R: [SEELANGS] R: [SEELANGS] Mr. Mayakovsky too died in the gulag,

[FRISON Philippe]

Here is Freiligrath's original text in German (dated from 1851):

http://www.collectif-smolny.org/article.php3?id_article=915

Philippe Frison
(Strasbourg, France)

-----Original Message-----
From: SEELANGS: Slavic & East European Languages and Literatures list
[mailto:SEELANGS at bama.ua.edu] On Behalf Of Luciano Di Cocco
Sent: Tuesday 2 March 2010 13:59
To: SEELANGS at bama.ua.edu
Subject: [SEELANGS] R: [SEELANGS] R: [SEELANGS] Mr. Mayakovsky too died
in the gulag,

> Not the bible, but with the subject God, from the Hebrew daily
> prayerbook,
> perhaps familiar to Rosa L. from childhood.
> Jules Levin
> Los Angeles

I've done a bit of homework.

According to Luciano Amodio (Rosa Luxemburg - Scritti scelti, Einaudi
1975)
Rosa L. is citing a poem.

The note says (page 682):

"I was, I am, I will be"
Citation from the poem, dated 1851, Die Revolution by F. Freiligrath. On
dec. 27 1851 Marx asked by letter to Freligrath a "neujahrgedicht" for
"Die
Revolution", the new revue by Joseph Weydemeyer (Marx Engels - Werke vol
VIII p. 673). The verse follows Revelation I.8.

I don't know the poem, but I found a translation here:

http://www.archive.org/stream/poemsfromgerman00freigoog/poemsfromgerman0
0freigoog_djvu.txt

In some points it reminds me of the poem by Mayakovsky, but it's only a
rough first impression.

I have no idea of the quality of the translation:

REVOLUTION. 
(1850.) 

And tho' ye caught your noble prey within your hangman's sordid thrall, 
And tho' your captive was led forth beneath your city's rampart wall; 
And tho* the grass lies o'er her green, where at the morning's early red

The peasant girl brings funeral wreaths - I tell you still, she is not
dead! 

And tho' from off the lofly brow ye cut the ringlets flowing long, 
And tho' ye mated her amid the thieves and murderers' hideous throng, 
And tho' ye gave her felon fare - ^bade felon garb her livery be. 
And tho' ye set the oakum-task - I tell you all, she still is free! 

And tho' compelled to banishment, ye hunt her down thro' endless lands; 
And tho' she seeks a foreign hearth, and silent 'mid its ashes stands; 

And tho* she bathes her wounded feet, where foreign streams seek foreign
seas, 
Yet - ^yet - she never more will hang her harp on BabePs willow trees! 

Ah no! she strikes its every string, and bids their loud defiance swell,

And as she mocked your scaffold erst, she mocks your banishment as well.

She sings a song that starts you up astounded from your slumbrous seats,

Until your heart - ^your craven heart - ^your traitor heart - ^with
terror beats! 

No song of plaint, no song of sighs for those who perished unsubdued. 
Nor yet a song of irony at wrong's fantastic interlude - 
The beggar's opera that ye try to drag out thro' its lingering scenes, 
Tho' moth-eaten the purple be that decks your tinsel kings and queens. 

Oh, no ! the song those waters hear is not of sorrow, nor dismay - 
'Tis triumph-song - ^victorious song - ^the paean of the future's day - 
The future - distant now no more - ^her prophet voice is sounding free. 
As well as once your Godhead spake. - I was, I am, and I will be! 

Will be - and lead the nations on the last of all your hosts to meet, 
And on your necks, your heads, your crowns, 1*11 plant my strong,
resistless feet! 
Avenger, Liberator, Judge, - ^red battles on my pathway hurled, 
I stretch forth my almighty arm, till it revivifies the world. 

Ye see me only in your cells; ye see me only in the grave; 
Ye see me only wandering lone, beside the exile's sullen wave: - 
Ye fools! Do I not also live where you have tried to pierce in vain? 
Rests not a nook for me to dwell in every heart and every brain ?^ 

In every brow that boldly thinks, erect with manhood's honest pride- 
Does not each bosom shelter me that beats with honour's generous tide? 
Not every workshop, brooding woe? not every hut that harbours grief? 
Ha! Am I not the Breath of Life, that pants and struggles for relief? 

Tis therefore I will be - and lead the peoples yet your hosts to meet, 
And on your necks - ^your heads- your crowns- will plant my strong,
resistless feet! 
It is no boast - ^it is no threat - thus History's iron law decrees - 
The day grows hot - oh Babylon! 'Tis cool beneath thy willow trees! 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
 Use your web browser to search the archives, control your subscription
  options, and more.  Visit and bookmark the SEELANGS Web Interface at:
                    http://seelangs.home.comcast.net/
-------------------------------------------------------------------------