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Gedichte
Nachtgedanken Denk ich an Deutschland in der Nacht, Dann bin ich um den Schlaf gebracht, Ich kann nicht mehr die Augen schliessen, Und meine heissen Tranen fliessen. Heine ist bis heute einer der beliebtesten und zugleich umstrittensten deutschen Dichter. Mit seinen zugleich gefuhlvoll-romantischen und ironischen Versen sowie den politisch-kritischen Werken revolutionierte er die deutsche Literatur. Im Ausland erzielte nur Goethe eine ahnliche Wirku
385 pages, Paperback
First published December 20, 1821
82 people are currently reading
1742 people want to read
About the author
Heinrich Heine
3,135 books424 followersChristian Johann Heinrich Heine was one of the most significant German poets of the 19th century. He was also a journalist, essayist, and literary critic. He is best known outside Germany for his early lyric poetry, which was set to music in the form of Lieder (art songs) by composers such as Robert Schumann and Franz Schubert. Heine's later verse and prose is distinguished by its satirical wit and irony. His radical political views led to many of his works being banned by German authorities. Heine spent the last 25 years of his life as an expatriate in Paris.
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Displaying 1 - 23 of 23 reviews
June 25, 2012
Du bist gestorben und weißt es nicht,
Erloschen ist dein Augenlicht,
Erblichen ist dein rotes Mündchen,
Und du bist tot, mein totes Kindchen.
[...]
When it comes to German poetry only Goethe is up there with Heine.
His poems are just classics.
They are the epitome of German poetry. His work is a must-read.
Erloschen ist dein Augenlicht,
Erblichen ist dein rotes Mündchen,
Und du bist tot, mein totes Kindchen.
[...]
When it comes to German poetry only Goethe is up there with Heine.
His poems are just classics.
They are the epitome of German poetry. His work is a must-read.
August 30, 2025
Imagine a streak of bright lightning that suddenly strikes in the landscape of European literature, illuminating the terrain with sudden flashes of irony, heartbreak, wit, and political passion!!
To read Poems of Heine is to move through a world that is at once tender and caustic, lyrical and satirical, personal and prophetic. Heine stands at a crossroads: the Romantic inheritor of Goethe and the sharp-tongued precursor of modernity.
His poetry bears within it both the fragrance of roses and the thorns of history, the intoxicating music of feeling and the jagged rhythms of disillusion. That paradox explains why he continues to matter—not as a relic of 19th-century Germany but as a poet who, read beside the moderns, feels startlingly fresh.
One of his most famous poems, “Die Lorelei”, is deceptively simple. On the surface, it is a ballad about a siren-like maiden whose beauty distracts sailors until their ships are wrecked on the rocks. But beneath the folkloric gloss lies a profound meditation on enchantment and destruction, on how beauty and desire carry within them the seeds of ruin.
The poem’s melodic quality, which made it a favourite for musical settings by composers like Schumann and Liszt, is inseparable from its deeper irony. Heine gives us a myth, but he drains it of transcendence; the Lorelei is not a goddess but a fatal illusion, a projection of human longing. Reading it today, one feels a resonance with modern anxieties about the ways desire—whether for people, for ideals, or for nations—can lead to catastrophe.
Equally affecting is “Ich grolle nicht” (“I bear no grudge”), which again has been immortalised in song. Its bitter declaration—insisting on the absence of resentment while every line vibrates with suppressed passion—has all the drama of an inner courtroom. The lover claims he does not grudge his beloved’s betrayal, yet the imagery of darkness and broken hearts belies his protest.
It is a poem about self-deception, about the impossibility of neatly excising love even when it has turned poisonous. The rawness of the voice anticipates later confessional modes; one can hear, in its irony and candour, echoes of Sylvia Plath’s barbed declarations or Philip Larkin’s wounded detachment. Heine understood that emotion is rarely simple, and his poems embrace contradiction as their deepest truth.
Beyond love lyrics, Heine’s political verse carried a weight that made him both adored and despised. In poems like “Die schlesischen Weber” (“The Silesian Weavers”), he turned his lyric gift to the cause of social justice. The weavers, impoverished and brutalised by industrial capitalism, weave not only cloth but also the shroud of the old order: “Germany, we weave your shroud.”
