By Heinrich KuemmerleGeneral0 commentsUpdated on:

poems

4.9
(12)

Featured photo: woman reading | © Jill Wellington on Pixabay

Even if one or two readers think that I should not publish any more poems on the blog, it is precisely poems that run like a common thread through this weblog.

Actually, I have most of these poems with me a separate day which, however, is only used by very few - mostly other nerds. And so I'll just write my own article, which will serve as an overview of the poems I mentioned or published here. Those of my readers who don't like poems or even disagree with my selection are welcome to simply "skip" this post.

Everyone else might find one or two new ideas. And if you're wondering why now, I'll answer that because in a few days, more precisely on November 23rd, Paul Celan It's his birthday and I already pointed out his “Death Fugue” in the blog in 2021 - tragically, this poem is more relevant today than ever before! Paul Celan had probably recognized a very long time ago that it was completely pointless to try to make us Europeans better people and as a result chose suicide on April 20, 1970.

What do we say so beautifully? — the best always go first!

Count

These are probably most of the poems listed here in the weblog. In case you come across another one, please let me know.

"'To err is human,' said the mouse and ate the cat."

Heinrich Kümmerle, 1970s

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  • Dear Mr. Kummerle,

    They indicated that some readers have expressed reservations about poems on Kümmerle's weblog. Don't let this bother you. A poem every now and then shouldn't bother or even hurt anyone.

    The list of poems published so far shows a colorful and international mix. Thank you very much for that.

    I have on your list, among other things Heinrich Heines “Night Thoughts” clicked:

    I think of Germany at night,
    Then I lost sleep.
    I can't close my eyes anymore
    And my hot tears flow.

    This beginning is often quoted, but some or some cannot name the author. Heinrich Heine — born in Düsseldorf in 1797; died in Paris in 1856 and was buried there in the Montmartre cemetery. He sometimes almost despairs of his fatherland Germany. The verses at the beginning of the first poem in “Germany — A Winter’s Tale” (1844) also bear witness to this:

    It was in the sad month of November,
    The days became duller,
    The wind tore the leaves from the trees,
    Then I traveled over to Germany.

    And when I got to the border,
    Then I feel a stronger knock
    In my chest, I think so
    The eyes began to drip.

    A passage from Heine's tragedy “Almansor” (1823) fits these sad November days well. “Almansor” takes place in Andalusia around 1500, when, after the Reconquista, the Inquisition acted as religious police and burned the books of “people of other faiths”. Almost anticipating the dark times in Germany, Heine wrote: “That was just a prelude, where you burn books, you also burn people in the end.”

    But Heinrich Heine was also a romantic who wrote for the soul. The “Song of the Lore-Ley” is certainly one of the most beautiful examples of this. The Nazis ostracized and banned Heine because he came from a Jewish family. But they were unable to banish the “Lore-Ley” from the repertoire of men’s choirs and song tables in Germany. That's why the musical texts after 1933 said "Author unknown."

    Another romantic poem - it is also touching the soul - is included in the “Travel Pictures” and therein in the “Harzreise” (1824):

    The hut stands on the mountain,
    Where the old miner lives;
    The green fir tree rustles there
    And the golden moon shines.

    This poem reminds me a lot of my fatherly friend and later boss Erwin Fox (Culture and Social Mayor in Heilbronn from 1964 – 1979), whom I met for the first time as a little boy of 9 years. Years later, Fuchs introduced us to Heine's life and work in the youth group of the ÖTV union (today: United Services Union Ver.di). I have one Erwin Fox-Wrote biography. She is as Online publication No. 37 on the Heilbronn City Archives website been published.

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