Another WW1 poet found for us by AC Benus*
Born in Starnberg, Bavaria on 25th June 1886, Otfried Krzyzanowski’s parents were Heinrich Krzyzanowski (1855–1933), and his wife, Auguste née Tschuppik (1861–1909). Otfried's father, Heinrich, was a childhood friend of Austrian composers Hans Rott and Gustav Mahler.
The family moved to Vienna in 1897 and in 1907 Otfried went to study philosophy at the University of Vienna.
After the death of his mother in 1909, in 1910, Otfried left his studies and devoted himself to poetry and literature, living a free life, completely rejecting bourgeois customs and lifestyle.
"I've written and studied poetry, but I know very well that it's not work. The truth is, I don't do anything and doing nothing is a great nuisance. How few can stand it!” (“Against the Idlers”, 1918, quoted from “Collected Works” , p. 59).
From 1912, Otfried had some of his poems published in magazines.
Otfried died of starvation in Vienna on 30th November1918, during the chaos that followed the end of the First World War. The official cause of death given by the Vienna General Hospital was "emaciation" and "debility".
Here are three of the WW1 poems from Otfried's collection "Unser täglich Gift: Gedichte" - En. Tr. Our daily poison. poems. (Kurt Wolff Verlag, Leipzig, 1918)
"ÄSTHETIK DES KRIEGS"
Nur der erschaut die schönen Berge wirklich,
Der keine Zeit hat, sie zu bewundern.
Die Soldaten im Süden, nicht die Touristen sehn
Die Dolomiten am besten.
Denn die Natur, ob sie schön oder grausam sei:
Für unsre leere Zeit ist sie nicht gemacht.
Und wirklich sieht den Krieg nur einer, der irgendwie
Keine Zeit für ihn hat.
Der Soldat vielleicht, wenn er daheim
Bei seinem Weibe ruht.
"DER TRINKER AUF DEM SCHLACHTFELD"
Du! schläfst im fließenden Wein!
Du! rufst im Traum.
Hier, Tod, hat dein Spiel
Lichten freien Raum.
Resignation.
Du große Stille! Der Ruf nach Heldentum ist
Verzweiflung des Herzens. Und doch gibt es Männer.
Ihr leuchtenden Sterne! Der Ruf nach Schönheit ist nur
Verzweiflung der irren Sinne. Du große Stille!
“Ballade”
Ein geschändeter Leichnam
Erschlagen im Walde.
Seinen Feinden wehe zu tun
Hat keiner verstanden wie er.
Nacht war’s und einsam der Weg,
Da horcht er: Sie lauern ihm auf.
Narrheit ist Betteln, ist Angst,
Verlangt es die Wölfe nach Blut.
Tauch auf! Es enttauchte der Furcht
Seine Seele und lachte der Kälte.
Enttaucht! Wie lüsternen Grimms
Er nach seinem Dolche griff –
Ein geschändeter Leichnam
Erschlagen im Walde.
AC Benus has very kindly translated these poems for us:
“War’s Aesthetic”
He with no time to admire them
Honestly sees the beauty of mountains.
The soldiers in the South, and not the blasted tourists,
Can view the Dolomites the best.
For Nature, whether it be cruel or beautiful,
Was not created for our empty hours.
Likewise, those with only time to reflect, see the war
When they’ve no time for it.
The soldier, perhaps, who is at home
On leave with his sweetheart.
“The Drinker on the Fields of Slaughter”
You! Asleep in the flowing wine.
You! Scream in dreams.
There, Death, toys with you
In free and easy space.
It’s in resignation.
The powerful quiet. Heroism’s call is
The desperation of hearts. And yet men remain.
You light-emitting stars! The mere call of beauty is
Desperation to crazed senses. You powerful quiet.
“Ballad”
A mutilated human body
Struck dead in the woods.
Nobody understood like he
How to hurt his enemies.
t was night; the way, lonely,
Then he hears: they’re waiting for him.
Begging is foolish, just like angst,
For wolves crave only blood.
Dive in! His soul bails for fear
And now laughs at the cold.
Bailed out! How with passionate fury
He grabbed for the dagger –
A mutilated human body
Struck dead in the woods.
* AC Benus is the author of a book about German WW1 poet Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele : “The Thousandth Regiment: A Translation of and Commentary on Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele’s War Poems” by AC Benus (AC Benus, San Francisco, 2020). Along with Hans's story, the book includes original poems as well as translations. ISBN: 978-1657220584
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1657220583
