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APRIL - NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

I heard on NPR that April is National Poetry Month. Immediately, I thought about the following poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, which I had to memorize in 7th grade... A long, long time ago...

Der Erlkönig

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?"
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?"
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?"
"Sei ruhig, bleib ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind."

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?"
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau."

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!"

Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

I found an English translation for you:

The Erlking

Who rides so late through night and wind?
It is the father with his child.
He has the little one well in the arm
He holds him secure, he holds him warm.

"My son, why hide your face in fear?"
"See you not, Father, the Erlking?
The Erlking with crown and flowing cloak?"
"My son, it is a wisp of fog."

"You sweet child, come along with me!
Such wonderful games I'll play with you;
Many lovely flowers are at the shore,
My mother has many golden garments."

"My father, my father, and do you not hear,
What the Erlking promises me so softly?"
"Be quiet, stay quiet, my child;
The wind is rustling the dry leaves."

"Won't you come along with me, my fine boy?
My daughters shall attend to you so nicely;
My daughters do their nightly dance,
And they will rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep."

"My father, my father, do you not see there,
Erlking's daughters in that dark place?"
"My son, my son, I see it definitely:
It is the willow trees looking so grey."

"I love you; I'm charmed by your beautiful shape;
And if you are not willing, then I will use force."
"My father, my father, now he has taken hold of me!
Erlking has hurt me!"

The father shudders, he rides swiftly,
He holds in arm the groaning child,
He reaches the farmhouse with effort and urgency;
In his arms, the child was dead.

Pretty creepy poem, I always thought...


Comments (5)

Whoa - yes, creepy.
Makes you wonder why the father didn't listen to his son. That kid knew to fear that Erlking.

I remember reading that as a child; we had a poetry book in which it was published, along with some beautiful illustrations. I remember being unsettled by it, especially on long, nighttime car trips...

There is a beautiful, eerie and haunting, acoustic folk-style song made of that poem. In fact I didn't know it was a poem, I have only heard it as the song.
I will have to hunt out that song now... I can't remember the (male) singer.

I've always liked the poem and the Lieder derived from it. Sarah Brightman's take on an Italian translation, 'Figlio Perduto', is probably the one I know best followed by the Schubert version.

Very, very creepy poem.

Sounds like you got the last Digitessa's Yarnissma had, as she was sold at when I looked the other day. Good luck, and let me know how it goes, if you get a chance!

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