The image is stark and prophetic, a cry from the margins that reverberated across Europe. It is here that Heine most clearly resembles modern poets who refuse to separate beauty from politics—poets like Pablo Neruda, whose odes balance sensuality with revolution, or Bertolt Brecht, who learnt much of his own sardonic edge from Heine. What makes Heine unique is that even in his political fury he remains lyrical; he does not abandon song, but rather uses song as a weapon.
Heine’s role in poetry is also marked by his relationship to Romanticism. He loved its music but distrusted its illusions. His collection Buch der Lieder (Book of Songs) overflows with passion, nature, and longing, yet again and again he undercuts the very tropes he employs.
A flower becomes not a symbol of eternal love but a wilted reminder of decay. A nightingale’s song, instead of offering transcendence, mocks the poet’s own sentimentality. Heine anticipated the modernist tendency toward self-consciousness, irony, and scepticism. Reading him after Wordsworth or Novalis feels like waking up from a dream: the world remains beautiful, but its enchantments are tinged with doubt. In this sense, Heine is closer to modern poets like T.S. Eliot or W.H. Auden, who could write in traditional forms while smuggling in ambivalence and disenchantment.
Take, for instance, his poem “Die Grenadiere” (“The Two Grenadiers”), which depicts two French soldiers returning from Russia after Napoleon’s defeat. Their loyalty to the fallen emperor is so absolute that one of them requests, should he die, that his body be buried with his sword, and that when Napoleon returns, his corpse may rise to fight again. The pathos is immense, but so is the irony.
Heine captures both the nobility and the futility of blind allegiance. It is a political parable, but also a psychological one: humans cling to their illusions even in defeat, even in death. Modern readers cannot help but connect this to the many forms of fanaticism that continue to consume societies. The poem is at once elegiac and satirical, patriotic and despairing—a combination that anticipates the ambiguities of modern war poetry from Wilfred Owen to Paul Celan.
What makes Heine’s work feel so modern is his refusal to separate the lyrical from the ironic. He does not give us pure love poetry or pure satire; rather, he fuses them, showing how tenderness and mockery often coexist. In this, he resembles contemporary poets like Yehuda Amichai, who could write about love and war in the same breath, or even someone like Leonard Cohen, whose songs marry devotional longing with wry detachment.
Heine’s laughter is never far from his tears, and his tears are never far from his laughter. That doubleness is perhaps the secret of his durability.
Heine’s role in literary history cannot be overstated. Exiled from Germany, he became a poet of displacement, of the outsider’s perspective. His critiques of German nationalism and chauvinism were prophetic, anticipating the darker chapters of the 20th century. His embrace of irony as a mode of survival made him a model for modern writers navigating fractured identities and hostile societies. Yet at the same time, his lyricism—his gift for melody, for images that sing—ensures that his poetry never devolves into mere polemic. He is both a satirist and a singer, a critic and a lover, a cynic and a dreamer. That duality makes him kin not only to modern poets but also to songwriters, dramatists, and political thinkers.
To read Heine is to confront the contradictions of modernity before modernity had fully dawned. His poems remind us that beauty and disillusion are not opposites but partners in the dance of experience. His love poems ache with betrayal yet remain unforgettable songs. His political poems rage against injustice but never lose their lyrical grace.
His satires sting, but they also illuminate. In every line, he embodies the paradox of being both inside and outside, both enchanted and sceptical. That is why Heine belongs not only to the 19th century but also to ours.
In an age of disinformation, polarised politics, and fragile intimacies, his voice feels strangely familiar. He is our contemporary in irony, in longing, and in laughter through tears. And so, Poems of Heinrich Heine remains not a historical curiosity but a living text, one that continues to sing, sting, and surprise.
To read Poems of Heine is to move through a world that is at once tender and caustic, lyrical and satirical, personal and prophetic. Heine stands at a crossroads: the Romantic inheritor of Goethe and the sharp-tongued precursor of modernity.
His poetry bears within it both the fragrance of roses and the thorns of history, the intoxicating music of feeling and the jagged rhythms of disillusion. That paradox explains why he continues to matter—not as a relic of 19th-century Germany but as a poet who, read beside the moderns, feels startlingly fresh.
One of his most famous poems, “Die Lorelei”, is deceptively simple. On the surface, it is a ballad about a siren-like maiden whose beauty distracts sailors until their ships are wrecked on the rocks. But beneath the folkloric gloss lies a profound meditation on enchantment and destruction, on how beauty and desire carry within them the seeds of ruin.
