Ehrentraut Helmberg-Lanner:

Schlummerlied

Immer rauscht was in der Nacht:
rauscht der Fluss, der immer wacht,
rauscht der Wald, der ohne Schlaf,
rauscht das Blut, das Liebe traf.

Immer singt was in der Nacht:
singt ein Herz, das immer lacht,
singt ein Vogelruf im Traum,
singt der Sommerwind im Baum.

Immer träumt wer in der Nacht,
der des Tags zuviel gedacht,
träumt die Wolke, wetterschwer,
träumt der Firn vom fernen Meer.

Immer, immer in der Nacht
ist das Lied mir aufgewacht,
rauscht und singt und raunt mir zu:
lass das Träumen, schlafe du!

Ehrentraut Helmberg-Lanner:

Slumber Song

Ever something whispers Night:
whispers river's waking sight,
wispers forest without sleep,
whispers blood for love to keep.

Ever something sings the Night:
sings a heart that's light and bright,
sings a birdsong's dream to please,
sings in trees the summer breeze.

Ever someone dreams at Night:
dreams a daytime fraught with fright,
dreams the cloud of storms to be,
dreams the glacier of the sea.

Ever, ever in the Night
wakes the song to my delight,
murmurs, sings and whispers: Now
stop Thy dreaming, rest Thy brow!

---

It is strange: Translating the Schlummerlied reminded me of translating Dylan Thomas' touching poem (and tour-de-force extraordinaire) Do not go gentle into that good night.

And it isn't just the spinal rhyme of Night/Nacht that is doing it in these two poems. How come poets can hang such beauty on such circumloquacious frames of up, down and around beats? Yes, I know it's a classical form, but so what? Perhaps you can tell me what forces are driving this noctinfernal carousel?

Otherwise I'll have to remain ignorant while my translating doggerel sings this lullaby:

Mine is not to reason why
poets sigh and poems die
on the road less traveled by...