Lorelei heine in German. Lorelei

Heinrich Heine

Lorelei (collection)

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...Above the terrible...Above the terrible height
Girl of wondrous beauty
Clothes burn with gold,
Plays with gold braids...

From early poems (1816–1827)

Pour out, heart Pour out, sick heart,
The languor of an ardent soul,
That song that I have long ago
I melt away from the world in silence!

"When the magic moment comes..." Translation by V. Sorgenfrey

When the magic moment comes
And the chest expands, a spring of inspiration,
I take up the pen, hasty and wild, -
And a wonderful image arose from the word!

“I’ve been yearning for her all day...” Translation by V. Sorgenfrey

I've been yearning for her all day,
At midnight I was in the grip of dreams,
And a heavy sleep shackled me
And he instantly transported me to her.

Like a young rose, she
Blooms, calm and bright.
Lambs on the surface of the canvas
It comes out with a thin needle.

So gentle is the gaze - she can’t understand
That I drooped, my soul grieving.
“You are pale, Heinrich, how can you tell?
What upset you so much?”

So gentle is the gaze, and it’s strange to her,
That I cry bitterly, loving.
“You’re crying, tell me quickly,
My friend, who upset you?

She gets up, her soul is bright,
And he puts his hand on my chest;
And at once my pain passed;
And the morning sunrise was clear.

“I would like to go to the forest green!..” Translation by V. Sorgenfrey

I would like to go to the forest green! How wonderful it is there
Flowers are blooming, birds are singing!
I will die, and the darkness of the grave night
The earth will fill my ears and eyes, -
And flowers should not bloom for me,
And I can’t get enough of the ringing chatter.

“When I’m alone with my sweetie...” Translation by V. Sorgenfrey

When I'm alone with my sweetheart,
Then everything goes well
And I don’t care about the whole world,
And in my thoughts I am rich.

But only her hugs
I’ll leave - there’s darkness in my heart,
My wealth is crumbling,
I am again poor and naked.

“And it seems that I’m rushing on a horse again...” Translation by V. Arens

Captured by the former power.
And again the heart is on fire,
I rush towards the sweet arrow.

And it seems that I’m rushing on a horse again,
Captured by the former power.
I'm flying into battle, and anger is in me, -
The enemy is waiting for me to fight.

They rush, flying like the whistling wind,
Meadows, banks, willows.
My enemy and you, child, -
You will both be broken.

“I pulled back the rusty bolts...” Translation by V. Sorgenfrey

I pulled back the rusty bolts
At the gate leading to the dim world of visions,
He tore off the seals from the fiery crimson,
The Magic Book of Passion and Longing;
And what I read in it is forever new,
I displayed it in the lines of chants.
Centuries will pass, the world of the poet will forget, -
This song will remain incorruptible.

“Pour yourself out, my aching heart...” Translation by V. Sorgenfrey

Pour yourself out, my aching heart,
The languor of an ardent soul,
That song that I have long ago
I melt away from the world in silence!

From now on the mournful sound
Ears and hearts are open;
Thousand-year torment
I cast a spell on the singer.

Old and young are crying
And important gentlemen,
The flower shed a scarlet tear,
And a star cries in the sky.

And all these tears flow
United they flow to the south,
To wash away in the deep Jordan
An ancient, serious illness.

“It was the month of March, when love...” Translation by V. Sorgenfrey

It was the month of March, when love
My blood was agitated with agony.
But now the green May has come,
And I found an end to my sorrow.

It was, I remember, a bright day,
We sat on the bench together
Under the linden tree, hiding from people,
And there I opened my heart to her.

In the fragrant garden, in the green branches
The nightingale sang. But in his words
We hardly understood then -
She and I talked about important things.

We swore allegiance to each other.
The sunset faded and the hours rushed;
We sat for a long time in the darkness, and we
Hot tears streamed from his eyes.

Memory. Translation by V. Sorgenfrey

What do you want, tender vision?
You look into my soul again!
Your gaze is filled with meek languor;
Yes, it's you, I recognize you.

I am now seriously ill, failures
My spirit was broken, I was tired of life.
The melancholy is oppressive. But everything was different
In those days when I met you!

Having left my native home, filled with ardor,
I was chasing the ghost of a dream,
I was ready to despise the earth and the stars,
Pluck them from a radiant height.

You, Frankfurt, are full of crooks, but this
I forgive: you gave to my country
Good power and the best poet,
You are the city where she appeared to me.