The poem’s melodic quality, which made it a favourite for musical settings by composers like Schumann and Liszt, is inseparable from its deeper irony. Heine gives us a myth, but he drains it of transcendence; the Lorelei is not a goddess but a fatal illusion, a projection of human longing. Reading it today, one feels a resonance with modern anxieties about the ways desire—whether for people, for ideals, or for nations—can lead to catastrophe.
Equally affecting is “Ich grolle nicht” (“I bear no grudge”), which again has been immortalised in song. Its bitter declaration—insisting on the absence of resentment while every line vibrates with suppressed passion—has all the drama of an inner courtroom. The lover claims he does not grudge his beloved’s betrayal, yet the imagery of darkness and broken hearts belies his protest.
It is a poem about self-deception, about the impossibility of neatly excising love even when it has turned poisonous. The rawness of the voice anticipates later confessional modes; one can hear, in its irony and candour, echoes of Sylvia Plath’s barbed declarations or Philip Larkin’s wounded detachment. Heine understood that emotion is rarely simple, and his poems embrace contradiction as their deepest truth.
Beyond love lyrics, Heine’s political verse carried a weight that made him both adored and despised. In poems like “Die schlesischen Weber” (“The Silesian Weavers”), he turned his lyric gift to the cause of social justice. The weavers, impoverished and brutalised by industrial capitalism, weave not only cloth but also the shroud of the old order: “Germany, we weave your shroud.”
The image is stark and prophetic, a cry from the margins that reverberated across Europe. It is here that Heine most clearly resembles modern poets who refuse to separate beauty from politics—poets like Pablo Neruda, whose odes balance sensuality with revolution, or Bertolt Brecht, who learnt much of his own sardonic edge from Heine. What makes Heine unique is that even in his political fury he remains lyrical; he does not abandon song, but rather uses song as a weapon.
Heine’s role in poetry is also marked by his relationship to Romanticism. He loved its music but distrusted its illusions. His collection Buch der Lieder (Book of Songs) overflows with passion, nature, and longing, yet again and again he undercuts the very tropes he employs.
A flower becomes not a symbol of eternal love but a wilted reminder of decay. A nightingale’s song, instead of offering transcendence, mocks the poet’s own sentimentality. Heine anticipated the modernist tendency toward self-consciousness, irony, and scepticism. Reading him after Wordsworth or Novalis feels like waking up from a dream: the world remains beautiful, but its enchantments are tinged with doubt. In this sense, Heine is closer to modern poets like T.S. Eliot or W.H. Auden, who could write in traditional forms while smuggling in ambivalence and disenchantment.
Take, for instance, his poem “Die Grenadiere” (“The Two Grenadiers”), which depicts two French soldiers returning from Russia after Napoleon’s defeat. Their loyalty to the fallen emperor is so absolute that one of them requests, should he die, that his body be buried with his sword, and that when Napoleon returns, his corpse may rise to fight again. The pathos is immense, but so is the irony.
Heine captures both the nobility and the futility of blind allegiance. It is a political parable, but also a psychological one: humans cling to their illusions even in defeat, even in death. Modern readers cannot help but connect this to the many forms of fanaticism that continue to consume societies. The poem is at once elegiac and satirical, patriotic and despairing—a combination that anticipates the ambiguities of modern war poetry from Wilfred Owen to Paul Celan.
What makes Heine’s work feel so modern is his refusal to separate the lyrical from the ironic. He does not give us pure love poetry or pure satire; rather, he fuses them, showing how tenderness and mockery often coexist. In this, he resembles contemporary poets like Yehuda Amichai, who could write about love and war in the same breath, or even someone like Leonard Cohen, whose songs marry devotional longing with wry detachment.
Heine’s laughter is never far from his tears, and his tears are never far from his laughter. That doubleness is perhaps the secret of his durability.
Heine’s role in literary history cannot be overstated. Exiled from Germany, he became a poet of displacement, of the outsider’s perspective. His critiques of German nationalism and chauvinism were prophetic, anticipating the darker chapters of the 20th century. His embrace of irony as a mode of survival made him a model for modern writers navigating fractured identities and hostile societies. Yet at the same time, his lyricism—his gift for melody, for images that sing—ensures that his poetry never devolves into mere polemic. He is both a satirist and a singer, a critic and a lover, a cynic and a dreamer. That duality makes him kin not only to modern poets but also to songwriters, dramatists, and political thinkers.
