As The 100th Anniversary Of The First Year Of World War I (Remember The War To End All Wars) Continues ... Some Remembrances-Poet’s Corner-German Jewish Poets   

WALTER HEYMANN (1882-1915)

RIDER, DEATH AND DEVIL

[Not marked as such, but probably after the etching Ritter, Tod und Teufel (1513) by Albrecht Dürer (1471-1528)  -  PA.]

A strong brave knight must always ride

With Death and Devil by his side.

The Devil is his lancer man

Sticking the soft parts when he can.

He walks behind; with owl-attack

He looks into his armoured back

The look of death is full of pain

He is the horse’s strong neck-chain.

Who begs impertinent and old

And says to the ghost-rider: hold!

The knight is sitting on his steed

His visor open due to need.

The rider stares and rides and duels

With ghostly comrade that him rules

What weighs his armour down so low

What in his saddle happens so?

A righteous knight has got to ride

With Death and Devil by his side.

Where hell does stink and boils so grim

The Devil has forged arms for him

The armour which the rider wears

Is next to helmet, sword and spears

His leg is splinted all along

He follows whom he serves so long.

But now he must continuously

Death dog-like still accompany.

He is as thin as an old man

But journeys on as best he can.

The knight with pity then is fooled

Although the rider’s lance is hurled.

Hearts blood then comes all streaming out

And death does squint round him about.

He knows the tracery of iron

That rib cage struck  by cruel design.

He knows a steel so hard extreme

It pulls from the Last Day’s beam.

He knows about the stroke so dire

He rides his last day with his Sire.

Walter Heymann  -  Translated by Peter Appelbaum

TRENCH POST AND FIELD WATCH

Rise and awake, it is the hour!

The patrol makes the rounds

And examines each man on watch

Standing on the loamy mud-wall

Peering through the night,

Listening for every echo,

Rifle cocked.

Up and awake for your comrades!

Hear, they snore without restful sleep

Buried into their gloomy lairs

In which the foe lives in their dreams,

But no-one budges.

So, when each man creeps out with the patrol

Only the full moon

And the waking stars

Silently greet the far-away Homeland.

So, now you are standing in the little forest of field guards

Where the enemy, from every fold in the earth

Squints out of the trees,

Squat, all of you, properly hid.

If you are discovered

Then – good shot!

How the turnip-leaves wave like humans,

As if they are rushing en mass – against us!

No, from there – is the swarm of fire from there?

Now pay attention and  sound the alarm at once.

The singing from telegraph poles

And nothing else. – but a whiplash sound

Strikes near your ear. It was but a sound

And the bullet flew past.

But ahead, where the enemy watches in the forest

You can hear the crashing of their rifles.

Quiet then, restless cool emptiness,

Close your tired lids, heavy with sleep,

Shake yourself and do not give in,

Do not go to sleep,

But think: you are all alone

On watch here;

Sleepers that only have eyes like your own

Sleep around you in the trenches.

And –halt, who goes there! – they come running

Dark men, deeply rooted in the earth,

They call the well-known password;

Your ear also knows the brave voices,

Friend: shoot your rifle.

They are there! Soon you will be relieved!

Whomever then is on watch – for me—I bless him

May nothing worse befall him.

Walter Heymann  -  Translated by Peter Appelbaum