One of the great joys of studying a new language is that you have the opportunity as an adult, with your critical and aesthetic faculties fully formed, to come completely fresh to poetic works that, for the native speaker, have been worn down into cliché through overuse and excessive reference. What would I give to have the opportunity to read Hamlet again for the first time? I can't, but I can read Schiller's "Das Lied von der Glocke", which, my reading tells me, is more well-known to many educated Germans than Blake's "Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright" is known to English-speakers.
Friedrich Nietzsche included Schiller in his list of "impossible people" along with Rousseau and Carlyle, and once referred to him as the "moral trumpeter of Tübingen". And there is indeed something impossible about his long poems and ballads, which often raise complex philosophical problems, only to resolve them in a way that is merely clever. One wonders if he is trying to fool his reader or himself.
I found a similar simplicity of underlying conception in his "Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man", which take post-Kantian problems of freedom and aesthetics and make something out of it as superficially-persuasive as a medieval proof of God's existence. They excite, but cannot persuade, because of their naïveté.
Many of Schiller's poems have the same defect. Take two of his most famous - "Die Kraniche des Ibykus" and "Der Ring des Polycrates". Both are masterfully formed, if somewhat ostentatious and stiff in their sparkling, bejeweled perfection, and both ultimately land with a moral thud, like a cautionary tale told to children. Yet both also operate in the region of the profound depths, and if they seek a resolution where perhaps no answer should be sought, they nonetheless recognize and echo the mysteries of life. To echo Nietzsche, they are impossible poems.
Be that as it may, they are two mighty pillars in the palace of German poetry, and the reader who wishes to come to terms with the German literary tradition must know them, and many others, most of which are equally impossible - long narrative poems such as "Der Spaziergang" and the aforementioned "Lied" could be plausibly presented without comment as a partial answer to the question "What is German poetry?"
And he sometimes surprises us - for myself, never more so than in one of his "Spruch des Konfuzius" poems:
Dreifach ist des Raumes Maß:
Rastlos fort ohn Unterlaß
Strebt die Länge, fort ins Weite
Endlos gießet sich die Breite,
Grundlos senkt die Tiefe sich.
Dir ein Bild sind sie gegeben:
Rastlos vorwärts mußt du streben,
Nie ermüdet stille stehn,
Willst du die Vollendung sehn;
Mußt ins Breite dich entfalten,
Soll sich dir die Welt gestalten;
In die Tiefe mußt du steigen,
Soll sich dir das Wesen zeigen.
Nur Beharrung führt zum Ziel,
Nur die Fülle führt zur Klarheit,
Und im Abgrund wohnt die Wahrheit.
For me, this electrifying and unusual poem points to an entirely different Schiller that could have developed - arguably a better Schiller - in just the same way that Hölderlin's magnificent "Hälfte des Lebens" suggests a better Hölderlin that might have been, had that poet not been submerged in Heiligkeit and fantasies of ancient Greece.