To read Heine is to confront the contradictions of modernity before modernity had fully dawned. His poems remind us that beauty and disillusion are not opposites but partners in the dance of experience. His love poems ache with betrayal yet remain unforgettable songs. His political poems rage against injustice but never lose their lyrical grace.
His satires sting, but they also illuminate. In every line, he embodies the paradox of being both inside and outside, both enchanted and sceptical. That is why Heine belongs not only to the 19th century but also to ours.
In an age of disinformation, polarised politics, and fragile intimacies, his voice feels strangely familiar. He is our contemporary in irony, in longing, and in laughter through tears. And so, Poems of Heinrich Heine remains not a historical curiosity but a living text, one that continues to sing, sting, and surprise.
December 19, 2020
Lore Ley
Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
daß 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 fließt 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 im 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 Loreley getan.
Heinrich Heine
Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,
daß 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 fließt 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 im 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 Loreley getan.
Heinrich Heine
November 19, 2017
Heinrich Heine – Gedichte
(1797-1856)
« Ich weiß nicht was soll es bedeuten,
Dass ich so traurig bin;
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldnes Haar.
Den Schiffer im 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 Lore-Ley getan.“
One of the poems that I knew from school, and maybe the one best known by folklore
Tradition.
This little edition is also an introduction for me to the works of Heinrich Heine.
The poems are beautiful, I learned that the major work is The Book Of Songs, Das Buch der Lieder.
My next book in line from this author.
(1797-1856)
« Ich weiß nicht was soll es bedeuten,
Dass ich so traurig bin;
Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,
Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet
Dort oben wunderbar,
Ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie kämmt ihr goldnes Haar.
Den Schiffer im 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 Lore-Ley getan.“
One of the poems that I knew from school, and maybe the one best known by folklore
Tradition.
This little edition is also an introduction for me to the works of Heinrich Heine.
The poems are beautiful, I learned that the major work is The Book Of Songs, Das Buch der Lieder.
My next book in line from this author.
April 27, 2012
The most romantic poet I have ever read. One must read this German poet. thanks to the authors who translated Heine's work into English.
October 3, 2019
It's national poetry day, and I've just bought this book at a book fair, so I thought I'd read it to mark the occasion. It is raining here, and cold, and there is talk of ghost stories for halloween, which all combined to put me in the appropriate temperament for the Matratzengruft.
Of course, there's more to Heine than that - even if I did flick straight through to his later, more solemn, darker poems - and I enjoyed some early lyrics. He is unsurpassed, I think, for a German poet - save Goethe of course. The translation was a simple effective one by his biographer Louis Untermeyer; I found a copy of a bookclub circular inside which told me more, a charming addition to this lovely illustrated book (A Heritage bookclub edition; I can't find it exactly here); and the introduction was lovingly done, and informative.
Fortified with tea, and the weather unremitting, I have the afternoon ahead of me to read on...
August 7, 2016
Even though I can read Heine in German, I still need help understanding his brilliant wit. He mocks domesticity with irony. And yet, he also made important political statements. Heine famously remarked, "governments that burn books will also burn human beings." Sophie Scholl (1921-1943), the German resistance hero, stuck up for his work at a Hitler Youth meeting after the Nazi Party banned his work as "morally degenerate." I wonder often if Sophie read this in 1937 and it helped her to see how dangerous their ideology really was.
For more about my book, "With You There Is Light,"
Alexandra Lehmann
For more about my book, "With You There Is Light,"
Alexandra Lehmann
August 8, 2015
مثله گوته تحت تاثير استعاره هاي شرقي بوده. با فردوشي هم حس نزديكي داشته. تو شعراش اسم فردوسي و شاهنامه رو هم اورده.
كلن به نظر من شعري كه ترجمه شد هويت شعري خودشو از ميده، به همين خاطر كمتر به دل ميشينه.
كلن به نظر من شعري كه ترجمه شد هويت شعري خودشو از ميده، به همين خاطر كمتر به دل ميشينه.
October 4, 2020
Der Vorhang fällt, das Stück ist aus,
Und Herrn und Damen gehn nach Haus.
Ob Ihnen auch das Stück gefallen?
Ich glaub', ich hörte Beifall schallen.
Ein hochverehrtes Publikun
Beklatschte dankbar seinen Dichter.
