Subject: RE: BS: Poems that speak to you.
From:
Bill D
Date: 23 Oct 07 - 11:27 AM
In my first German class, in 1957, we read this poem by Walther von der Vogelweide, ca. 1170-1230. I put the 1st verse here from memory, though I have long lost the book it was in, and cannot vouch for the spelling.
Unter den Linden, auf die Heide,
Wo Ich mit meinen Leibsten lag;
Da mögt er finden wo wir beide,
Die Blumen braüchen, und das grass.
Vor dem Wald in einem Tal.
Tanderedei!
So leiblich sang die Nachtigal.
Now, here it is in its entirety, in its original Middle High German spelling.
Under der linden
Under der linden
an der heide,
dâ unser zweier bette was,
dâ muget ir vinden
schône beide
gebrochen bluomen unde gras.
Vor dem walde in einem tal,
tandaradei,
schône sanc diu nahtegal.
Ich kam gegangen
zuo der ouwe:
dô was mîn friedel komen ê.
Dâ wart ich empfangen
(hêre frouwe!)
daz ich bin sælic iemer mê.
Kust er mich?
Wol tûsentstunt:
tandaradei,
seht wie rôt mir ist der munt.
Dô hete er gemachet
alsô rîche
von bluomen eine bettestat.
Des wirt noch gelachet
inneclîche,
kumt iemen an daz selbe pfat:
bî den rôsen er wol mac,
tandaradei,
merken wâ mir'z houbet lac.
Daz er bî mir læge,
wesse'z iemen
(nu enwelle got!), so schamte ich mich.
Wes er mit mir pflæge,
niemer niemen
bevinde daz, wan er und ich,
und ein kleinez vogellîn:
tandaradei,
daz mac wol getriuwe sîn.
Walther von der Vogelweide
and here is a translation (not a good one, in my opinion, as the translator treats it pretty lightly - read in German, it can sound quite sensual.)(he translates 'tanderadei' as "heigh-de-ho", when I hear it as "wow..oh, my gracious!" (I have seen it translated as "Gracious Mary!")
So, here is another translation which does not even bother to translate the exclamation.
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and last, a poem about Vogëlweide by Longfellow.
Walter Von Der Vogelweide
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
VOGELWEID, the Minnesinger,
When he left this world of ours,
Laid his body in the cloister,
Under Wurtzburg's minster towers.
And he gave the monks his treasures,
Gave them all with this behest
They should feed the birds at noontide
Daily on his place of rest;
Saying, "From these wandering minstrels
I have learned the art of song;
Let me now repay the lessons
They have taught so well and long."
Thus the bard of love departed;
And, fulfilling his desire,
On his tomb the birds were feasted
By the children of the choir.
Day by day, o'er tower and turret,
In foul weather and in fair,
Day by day, in vaster numbers,
Flocked the poets of the air.
On the tree whose heavy branches
Overshadowed all the place,
On the pavement, on the tombstone;
On the poet's sculptured face,
On the cross-bars of each window,
On the lintel of each door,
They renewed the War of Wartburg,
Which the bard had fought before.
There they sang their merry carols,
Sang their lauds on every side;
And the name their voices uttered
Was the name of Vogelweid.
Till at length the portly abbot
Murmured, "Why this waste of food?
Be it changed to loaves henceforward
For our fasting brotherhood."
Then in vain o'er tower and turret,
From the walls and woodland nests,
When the minster bells rang noontide,
Gathered the unwelcome guests.
Then in vain, with cries discordant,
Clamorous round the Gothic spire,
Screamed the feathered Minnesingers
For the children of the choir.
Time has long effaced the inscriptions
On the cloister's funeral stones,
And tradition only tells us
Where repose the poet's bones.
But around the vast cathedral,
By sweet echoes multiplied,
Still the birds repeat the legend,
And the name of Vogelweid.
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sj