The days of noisy trade were in full swing,
Fair days and I'm in the thick crowd
Walked along a smart street thoughtlessly,
As if in a dream, watching the bustle.

The Rhine near Cape Lorelei greatly narrows its course. At this point it is very dangerous for navigation. Moreover, this is where it is very deep. The wind howls near the cape, and on the opposite side you can hear the sounds of a waterfall.

The name was once translated as “rocks that whisper.” There were reefs under the water that created dangerous turbulence in the current. All this taken together gave rise to many shipwrecks. The young romantic poet included the ballad “Lorelei” in his “Book of Songs” in 1823. Heinrich Heine was not the first to address this topic. He romanticized her, as required by the era and his personal experiences.

Translations of Heine

More than once and at different times, the best Russian poets turned to Heine’s poem “Lorelei”. You can find differences in each of them. The best translation of Heine’s “Lorelei” is considered to be the work of S. Marshak. But this choice is a subjective preference. The author of this article prefers the translation of Heine’s ballad “Lorelei”, which was created by Wilhelm Levick. It is also interesting to compare the interlinear translation with the translation. In German poetry, this work is so touching and musical that it has become a folk song.

Theme of the poem

Let us briefly tell you what Heine is talking about. Lorelei - a beautiful golden-haired girl - sits on a high rock and sings so that everyone who swims past her involuntarily throws down their oars or sail and begins to listen to her singing and watch how she combs her golden hair with a golden comb. At this time, the air is cool and dark... The Rhine flows calmly. The picture is so beautiful that both the reader and the swimmer forget about the treachery of the Rhine. It is not surprising that the shipbuilder looks closely at the sparkle on the top of the rock and listens to the mysterious melodic rhymes. He stops noticing the rocks, and in front of him stands only a beautiful vision, whose divine sounds make him completely lose his mind. The end is always the same - the swimmer dies. This, as Heine said in the first stanzas, is a fairy tale from old times.

Through poetic paths

In Russian, Wilhelm Levick chose amphibrachium. He used cross rhyme, as in the original. 24 lines in the translator and 24 lines in the German poem. We began to look at Heine's poem "Lorelei". Our poet did not deviate at all from Heine. The lyrical hero is on the shore, and his soul is confused by sadness. He is haunted by one old fairy tale, which he will now tell. The poet feels the coolness coming from the water. Now Rain had already fallen asleep in the darkness. The lyrical hero passes into another world and sees the last ray of a flaming sunset and the girl illuminated by it on the cliff.

Lorelei

There is no action in the poem. It is all devoted to the description of the fatal beauty. It is she, all in the radiance of gold (this word is used three times, placed side by side, just as Heine repeats it three times), that the lyrical hero admires without taking his eyes off. Her smooth actions - the girl calmly combs her hair (Heine repeats this phrase twice - Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar, Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme) - fascinate with peace.

And the magic song flows from her lips, completely bewitching and captivating him. And not only him, but also the rower who forgot about the waves. Now a tragedy will happen: the waters will swallow the swimmer. Heine speaks of this as an event that cannot be prevented (Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen). The power of Lorelei's singing overwhelms everything. The German poet emphasizes this sadly in the last two stanzas: Und das hat mit ihrem Singen, Die Loreley getan.

Dangerous bend

The song, full of unknown power, so captivates the rower that he does not see the huge rock in front of him.

He looks only at the heights, at the beautiful golden maiden Lorelei. The lyrical hero foresees the end: the waves will close forever over the rower. It's all because of Lorelei's singing.

Why does the author care about the old fairy tale?

Perhaps because not so long ago he experienced the collapse of his hopes. Re-reading Brentano, Heine came across the image of a fatal beauty who, against her will, brings grief, which excited him. The poet was in love with his cousin Amalia when he lived in Hamburg, but she did not answer him. His experiences poured out in the lines of the ballad. During Nazi times, Heine's books were burned at the stake. Only “Lorelei” was allowed, which was perceived as folk.

I remember in the eighth grade we learned this poem by heart. Then I had just begun to discover the beauty of poetry (which I had previously despised in my youth); I remember it. Then I moved to another school where there was no German class. Gradually all the German disappeared from my head, but “Lorelei” remained. Now wake me up in the middle of the night, I will say without hesitation:

Ich weiβ nicht, was soll es bedeuten
Daβ ich so traurig bin;
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.

Die Luft ist kühl, und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig flieβt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.

Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.

Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme,
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.

Den Schiffer in kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh’.

Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
Die Lorelei getan.