Jetzt aber ist das Haus so stumm,
Und sind verschwunden Lust und Lichter.
Doch horch! Ein schollernd schnöder Klang
Ertönt unfern der öden Bühne -
Vielleicht daß eine Saite sprang
An einer alten Violine.
Verdrießlich rascheln im Parterr'
Etwelche Ratten hin und her,
Und alles riecht nach ranz'gem Öle.
Die letzte Lampe ächzt und zischt
Verzweiflungsvoll, und sie erlischt.
Das arme Licht war meine Seele.
Ich muss zugeben, dass ich Poesie eher selten lese, somit auch wenig Erfahrung damit habe. Der Gedanke, so viel Bedeutung und Gefühl in einige wenige Zeilen zu stecken, fasziniert mich. Auch, dass man so viel ��ber Heine und sein Leben an sich herauslesen kann, finde ich wirklich spannend. Die Gedichte, die Heine nach 1851 geschrieben hat, gefallen mir persönlich besser als seine jüngeren Werke. Seine frühe Lyrik wirkt auf mich etwas unreif und eher auf Humor ausgelegt, als tatsächlich auf Bedeutsamkeit. Was natürlich auch in Ordnung ist, ich bevorzuge einfach die etwas ernsteren Gedichte. Auch sind manche der früheren Stücke etwas kritisch. Heines Ansichten zu Frauen sind fragwürdig, manche Stellen sind auch wirklich pur rassistisch. Die Gedichte haben die Zeit nicht gut überdauert.
Alles in allem fand ich das Erlebnis interessant, ich bin mir aber nicht sicher ob ich der größte Lyrik Fan bin. Mal sehen ob etwas moderne Gedichte eher mein Fall sind.
Und Herrn und Damen gehn nach Haus.
Ob Ihnen auch das Stück gefallen?
Ich glaub', ich hörte Beifall schallen.
Ein hochverehrtes Publikun
Beklatschte dankbar seinen Dichter.
Jetzt aber ist das Haus so stumm,
Und sind verschwunden Lust und Lichter.
Doch horch! Ein schollernd schnöder Klang
Ertönt unfern der öden Bühne -
Vielleicht daß eine Saite sprang
An einer alten Violine.
Verdrießlich rascheln im Parterr'
Etwelche Ratten hin und her,
Und alles riecht nach ranz'gem Öle.
Die letzte Lampe ächzt und zischt
Verzweiflungsvoll, und sie erlischt.
Das arme Licht war meine Seele.
Ich muss zugeben, dass ich Poesie eher selten lese, somit auch wenig Erfahrung damit habe. Der Gedanke, so viel Bedeutung und Gefühl in einige wenige Zeilen zu stecken, fasziniert mich. Auch, dass man so viel ��ber Heine und sein Leben an sich herauslesen kann, finde ich wirklich spannend. Die Gedichte, die Heine nach 1851 geschrieben hat, gefallen mir persönlich besser als seine jüngeren Werke. Seine frühe Lyrik wirkt auf mich etwas unreif und eher auf Humor ausgelegt, als tatsächlich auf Bedeutsamkeit. Was natürlich auch in Ordnung ist, ich bevorzuge einfach die etwas ernsteren Gedichte. Auch sind manche der früheren Stücke etwas kritisch. Heines Ansichten zu Frauen sind fragwürdig, manche Stellen sind auch wirklich pur rassistisch. Die Gedichte haben die Zeit nicht gut überdauert.
Alles in allem fand ich das Erlebnis interessant, ich bin mir aber nicht sicher ob ich der größte Lyrik Fan bin. Mal sehen ob etwas moderne Gedichte eher mein Fall sind.
August 31, 2020
I am blessed enough to have found such a great book going through my grandmother's belongings! She had a limited copy from 1957! I have spent a great deal of time reading each beautiful word, and it has quickly become one of my favorite books. Such a lovely man with eyes for the beauty and sorrow of the world. I recommend this book to anyone and everyone who loves poetry written by beautiful poets, and to those who can so love written word that they may find it becomes apart of themselves. It is written with an older tongue as he was alive from 1779-1856. This, to me, only makes the book that much more special and brilliant. I do not, however, recommend this book to anyone under their high school years as it can be more challenging to read and comprehend. There is also some more ädult¨ suggestiveness involved occasionally, but not so that it interferes with the beauty of this man's written word. Here is to the author Heinrich Heine, who wrote his world in such a captivating story, I hope you enjoy it.
