In the spring we will bloom again-Übersetzung: Bernd Hutschenreuther

The blue sky has acquiesced

to cold grey arches.

There is little tending to the

grieving dark,

we fall from trees

detached by laws of seasons,

fleeing the past, severed from

the present.

Our destiny is the hard earth,

we are lost to the sun.

A bleak collection of forgotten treasure.

She reaches past the clay pots

and the dozing black widow

in search of the worn saw and rusty

wire and cedar.

Her hands bleed and wither,

if she is diligent we will bloom again

in the spring.

 

Translation by Bernd Hutschenreuther

Im Frühling werden wir wieder blühen

Der blaue Himmel hat die
kalten grauen Bögen angenommen.
Wenig nur neigt er, sich
trauernder Düsternis zu ergeben,
Wir fallen von den Bäumen,
getrieben vom Gesetz der Jahreszeiten,
der Vergangenheit entfliehend, getrennt von
der Gegenwart.
Unser Schicksal ist die harte Erde,
Wir sind der Sonne verloren.
Eine düstere Sammlung vergessener Schätze.
Sie greift nach den Tontöpfen
und der dösenden schwarzen Witwe
Auf der Suche nach einer abgenutzten Säge, rostigem
Draht und Zedernholz.
Ihre Hände bluten und welken,
ist sie fleißig, werden wir erneut blühen,
im Frühling.

Übersetzung: Bernd Hutschenreuther

art by Themes.com “autumn leaves”

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74 thoughts on “In the spring we will bloom again-Übersetzung: Bernd Hutschenreuther

  1. To sprout from these warm colours
    green of envy sticking up my head
    from below the white blanket
    I will rise and unfold my colours
    in the embrace of the blue skies
    to be praising the sun
    and watch the smiles shine!

    I love autumn. and winter and spring.. not so much summer 😛
    Loved the read. Thank you

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: In the spring we will bloom again | SUSANNE LEIST

  3. Reblogged this on Neues vom Hutschi and commented:
    Im Frühling werden wir wieder blühen

    Der blaue Himmel hat die
    kalten grauen Bögen angenommen.
    Wenig nur neigt er, sich
    trauernder Düsternis zu ergeben,
    Wir fallen von den Bäumen,
    getrieben vom Gesetz der Jahreszeiten,
    der Vergangenheit entfliehend, getrennt von
    der Gegenwart.
    Unser Schicksal ist die harte Erde,
    Wir sind der Sonne verloren.
    Eine düstere Sammlung vergessener Schätze.
    Sie greift nach den Tontöpfen
    und der dösenden schwarzen Witwe
    Auf der Suche nach einer abgenutzten Säge, rostigem
    Draht und Zedernholz.
    Ihre Hände bluten und welken,
    ist sie fleißig, werden wir erneut blühen,
    im Frühling.

    Übersetzung: Bernd Hutschenreuther

    Liked by 1 person

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