Heinrich Heine
“Die Heimkehr”, 1823-1824

One of the first translations of “Lorelei” into Russian belongs to Lev May:

God knows why so unexpectedly
Longing aches my whole soul,
And in memory so tirelessly
Is the old song playing?

It blows with coolness and darkness;
The day waited until evening;
The Rhine rolls quietly and blushes,
All in sparks, the top of the mountain.

Climbed steep cliffs
And the beautiful maiden sat down,
And scratches his gold ones,
Like a ray of sunshine, a hair.

She scratches them, singing, -
And she has a golden comb, -
And the song is so wonderful
That there is no other one in the world.

And the belated fisherman died
And, having heard that song,
Forgot about the underwater rocks
And he looks up there...

It seems to me that this is how it goes down
Shuttle, because the fisherman is crazy,
After all, the song of invitation beckons
His Lorelei herself.

1858

Alexander Blok in his translation sought to achieve maximum rhythmic proximity to the German text. Each line of his translation is exactly equal to the corresponding line of the original, so that we can fully appreciate all the originality of German poetry with its pulsating, constantly interrupted rhythms:

I don't know what this means
That I am troubled by grief;
Hasn't given me peace for a long time
A fairy tale from old times to me.

The twilight blows cool,
And the Reina is a quiet space;
In the evening rays they turn red
Peaks of distant mountains.

Above a terrible height
Girl of wondrous beauty
Clothes burn with gold,
Plays with gold braids.

Cleans with a golden comb
And she sings a song:
In her wonderful singing
The anxiety is hidden.

Swimmer on a small boat
It will fill you with wild melancholy;
Forgetting the underwater rocks,
He only looks up.

Swimmer and boat, I know
They will perish among the swells;
And everyone dies like this
From Lorelei's songs.

1909

But most of all I like the translation of Samuil Marshak:

I don't know what I'm yearning for.
There is no peace for my soul.
I can’t forget for a moment
Tradition of distant years.

There was a breath of coolness, it was getting dark.
The river flows in silence.
The top of the mountain is on fire
Over the Rhine in the sunset fire.

Girl in a light outfit
Sits above a steep cliff,
And the strands shine like gold
Under her golden crest.

Runs a comb over the gold
And she sings the song.
And power and magical power
The calling song is complete.

Swimmer in a defenseless shuttle
He looks up into the heights with longing.
He rushes towards the granite rocks,
But he sees her alone.

And the rocks all around are getting steeper,
And the waves are steeper and angrier.
And surely he will destroy with a song
Swimmer and shuttle Lorelei.

The next translation is much weaker; I place it here solely for the sake of completeness of the collection:

What does that mean, I don't understand...
The soul is troubled by melancholy.
Worries me relentlessly
One old fairy tale.

Chilly. Everything is in the evening light
Mysteriously illuminated.
Mountain peaks over the Rhine
They drink sunset wine.

On the throne is a beautiful maiden,
And the throne is a high cliff.
The flames of her rings are hotter
Red gold braid.

Unraveled her golden braids
And she sings a song,
which is irresistible,
Full of enchanting power.

Rower in his small boat
That song calls and beckons.
He doesn't see the foamy breakers,
He only looks up.

The rower will inevitably die
In his fragile boat,
Will die, captivated by the song
Sorceresses Lorelei.

N. Volpin

UPD:

The collection of translations is growing. It’s amazing how the same work in a foreign language is embodied in many reflections.

I don't know what happened to me,
The soul is troubled by sadness.
Everything gives me no peace
One old fairy tale.

The air is cool, it's getting dark,
And Rain fell asleep in the darkness.
The last ray blazes
Sunset on a coastal cliff.

There is a girl there, singing a song,
Sits on top of a steep one.
Her clothes are gold,
And the comb in his hand is golden.

And her braid curls in gold,
And she scratches them with a comb,
And the magic song flows,
Full of unknown power.

Thoughtless, overwhelmed with melancholy,
The rower does not look at the wave,
He doesn't see the rock in front of him,
He looks up there.

I know the river is growing fierce
Will close over him forever,
And that's all Lorelei
I made it my singing

Wilhelm Levick

Is it a problem, is this a prophecy...
My soul is so sad,
And the old, terrible fairy tale
Follows me everywhere...

Everything seems like the fast-flowing Rhine,
The fogs are already flying above him,
And only the rays of the sunset
The cliff tops are burning.

And the wonderfully beautiful maiden
Sits there in the glow of dawn,
And she scratches with a golden comb
Your golden curls.

