Untitled Poem

2007-11-22 07:35:55 pm

I recently rediscoverd my liking for poetry. I actually wrote this one in german a few years ago, but I thought it was nice enough to translate and share it. If anything doesn't make any sense, it's probably due to the translation. I hope you like it, but any criticism is welcome.

A room filled with spheres of glass,
whose perfect cut cannot refract
the cold light.

Every one of them seems to be unique,
for each of them has been created,
lovingly, with such a precision.

Unique, it would seem,
were there not thousands of them,
equally crafted and lovelessly constructed.

And then there is this one,
buried below all the others,
broken under all the pressure.

Rough edges make it appear dull.
An absurdity among all the others,
for those are oh so perfect.

But who really wants perfection?
For it is all the flaws of this one,
that leave it past comparison.

The cold light refracts in its inside
and sends out a warm glow,
carried outside through its broken body.

Iridescent colours flood the hall.
A sight, that is unmatched,
emerged from a broken piece of glass.

Almost unbelievable it is to see,
almost frightening, but relieving to know,
how beautiful the inconspicuous is.

Thread title:

I recently rediscoverd my liking for poetry. I actually wrote this one in german a few years ago, but I thought it was nice enough to translate and share it. If anything doesn't make any sense, it's probably due to the translation. I hope you like it, but any criticism is welcome.

A room filled with spheres of glass,
whose perfect cut cannot refract
the cold light.

Every one of them seems to be unique,
for each of them has been created,
lovingly, with such a precision.

Unique, it would seem,
were there not thousands of them,
equally crafted and lovelessly constructed.

And then there is this one,
buried below all the others,
broken under all the pressure.

Rough edges make it appear dull.
An absurdity among all the others,
for those are oh so perfect.

But who really wants perfection?
For it is all the flaws of this one,
that leave it past comparison.

The cold light refracts in its inside
and sends out a warm glow,
carried outside through its broken body.

Iridescent colours flood the hall.
A sight, that is unmatched,
emerged from a broken piece of glass.

Almost unbelievable it is to see,
almost frightening, but relieving to know,
how beautiful the inconspicuous is.

nate

2007-11-22 10:35:30 pm

good comment. enjoyed it. aber wo ist die urspr端ngliche? :P

Frozen Mr. Toastbrot

2007-11-23 10:03:28 am

Schön, dass es ihnen gefallen hat, Herr Jahnke. :P Hier das Original.

Ein Raum gefüllt von gläsernen Kugeln,
dessen perfekter Schliff das Kalte Licht
nicht brechen kann.

Einzigartig scheint eine jede von ihnen,
wurden doch alle, so liebevoll,
mit solcher Präzision erschaffen.

Einzigartig, so schiene es,
wären es nicht tausende,
gleich gearbeitet und lieblos erstellt.

Und doch ist da diese eine,
vergraben unter all den Anderen,
gebrochen unter all dem Druck.

Ecken und Kanten lassen sie trüb erscheinen.
Ein Unding verglichen mit den Anderen,
sind diese doch ach so perfekt.

Doch wer will denn schon Perfektion?
Sind es doch gerade die Fehler der einen,
die sie so unvergleichlich macht.

Das kalte Licht bricht sich in ihrem Innern
und entsendet einen warmen Schein,
durch ihren gebrochenen Leib nach außen getragen.

Schillernde Farben durchfluten den Saal.
Ein Anblick, der seinesgleichen sucht,
entstanden duch ein kaputtes Stück Glas.

Geradezu unglaubhaft ist es da zu sehen,
nahezu beängstigend, aber erleichternd zu wissen,
wie wunderschön das Unscheinbare ist.

Schön, dass es ihnen gefallen hat, Herr Jahnke. :P Hier das Original.

Ein Raum gefüllt von gläsernen Kugeln,
dessen perfekter Schliff das Kalte Licht
nicht brechen kann.

Einzigartig scheint eine jede von ihnen,
wurden doch alle, so liebevoll,
mit solcher Präzision erschaffen.

Einzigartig, so schiene es,
wären es nicht tausende,
gleich gearbeitet und lieblos erstellt.

Und doch ist da diese eine,
vergraben unter all den Anderen,
gebrochen unter all dem Druck.

Ecken und Kanten lassen sie trüb erscheinen.
Ein Unding verglichen mit den Anderen,
sind diese doch ach so perfekt.

Doch wer will denn schon Perfektion?
Sind es doch gerade die Fehler der einen,
die sie so unvergleichlich macht.

Das kalte Licht bricht sich in ihrem Innern
und entsendet einen warmen Schein,
durch ihren gebrochenen Leib nach außen getragen.

Schillernde Farben durchfluten den Saal.
Ein Anblick, der seinesgleichen sucht,
entstanden duch ein kaputtes Stück Glas.

Geradezu unglaubhaft ist es da zu sehen,
nahezu beängstigend, aber erleichternd zu wissen,
wie wunderschön das Unscheinbare ist.

nate

2007-11-23 12:49:30 pm

very cool! i learned many new words. i noticed this with the english version also but i forgot to say it before - i found it really clear. usually with poetry it's crazy hard to understand, so this was pretty refreshing.

Frozen Mr. Toastbrot

2007-11-23 08:45:57 pm

Thanks again, nate. Crazy hard to understand poetry isn't my cup of tea, either. I've got nothing against poems that make me think, but when I see a bunch of seemingly random words, I almost never finish reading the poem.

Chanoire

2007-11-23 08:54:31 pm

I liked it too, and I'm not much for poetry for the same reason -- I tend to tune out rapidly when there's no structure and when the subject matter is repetitive and/or angsty, one or both of which describe most poetry encountered online. But I do really like this, in part because I like rocks and gems and can relate to the concrete idea there -- impurities account for most colors, and chips for refractions, as you note. And the abstract idea isn't shoved down our throats, which is good too.

Frozen Mr. Toastbrot

2007-11-25 07:24:48 pm

I'm glad you like it, too, Chanoire. I usually do my best to avoid forcing an idea onto someone. It's actually quite important to me that my poems can also be read without having to interpret them, and can simply be seen as a description of a scene or a short story.

Anyway, I might post another poem in the coming days, depending on wether I manage to translate it into english without crippling it or not.