August 9, 2024
I came across Heine in a collection of German poetry I was given and wanted to expand my familiarity with his work.
800+ pages of poetry later, I would say he and I are more than familiar.
The book is sectioned into three periods, and making my way through the "First Period," I wondered if I had made a mistake. Although well written, poem after poem relating the same theme of his unrequited love got a little stale.
When I hit the "Middle Period" I found the poet I had so enjoyed from my anthology. Heine's work is so witty, and the themes of love expressed in the poetry from this period are more mature and resonate in the way I remember.
A long read, but a worthwhile one.
800+ pages of poetry later, I would say he and I are more than familiar.
The book is sectioned into three periods, and making my way through the "First Period," I wondered if I had made a mistake. Although well written, poem after poem relating the same theme of his unrequited love got a little stale.
When I hit the "Middle Period" I found the poet I had so enjoyed from my anthology. Heine's work is so witty, and the themes of love expressed in the poetry from this period are more mature and resonate in the way I remember.
A long read, but a worthwhile one.
October 12, 2022
Setakat ini, buku puisi tulisan Heinrich Heine agak kaya dengan unsur romantisnya. Memang kesemua puisi beliau sangat puitis dan betul-betul boleh mencuri hati sesiapa yang membacanya. Hahaha.
Cuma ada beberapa perkataan Bahasa Inggeris yang masih dieja dengan ejaan klasik, jadi ada yang saya tak dapat tangkap perkataan tersebut di zaman moden ni.
Cuma ada beberapa perkataan Bahasa Inggeris yang masih dieja dengan ejaan klasik, jadi ada yang saya tak dapat tangkap perkataan tersebut di zaman moden ni.
April 17, 2018
yêu Heine chàng thi sĩ chết chóc
April 8, 2020
Rich in memories and emotion. A voyage through love, time, exile and beauty.
March 12, 2022
مرگ، شبی خنک است
زندگی، روزی سخت
تاریک میشود هوا، چرتم میگیرد
روز خسته ام کرده است
انتخاب خران و موش های آواره بی نظیر بودند
اگر تعداد بیشتری از این شعر ها داشت امتیاز کامل میدادم
زندگی، روزی سخت
تاریک میشود هوا، چرتم میگیرد
روز خسته ام کرده است
انتخاب خران و موش های آواره بی نظیر بودند
اگر تعداد بیشتری از این شعر ها داشت امتیاز کامل میدادم
December 1, 2024
3 1/4 stars
February 13, 2025
"Dort, wo man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen."
Almansor: A Tragedy, l. 245 (1823)
Almansor: A Tragedy, l. 245 (1823)
February 14, 2025
rel bro rel
July 15, 2020
Bei Heine liegt ein Missverständnis vor. Das feinsinnige Ineinander von romantischer Sehnsucht und Ironie gibt es – in den von Schumann vertonten Gedichten (Dichterliebe op. 48 u. a.). Aber sonst? Es fehlt der ironischen Brechung an Fallhöhe: Der Boden kann einem nur dort unter den Füßen weggezogen werden, wo man sich auf sicheren Brettern wähnt, kurz: wo der historisch obsolet gewordene lyrische Erguss bevor die Selbstdistanzierung stattfindet zunächst einmal tatsächlich anrührt. Dies wird von Heine peinlich vermieden. Sei es durch möglichst holprige metrische Verstöße, umgangssprachlich anmutende Buchstabenauslassungen (Welln, Kön'gin) oder -ersetzungen (Liljen), abgedroschene Floskeln, die nicht wie bei Eichendorff zu einer neuen "archaischen Frische" belebt werden, sondern als romantische Versatzstücke bereits ironisch wirken, aber vor allem: Die Schmerzen, die man Heine wirklich abnimmt, sind, wie Karl Kraus bemerkt hat, die Leiden an der Krankheit in Heines letzten Lebensjahren. Was die Frauen angeht, so hasst er sie. Sie sind Weiber, Liebchen oder Kindchen, niemals begehrenswerte Liebespartnerinnen. Heine hasst außerdem noch einige Menschen im Besonderen, was uns nichts angeht. Wir kennen weder seinen Onkel (mag das Erbe noch so mickrig gewesen sein) noch Maßmann (außer durch Heine) und Meyerbeer vor allem durch Richard Wagners antisemitisches Pamphlet. Das alles wäre kein Problem, wäre Heines Polemik immerhin kunstvoll. Ein Reim macht noch keine gelungene Satire und seine Gegner nur zu beschimpfen anstatt sie zu widerlegen, ist langweilig. Überhaupt scheint, bei aller Fortschrittlichkeit, gerade in den politischen Versen ein populistisches Jakobinertum durch, dessen Guillotinenseligkeit zu Recht nicht mehr unserem vielgescholtenen Zeitgeist entspricht.