And everything sparkles and shines,
And he sings a wonderful song:
Powerful, passionate song
Rushing across the mirror of water...

Here comes the shuttle... And suddenly,
Captivated by her song,
The swimmer forgets about the rudder
And he just looks at her...

And fast waters rush...
The swimmer will die among the swells!
Lorelei will destroy him
With your wonderful song!..

Apollo Maykov

Who can help me explain?
Where did the melancholy come from?
The same thing comes to mind
An old story.

It's getting dark, it's getting cold,
The wave runs lazily
The mountain top is shining
Illuminated by sunset.

On this coastal mountain -
The most beautiful of maidens.
From her lips sad, tender
And the imperious melody flies.

Sailor sailing nearby
And hearing a lovely voice,
It can't be that I didn't pick it up
Eyes on the mountain and the maiden.

And immediately forgetting about rowing,
About rocks, about sails,
Watches the flickering of the ridge
With her hair down.

It’s not a miracle, in the end, if
The water will swallow him up.
That's how much from a wonderful song
Sometimes harm happens.

Victor Schneider

Well, this is downright curious:

And grieving and longing,
What are my dreams full of?
I can't forget everything
An old tale.

Quietly the Rhine flows,
The evening is bright without clouds,
And it shines and burns out
There is a ray of sun on the rocks.

Sat on a steep rock
The Virgin is completely drenched in it;
Scratching his golden braid,
Scratching with a golden comb.

Scratching his golden braid
And sings when the waters splash
A song, as if unearthly,
Sings a wondrous song.

And the swimmer with passionate melancholy
Amazed and intoxicated
Doesn't look at the dangerous path,
He only sees the girl.

Waves coming soon. Fierce,
The shuttle with the swimmer will be broken;
And the singer Lorelei
It will be his fault.

Carolina Pavlova

Although, they say, her translations of Pushkin into German are very successful (I can’t judge that).

I remember in the eighth grade we learned this poem by heart. Then I moved to another school where there was no German class. Gradually all the German disappeared from my head, but “Lorelei” remained. Now wake me up in the middle of the night, I will say without hesitation:

Ich weiβ nicht, was soll es bedeuten
Daβ ich so traurig bin;
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.

Die Luft ist kühl, und es dunkelt,
Und ruhig flieβt der Rhein;
Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Im Abendsonnenschein.

Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.

Sie kämmt es mit goldenem Kamme,
Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Das hat eine wundersame,
Gewaltige Melodei.

Den Schiffer in kleinen Schiffe
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh’.

Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
Die Lorelei getan.

Heinrich Heine
“Die Heimkehr”, 1823-1824

One of the first translations of “Lorelei” into Russian belongs to Lev May:

God knows why so unexpectedly
Longing aches my whole soul,
And in memory so tirelessly
Is the old song playing?

It blows with coolness and darkness;
The day waited until evening;
The Rhine rolls quietly and blushes,
All in sparks, the top of the mountain.

Climbed steep cliffs
And the beautiful maiden sat down,
And scratches his gold ones,
Like a ray of sunshine, a hair.

She scratches them, singing, -
And she has a golden comb, -
And the song is so wonderful
That there is no other one in the world.

And the belated fisherman died
And, having heard that song,
Forgot about the underwater rocks
And he looks up there...

It seems to me that this is how it goes down
Shuttle, because the fisherman is crazy,
After all, the song of invitation beckons
His Lorelei herself.

Alexander Blok in his translation sought to achieve maximum rhythmic proximity to the German text. Each line of his translation is exactly equal to the corresponding line of the original, so that we can fully appreciate all the originality of German poetry with its pulsating rhythms:

I don't know what this means
That I am troubled by grief;
Hasn't given me peace for a long time
A fairy tale from old times to me.

The twilight blows cool,
And the Reina is a quiet space;
In the evening rays they turn red
Peaks of distant mountains.

Above a terrible height
Girl of wondrous beauty
Clothes burn with gold,
Plays with gold braids.

Cleans with a golden comb
And she sings a song:
In her wonderful singing
The anxiety is hidden.

Swimmer on a small boat
It will fill you with wild melancholy;
Forgetting the underwater rocks,
He only looks up.

Swimmer and boat, I know
They will perish among the swells;
And everyone dies like this
From Lorelei's songs.

But most of all I like the translation of Samuil Marshak:

I don't know what I'm yearning for.
There is no peace for my soul.
I can’t forget for a moment
Tradition of distant years.

