i cannot divine what it meaneth, this haunting nameless pain
10 Feb
Wednesday 10th February, 10:37AM
I am seated comfortably in the waiting room of a certain institution of learning. I loathe being idle, especially in waiting rooms. I normally do something daft with my phone, or read. Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood for phone-shenanigans and I hadn’t any reading materiel on me.
My insatiable curiosity got the better of me, and I pulled a book from one of the magazine stands. A thick dusty volume, the kind I am attracted to. Sadly, it is no collection of prose, poetry, nor ancient wisdom. It is commercial drivel, created specifically to lure idlers like myself, or adherents, the likes of which walk these corridors and rooms endlessly.
“Why You’ll Love Germany” or something like that.
I flip through the pages, it is very commercial, meaning it’s well designed. At the very least.
Something catches my eye and I pull out my pencil and a small sheet of paper.
10: 46 AM
My thing-I-have-been-waiting-for arrives and I return the book, no longer biased by its purpose. I have found a small treasure I must share.
1:03 PM
Google yields the results I yearn for, and without pause, or caution or regard for plagiarism, I copy, and paste:
Lorelei
I cannot divine what it meaneth,
This haunting nameless pain:
A tale of the bygone ages
Keeps brooding through my brain:The faint air cools in the gloaming,
And peaceful flows the Rhine,
The thirsty summits are drinking
The sunset’s flooding wine;The loveliest maiden is sitting
High-throned in yon blue air,
Her golden jewels are shining,
She combs her golden hair;She combs with comb that is golden,
And sings a weird refrain
That steeps in a deadly enchantment
The listener’s ravished brain:The doomed in his drifting shallop,
Is tranced with the sad sweet tone,
He sees not the yawing breakers,
He sees but the maid alone:The pitiless billwos engulf him!-
So perish sailor and bark;
And this, with her baleful singing,
Is the Lorelei’s gruesome work.trans. Mark Twain (A Tramp Abroad, 1880)
I found a reference to a line from this poem in that German book, and I thought I’d mini-post and share. The original is in German, written in 1823 by Heinrich Heine. There are many translations, but how can they compete against Mark Twain?
A meta-moment hits me, and with a stupid recursive grin …
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I love Mark Twain and the name Lorelai and this is beautiful.
Thank you. But the poem is not my doing, sadly.
“The thirsty summits are drinking
The sunset’s flooding wine”
i like that -)
I don’t know which is better, the original or the translation. Either way, the imagery is beautiful.
twain is the man! and at the risk of sounding cliche…you should never judge a book by its cover…hehehe
LOL. Extremely cliche dude, but apt.
Still happens to this day, ur cruising along Kitante road and a jogging stunner blinds u to the boda boda crossing from left to right and before u know it ur both one mangled piece of metal. Loreleis? they are killers.
Haha. Dude. I’m yet to meet a stunner that goodlooking. But yes, they are potent.
I like this. And while I read it, all I could think about are Sirens. Mark Twain is tight.
haunting.
Genuinely likeable