submitted by Duchan Caudill
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"I will nail myself to the cross, if only it would result in a good poem!"
- Nikolaus Lenau
In a country where many streets and schools are named after authors, Nikolaus Lenau, too, is being commemorated. But his name is not a household name; he lurks in the shadows cast by lyrical giants such as Goethe and Schiller, though his verse should inspire much more recitation.
The testimony ingrained within the framework of a poem often reflects the mood of its author, and in the case of Lenau, the author often chose to mirror a realm of despondency, The rendition of his despair in his verse may sadden those readers who become familiar with his life.
In 1802 Lenau was born in a German-speaking enclave of Hungary, He was christened Franz Nikolaus Niembsch, and following the demise of his grandfather he inherited a name denoting ties to the royalty of the Habsburg dynasty: Nikolaus Edler von Strehlenau.
The young Nikolaus was a devout pupil, and he eventually went on to study at various Austro-Hungarian universities, where his academic ambitions were throttled by desultoriness. At this time, he was already seized by a recurring inner restlessness and fits of melancholia, conditions which would intensity throughout his life and seal his fate.
After the death of his grandmother, he inherited a modest fortune in which he saw a means of leading an independent lifestyle. He journeyed to Stuttgart, which, before the second unification of Germany, was both a principality and a literary capital. Lenau soon established a reputation as a gifted poet.
Money, however, has a habit of wanting to be spent, and along with a disillusion with indigenous ideology - "My fatherland that cowardly dumb kisses the heel of the despot" - he ventured to the United States, where he also wanted to be inspired by the country's nature. His stay inspired him to write a poem about the Niagara Falls, to compose stanzas about Native Americans, and to express in verse a longing for the regions he had wanted to leave behind.
He had grown homesick, and after a little over a year's stay in America, he returned to his homeland, traveling extensively and fervently shaping poems that were published and enjoyed repeated success...poems which reflect his pessimism, his self-estrangement, and his bouts with hopelessness. And he wrote of love...Cupid having tormented him with arrows.
In 1844, he was seized by a stroke, resulting in an increasing dementia which caused him to seek confinement in mental asylums. In 1850, he died in the asylum of Oberdobling (near Vienna).
At one time, Lenau was an immensely successful poet. Nowadays, the mention of his name mostly results in a quizzical look.
I searched the net for Lenau's poems in English, but frustratingly enough I failed to locate a site, Although I lack a lyrical vein, I will translate two stanzas from "Einsarnkeit" ("Loneliness")
Wild ingrown dark firs,
quietly the well continues to complain;
Heart, this is proper place
For your painful renouncement!Grey bird in the branches!
Lonely sings your complaint,
And to your question
Does the forest's silence not bring an answer...
There certainly must be better translations, and the man who wrote the original lines would have welcomed to be remembered by a readership.
