Frasi di Gertrud Kolmar

Gertrud Kolmar foto
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Gertrud Kolmar

Data di nascita: 10. Dicembre 1894
Data di morte: 1943


Gertrud Chodziesner è stata una poetessa tedesca nota con lo pseudonimo di Gertrud Kolmar.

Frasi Gertrud Kolmar


„Your eyes, now gleaming dark obsidian,
Now deep and somber velvet jungle flowers.“

— Gertrud Kolmar, Dark soliloquy: The selected poems of Gertrud Kolmar [i.e. G. Chodziesner]


„The Blessed

I am in the darkness and alone.
In front of me stands the door.
When I open it, I am bathed in light.
There are a father, a mother and sister,
A dog, which, dumb, still barks in friendliness.

How can I lie, and how can I say
That I, hidden there in darkness, have not come to harm them?
I drag myself over the threshold.

Snow blossoms in my eyes.
I saw him bowing to me courteously;
How much that hurt me.

How could my heart find peace,
When round it raced the voice of the old man?
I live in coldness.

I dried my tears and went
To where the man was eating with his family.
It was so calm and loving a reception.

I felt the violins sounding inside me
At first, so sweetly, so gently.
They will never sound again, when I have finished.

Fear drenched my hands.
Beneath me I could almost taste my womb.
A sneer seemed to say: 'Have you no shame?
What have you done with the wedding-ring on your finger?
Terrible thief, where did you hide your courage?
Does the nakedness of my right hand mean so little to me?'

I felt so poor and naked.
I wriggled in my chair
And trembled to think what I must do.

Pity clawed at my heart and shook my body
Like a tree in a winter field blown by the wind
Shedding leaves.

I told myself it was time to go,
Scolding my wan, faded self for my little worries.
Pleased with myself again, I steeled myself for the torture.

The joy of it! Oh, how I want to be
Just like an animal and be happy again!
I sharpen my claws with a knife.

It is still night, and that thing called shame,
I may not let it show itself.
I know the train that tears through the woods.

I go out to the unfeeling rails.
Weary, I am glad to go to bed,
Running across two flat sticks of iron.“

— Gertrud Kolmar

„The Woman Poet // Die Dichterin

You hold me now completely in your hands.

My heart beats like a frightened little bird's
Against your palm. Take heed! You do not think
A person lives within the page you thumb.
To you this book is paper, cloth, and ink,

Some binding thread and glue, and thus is dumb,
And cannot touch you (though the gaze be great
That seeks you from the printed marks inside),
And is an object with an object's fate.

And yet it has been veiled like a bride,
Adorned with gems, made ready to be loved,
Who asks you bashfully to change your mind,
To wake yourself, and feel, and to be moved.

But still she trembles, whispering to the wind:
"This shall not be." And smiles as if she knew.
Yet she must hope. A woman always tries,
Her very life is but a single "You..."

With her black flowers and her painted eyes,
With silver chains and silks of spangled blue.
She knew more beauty when a child and free,
But now forgets the better words she knew.

A man is so much cleverer than we,
Conversing with himself of truth and lie,
Of death and spring and iron-work and time.
But I say "you" and always "you and I."

This book is but a girl's dress in rhyme,
Which can be rich and red, or poor and pale,
Which may be wrinkled, but with gentle hands,
And only may be torn by loving nails.

So then, to tell my story, here I stand.
The dress's tint, though bleached in bitter lye,
Has not all washed away. It still is real.
I call then with a thin, ethereal cry.

You hear me speak. But do you hear me feel?“

— Gertrud Kolmar

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