Forum
Subject: What are we missing?
From: PEN America
To: PEN members
What great books have never been translated into English?

Harry Kuhner: I would like to recommend the work of Leonid Andreyev, the great neglected Russian author who, in my view, was Kafka’s precursor. He is occasionally represented in anthologies, but not much of his prose and drama are available in English. An edition of his collected works is long overdue. Andreyev had the honor of being denigrated by Leo Tolstoy, along with Will Shakespeare.

Thomas Bernard left this planet two decades ago, but his literary work is very much alive. I translated poetry and prose by Bernhard. Here are two selections:

Herbert Kuhner: Thomas Bernhard
ORF „5 vor 12″ April 28 1999

Being an author and a translator are not two separate activities for me, but rather one.
Sometimes I consider translating to be an extension of my own literary output. Although I have translated prose and drama, I consider myself to essentially be a translator of poetry. There are occasions when I identify so closely with the translated poems that I feel that the authors speak for me. When I read Thomas Bernhard’s volume of poetry, Auf der Erde und in der Hölle, I knew that I would have to translate a selection of poems. This book was published by Otto Müller Verlag in 1957, and I had the pleasure of reading it twenty-five years later. At the time I was working on Austrian Poetry Today / Österreichische Lyrik heute. I wanted to include Thomas Bernhard, but the author had the rights for his poems, and acquiring them was a long, difficult procedure.

When I read Gefangen / Imprisoned by Bernhard, I felt as if knew the author, and I was no longer angry that acquiring the rights had been so difficult.

Herbert Kuhner: Thomas Bernhard
ORF „5 vor 12″ 28.4.99

Für mich sind Autor sein und Übersetzer sein, nicht zwei Tätigkeiten, sondern eine. Ich betrachte meine Übersetzungstätigkeit als eine Erweiterung meines eigenen literarischen Schaffens. Obwohl ich Prosa und Drama auch übersetzt habe, betrachte ich mich hauptsächlich als ein Übersetzer von Lyrik. Gelegentlich identifiziere ich mich so stark mit den übersetzten Gedichten, daß ich das Gefühl habe, die Autoren sprechen für mich.
Als ich den Lyrikband Auf der Erde und in der Hölle von Thomas Bernhard las, wußte ich, daß ich Gedichte daraus übersetzen müßte. Dieses schmales Band vom Otto Müller Verlag 1957 herausgegeben, hat mich sofort angesprochen, als ich ihn fünfundzwanzig Jahre nach der Publikation las. Ich arbeitete damals an Austrian Poetry Today / Österreichische Lyrik heute, das 1985 bei Schocken Sacks in New York erschienen ist. Ich wollte Bernhard unbedingt in diese Anthologie einschließen aber die Rechte für seine Gedichte hatte der Autor selbst, und es war eine lange, schwierige Prozedur sie zu bekommen.

Als ich das Gedicht „Gefangen” von Bernhard las, und mich damit auseinandersetzte war es, als ob ich den Autor kennen würde, und ich war nicht mehr böse, daß er es mir so schwer gemacht hatte, die Übersetzungsrechte dafür zu bekommen. Dieses Gedicht übersetzt zu
haben, ist eine Art Belohnung,

Thomas Bernhard

Gefangen

Der Rabe schreit.
Er hat mich gefangen.
Immer muß ich in seinem Schrei
durch das Land ziehn.
Der Rabe schreit.
Er hat mich gefangen.
Gestern saß er im Acker und fror
und mein Herz mit ihm.
Immer schwärzer wird mein Herz,
denn es ist von schwarzen Flügeln
zugedeckt.

Imprisoned

The raven shrieks.
He has captured me.
I must go through the land forever
in his cry.
The raven shrieks.
He has captured me.
Yesterday he perched in the fields and froze,
and my heart with him.
My heart blackens more and more
because it is enfolded
in his black wings.

Translated from the German
by Herbert Kuhner

By courtesy of  Suhrkamp Verlag & Schocken Books

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Gratitude is due to Nimrod
for making all this possible.

I consider my translation activities as an extension of my own poetic output.
There are occasions when I identify with the poems I translate so closely
that I feel that the poets speak for me.

Ilse Aichinger

Zugehörig

Meine schwarzen Pferde,
die ich weiden sehe,
die für mich davonweiden
ins Holz, in die Algen,
meine Tiere,
die mich hindern
zu bestehen, die entzwei reiten,
was kommt,
die das kennen,
weil sie meine sind
und sonst nichts.

Belonging

My black horses
that I see grazing,
grazing away for me
into the wood, into the seaweed,
my animals that keep me
from being, that trample under foot
whatever appears,
know nothing but this
because they are mine
and nothing else.

Thomas Bernhard

Gefangen

Der Rabe schreit.
Er hat mich gefangen.
Immer muß ich in seinem Schrei
durch das Land ziehn.
Der Rabe schreit.
Er hat mich gefangen.
Gestern saß er im Acker und fror
und mein Herz mit ihm.
Immer schwärzer wird mein Herz,
denn es ist von schwarzen Flügeln
zugedeckt.

Imprisoned

The raven shrieks.
He has captured me.
I must go through the land forever
in his cry.
The raven shrieks.
He has captured me.
Yesterday he perched in the fields and froze,
and my heart with him.
My heart blackens more and more
because it is enfolded
in his black wings.

Heinrich Eggerth

Die Rache des Odysseus

Seine Frau glaubte tatsächlich
die Sage von seinem Mut,
sie zweifelte nicht an seinem
Glück, seiner Schlauheit,
sie hielt in tatsächlich
für geistvoll und tüchtig.
Er blickte sie an, von der
Seite. Dann revanchierte er sich
und glaubte an ihre Treue.