Summa summarum: Proletarismus in Versen. Gute Speisen, Lustigkeit und die Rose im Knopfloch, wegen Verdauung. Dass Tucholsky ihn bewunderte, verwundert nicht. Dass Adorno ihn mit dem unbelegten Verweis auf die angeblich mangelnden Deutschkenntnisse von Heines Mutter zum Außenseiter adelte, schon eher. So kerngesund, den Freuden des Fleisches in beider Wortsinn ergeben und den Freuden der Lyrik misstrauend, ist die Person Heines in ihrer bunten Widersprüchlichkeit und Modernität zwar nach wie vor interessant – die Gedichte (+Wintermärchen)? Mit den Liedern Schumanns und Schuberts (Schwanengesang) kennt man die wichtigsten und kann auf die 1000-seitige Reclam-Gesamtausgabe verzichten. Der Vorzeigelyriker deutscher Sprache? Das wird man im Ausland so wenig verstehen wie Loriot als vermeintlicher Gegenbeweis der deutschen Humorlosigkeit. Mit einer, nie prominent vertonten, strahlenden Ausnahme:
Mein Herz, mein Herz ist traurig,
Doch lustig leuchtet der Mai;
Ich stehe gelehnt an der Linde,
Hoch auf der alten Bastei.
usw.
Summa summarum: Proletarismus in Versen. Gute Speisen, Lustigkeit und die Rose im Knopfloch, wegen Verdauung. Dass Tucholsky ihn bewunderte, verwundert nicht. Dass Adorno ihn mit dem unbelegten Verweis auf die angeblich mangelnden Deutschkenntnisse von Heines Mutter zum Außenseiter adelte, schon eher. So kerngesund, den Freuden des Fleisches in beider Wortsinn ergeben und den Freuden der Lyrik misstrauend, ist die Person Heines in ihrer bunten Widersprüchlichkeit und Modernität zwar nach wie vor interessant – die Gedichte (+Wintermärchen)? Mit den Liedern Schumanns und Schuberts (Schwanengesang) kennt man die wichtigsten und kann auf die 1000-seitige Reclam-Gesamtausgabe verzichten. Der Vorzeigelyriker deutscher Sprache? Das wird man im Ausland so wenig verstehen wie Loriot als vermeintlicher Gegenbeweis der deutschen Humorlosigkeit. Mit einer, nie prominent vertonten, strahlenden Ausnahme:
Mein Herz, mein Herz ist traurig,
Doch lustig leuchtet der Mai;
Ich stehe gelehnt an der Linde,
Hoch auf der alten Bastei.
usw.
February 4, 2012
German edition - German review:
Es war sehr interessant, die dichterische Entwicklung Heinrich Heines von Romantik zu Romantik-Satire zu sehen und den sich stetig steigernden Zynismus zu verfolgen. Ohne einen kontextualisierenden kritischen Apparat ist es allerdings hier und da (vor allem wenn das Ziel nicht ganz so bekannt ist) etwas schwer, die Polemik nachzuvollziehen, insofern habe ich einen solchen Anhang schmerzlich vermisst. Aber für den niedrigen Preis bekommt man schon ziemlich viel geboten, da kann man sich kaum beschweren.
Es war sehr interessant, die dichterische Entwicklung Heinrich Heines von Romantik zu Romantik-Satire zu sehen und den sich stetig steigernden Zynismus zu verfolgen. Ohne einen kontextualisierenden kritischen Apparat ist es allerdings hier und da (vor allem wenn das Ziel nicht ganz so bekannt ist) etwas schwer, die Polemik nachzuvollziehen, insofern habe ich einen solchen Anhang schmerzlich vermisst. Aber für den niedrigen Preis bekommt man schon ziemlich viel geboten, da kann man sich kaum beschweren.
July 21, 2013
Romantic irony
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