By Ernst Stadler
Breaking Camp – Translation by Anon
Once before, fanfares tore to blood my impatient heart So, like a rearing horse that bit its mouth apart Then, the march of drumbeats drove the storm along the ways, And most wonderful music of the earth sent us bullet sprays. Then, suddenly, life stood still. Paths led between old trees. Rooms beckoned. It was sweet, to stay awhile and be at ease, The body from reality released as from dusty armour freed, To lie voluptuously in the feather down of soft dreams' bed. But one morning through mist air the echo of signals rolled Hard, sharp, a singing sword-thrust. As if fingers of light in the dark took hold. It was as when trumpets' blare through dawn bivouacs sound, Sleepers spring to action, camp is broken, horses paw the ground. I was lined in ranks that pushed into the dawn, fire over helmet and saddle Forwards, in the eyes and in the blood, with stiff-held reins, the battle. At day's end, perhaps, paeans for us would play, Perhaps under the dead somewhere stretched out we lay. Yet before the stir to arms and before to earth we sink Full and gleaming our eyes would of the world and sunlight drink.
Awakening – Translation by Richard Sheppard
Already once have trumpets calling ripped my restless heart to bloody shreds, That it, uprearing like a steed, might tear its teeth enraged on bridling girths. Then drumbeat called us to attack on every front, And bullets raining down for us was earth’s most glorious sound. Then, of a sudden, life stood silent. Paths pointed us through woods of ancient trees. Chambers enticed. And sweet it was to linger and lose oneself, To free the body from the world’s imprisoning chains as though from dust-drenched armour, To sink ecstatic down amid soft quilts of dreaming hours. But came a morning when the bugles sounded, rolled their signals through the mist-filled air, Metallic, sharp, and hissing like a striking sword. It was as when in darkness sudden lights beam out. It was as when across the tents at dawn the trumpets rattle out their blasts, The sleeping soldiers start up, strike their tents and saddle up their horses. I was railed in by ranks, which pushed forth into morning, fire over helm and hand-guard, Onwards, in eye and blood the conflict, reins held forwards. Perhaps at evening victory marches would console us with their touch, Perhaps we would lie stretched out somewhere under corpses. But before our seizure and before our sinking down Our eyes ablaze would drink till satiate with world and sun.
Der Aufbruch – The original German poem
Einmal schon haben Fanfaren mein ungeduldiges Herz blutig gerissen, Daß es, aufsteigend wie ein Pferd, sich wütend ins Gezäum verbissen. Damals schlug Tambourmarsch den Sturm auf allen Wegen, Und herrlichste Musik der Erde hieß uns Kugelregen. Dann, plötzlich, stand Leben stille. Wege führten zwischen alten Bäumen. Gemächer lockten. Es war süß, zu weilen und sich versäumen, Von Wirklichkeit den Leib so wie von staubiger Rüstung zu entketten, Wollüstig sich in Daunen weicher Traumstunden einzubetten. Aber eines Morgens rollte durch Nebelluft das Echo von Signalen, Hart, scharf, wie Schwerthieb pfeifend. Es war wie wenn im Dunkel plötzlich Lichter aufstrahlen. Es war wie wenn durch Biwakfrühe Trompetenstöße klirren, Die Schlafenden aufspringen und die Zelte abschlagen und die Pferde schirren. Ich war in Reihen eingeschient, die in den Morgen stießen, Feuer über Helm und Bügel, Vorwärts, in Blick und Blut die Schlacht, mit vorgehaltnem Zügel. Vielleicht würden uns am Abend Siegesmärsche umstreichen, Vielleicht lägen wir irgendwo ausgestreckt unter Leichen. Aber vor dem Erraffen und vor dem Versinken Würden unsre Augen sich an Welt und Sonne satt und glühend trinken.