Odysseus’ Revenge

His wife did indeed believe
the myth of his courage, she
did not doubt his
good fortune, his cunning,
she indeed considered him
clever and diligent.
He looked at her obliquely
and then he got even with her
by believing in her fidelity.

Stephan Eibel Erzberg

einstimmig

der revolver sitzt locker
die kugel auch
aus diesem grunde
wird niemand erschossen
die kugel kränkt sich
punkt

harmony

the pistol’s primed
so’s the bullet
and that’s why
no one’ll be shot
the bullet’s piqued
period

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Poetry by Jozo T. Boskovski

Translated by
Herbert Kuhner,
David Axelrod et al
(Anna Esapora, Cynthia Keeson
and Svetlana Dimic)

Jozo T. Boskovski (1933 - 2008)

My friend Jozo has left us for the Universe.

I first met him when I attended the Struga Evenings Poetry Festival in 1972. I last saw him at that venue in 1982. We kept in touch after that. I didn’t think I’d never see him again. God, how I miss him! He was a character in every sense of the word. At times he was exasperating. He had unlimited energy. David Axelrod wrote, “He seemed unstoppable!” I’m sure that no one who ever met him forgot him. Jozo was pure gold. Goodbye, my dear friend!

Let Jozo speak to those of us who are still here through his poetry!
- Herbert Kuhner

Who’s Jozo?

Jozo T. Boskovski comes from a nation of poets. Macedonians love poetry and live poetry, and sometimes they write as if they discovered it. Macedonia is a new nation with a new literary language. Macedonian poetry is retrospective of the past: the conquest and centuries- long occupation of the nation, but it looks to the future with unbounded exuberance and enthusiasm.

Jozo Boskovski’s poems are warm and mellow. The Macedonian sun shines on them. His lines flow in the eternal river of poetry. But he doesn’t let himself be carried by the current. He writes with an ease that comes from an innate sense of rhythm and form. Boskovski has a deep, powerful voice that carries beautifully. His poems are imbued with the resonance of his speech organ. They not only read well on the page, but they are effective when recited.

- Herbert Kuhner

Comments by friends:

“The poems are terrific!”
- Anthony Rudolf, the Menard Press, London

“Hi Harry, Good of you to forward all the Jozo things.
I’d forgotten what a good poet he is.
I already knew what a great translator you are!”
- David B. Axelrod, The Poetry Doctor, USA

Addendum to “Who’s Jozo”:
Hills and Mountains

I leave this comment in the present. It should be stated that Jozo, with his bald pate and long beard and that resonant voice, is the Black Sheep of Skopje and the Enfant Terrible of Macedonia. He is a bad boy who is often exasperating. I think there are people in insane asylums due to Jozo. However, although he has a mule-like quality as a man, he does the right thing as a poet.

Years ago, when I attended the Struga Poetry Evenings Festival, we hung out together, and there were plenty of laughs. My last time in Struga, I got left on a mountain by the official bus for poets. Organization is not one of the Macedonian strong points. And who showed up in his battered Skoda to bring me down? That’s right Jozo!

A while back, my friend David Axelrod got him to the United States on a three month visa, sponsored by the USIA, but when his time was up, he didn’t go home. No, he took off for the Jersey Hills, where some of his Macedonian countrymen had settled. David had to explain the poet’s disappearance to the skeptical USIA-men, and three months later, when all had given up hope, Jozo turned up, ready to return to Macedonia.

Here’s what David wrote: “Jozo who is not someone who will ever listen when you talk to him.” And he added: “After you explain something in detail that he doesn’t want to hear, you might get a skeptical, ‘Maybe,’ softly uttered.” And here’s a poem by David:

The Man Who Said “Maybe”

He said a European flight
from Macedonia
took more time going
than returning
because the earth turned favorably.
Try to explain the world a single entity - earth
sky and sea - he’d
listen patiently.
Next time he’d mention
travel, his theory
of anti gravity
was there again
more steadfast than
Foucault’s pendulum.
If a helicopter
hovered over a city,
would the next city
come along eventually?”
“Maybe.”

Jozo is determination personified, and he knows no modesty. You name it! He’s been there and done it. Once I asked him if he had invented fire, and he answered in the affirmative. When I tried to explain about modesty to him, he said that there is no such word in the Macedonian language. I told him that there must be such a word. I lost my cool and repeated the word loudly. “Modesty! Modesty!”

“Yes,” he said, “That means male member!”

Hills or mountains, what would life be like without having known Jozo! Pretty dull, I guess.

Here are some of poems by Jozo Boskovski:

Translations by Herbert Kuhner

The Eternal River

There is a river that flows in circles
The flowing of the river in circles
causes the watercourse to be greater than usual
(Poetry scrupulously performs its duty)
Poetry is the trademark of nations
There is an eternal river
that drenches all mountains
It is the river of poetry
It is the soul of the poet
The eternal river flows in circles
in its eternal course
The eternal river flows unconditionally
and causes the watercourse to be increased
Poetry is the trademark of nations
The waters imitate the eternal river of poetry
The eternal river flows in its eternal course
The eternal river flows in the eternal emptiness
of thoughts
(The concepts of the poem become color-soaked)
That’s what the soul of color is like
The eternal river of poetry flows and resounds with power
The flow unrolls naturally
(I only use rhymes that are natural)
The world of water imitates my poems in their eternal course
There is a river that is called by the same name all over the world
It increases the watercourse
Poetry is the trademark of nations

The eternal river flows in the world
The eternal river flows in its eternal course
Poetry knows its business

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