There was a breath of coolness, it was getting dark.
The river flows in silence.
The top of the mountain is on fire
Over the Rhine in the sunset fire.

Girl in a light outfit
Sits above a steep cliff,
And the strands shine like gold
Under her golden crest.

Runs a comb over the gold
And she sings the song.
And power and magical power
The calling song is complete.

Swimmer in a defenseless shuttle
He looks up into the heights with longing.
He rushes towards the granite rocks,
But he sees her alone.

And the rocks all around are getting steeper,
And the waves are steeper and angrier.
And surely he will destroy with a song
Swimmer and shuttle Lorelei.

The next translation is much weaker; I place it here solely for the sake of completeness of the collection:

What does that mean, I don't understand...
The soul is troubled by melancholy.
Worries me relentlessly
One old fairy tale.

Chilly. Everything is in the evening light
Mysteriously illuminated.
Mountain peaks over the Rhine
They drink sunset wine.

On the throne is a beautiful maiden,
And the throne is a high cliff.
The flames of her rings are hotter
Red gold braid.

Unraveled her golden braids
And she sings a song,
which is irresistible,
Full of enchanting power.

Rower in his small boat
That song calls and beckons.
He doesn't see the foamy breakers,
He only looks up.

The rower will inevitably die
In his fragile boat,
Will die, captivated by the song
Sorceresses Lorelei.

N. Volpin

The collection of translations is growing. It’s amazing how the same work in a foreign language is embodied in many reflections.

I don't know what happened to me,
The soul is troubled by sadness.
Everything gives me no peace
One old fairy tale.

The air is cool, it's getting dark,
And Rain fell asleep in the darkness.
The last ray blazes
Sunset on a coastal cliff.

There is a girl there, singing a song,
Sits on top of a steep one.
Her clothes are gold,
And the comb in his hand is golden.

And her braid curls in gold,
And she scratches them with a comb,
And the magic song flows,
Full of unknown power.

Thoughtless, overwhelmed with melancholy,
The rower does not look at the wave,
He doesn't see the rock in front of him,
He looks up there.

I know the river is growing fierce
Will close over him forever,
And that's all Lorelei
I made it my singing

Wilhelm Levick

Is it a problem, is this a prophecy...
My soul is so sad,
And the old, terrible fairy tale
Follows me everywhere...

Everything seems like the fast-flowing Rhine,
The fogs are already flying above him,
And only the rays of the sunset
The cliff tops are burning.

And the wonderfully beautiful maiden
Sits there in the glow of dawn,
And she scratches with a golden comb
Your golden curls.

And everything sparkles and shines,
And he sings a wonderful song:
Powerful, passionate song
Rushing across the mirror of water...

Here comes the shuttle... And suddenly,
Captivated by her song,
The swimmer forgets about the rudder
And he just looks at her...

And fast waters rush...
The swimmer will die among the swells!
Lorelei will destroy him
With your wonderful song!..

Apollo Maykov

Who can help me explain?
Where did the melancholy come from?
The same thing comes to mind
An old story.

It's getting dark, it's getting cold,
The wave runs lazily
The mountain top is shining
Illuminated by sunset.

On this coastal mountain -
The most beautiful of maidens.
From her lips sad, tender
And the imperious melody flies.

Sailor sailing nearby
And hearing a lovely voice,
It can't be that I didn't pick it up
Eyes on the mountain and the maiden.

And immediately forgetting about rowing,
About rocks, about sails,
Watches the flickering of the ridge
With her hair down.

It’s not a miracle, in the end, if
The water will swallow him up.
That's how much from a wonderful song
Sometimes harm happens.

Victor Schneider

Well, this is downright curious:

And grieving and longing,
What are my dreams full of?
I can't forget everything
An old tale.

Quietly the Rhine flows,
The evening is bright without clouds,
And it shines and burns out
There is a ray of sun on the rocks.

Sat on a steep rock
The Virgin is completely drenched in it;
Scratching his golden braid,
Scratching with a golden comb.

Scratching his golden braid
And sings when the waters splash
A song, as if unearthly,
Sings a wondrous song.

And the swimmer with passionate melancholy
Amazed and intoxicated
Doesn't look at the dangerous path,
He only sees the girl.

Waves coming soon. Fierce,
The shuttle with the swimmer will be broken;
And the singer Lorelei
It will be his fault.

Carolina Pavlova

Although, they say, her translations of Pushkin into German are very successful (I can’t judge that).