Book contents
- Frontmatter
- Officers of the International Brecht Society
- Contents
- Editorial
- List of Abbreviations
- Brecht, Günter Kunert, and Edgar Lee Masters
- Brecht’s Dramatic Fragments
- Pure Joke: The Comedy of Theater since Brecht
- New Brecht Research
- Book Reviews
- Notes on the Contributors
- Now at De Gruyter Exilforschung Ein Internationales Jahrbuch
Übersetzung von Edgar Lee Masters’ “The Hill” aus der Spoon River Anthology mit Brechts handschriftlichen Korrekturen
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 09 February 2021
- Frontmatter
- Officers of the International Brecht Society
- Contents
- Editorial
- List of Abbreviations
- Brecht, Günter Kunert, and Edgar Lee Masters
- Brecht’s Dramatic Fragments
- Pure Joke: The Comedy of Theater since Brecht
- New Brecht Research
- Book Reviews
- Notes on the Contributors
- Now at De Gruyter Exilforschung Ein Internationales Jahrbuch
Summary
“The Hill”
Edgar Lee Masters
Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom and Charley,
The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, the boozer, the fighter?
All, all, are sleeping on the hill.
One passed in a fever,
One was burned in a mine,
One was killed in a brawl,
One died in a jail,
One fell from a bridge toiling for children and wife—
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.
Where are Ella, Kate, Mag, Lizzie and Edith,
The tender heart, the simple soul, the loud, the proud, the happy one?—
All, all, are sleeping on the hill.
One dies in shameful child-birth,
One of a thwarted love, /
One at the hands of a brute in a brothel,
One of a broken pride, in the search for heart's desire,
One after life in far-away London and Paris
Was brought to her little space by Ella and Kate and Mag—
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.
Where are Uncle Isaac and Aunt Emily,
And old Towny Kincaid and Sevigne Houghton,
And Major Walker who had talked
With venerable men of the revolution?—
All, all are sleeping on the hill.
They brought them dead sons from the war,
And daughters whom life had crushed,
And their child fatherless, crying—
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.
Where is Old Fiddler Jones
Who played with life all his ninety year,
Braving the sleet with bared breast,
Drinking, rioting, thinking neither of wife nor kin,
Nor gold, nor love, nor heaven?
Lo! he babbles of the fish-frys of long ago,
Of the horse-races of long ago at Clary's Grove,
Of what Abe Lincoln said
One time at Springfield.
Anmerkungen
Der Herausgeber dieses Bandes bedankt sich herzlich für das Zustandekommen dieses Beitrags: bei Günter Kunert dafür, Thomas Combrink auf die Existenz der vier Typoskript-Blätter im Marbacher Literaturarchiv hingewiesen zu haben; bei Thomas Combrink für seine entsprechende Anfrage bei Ulrich von Bülow vom Deutschen Literaturarchiv in Marbach; bei Christoph Hilse vom Marbacher Archiv für die Suche nach und dann Bereitstellung der Typoskriptseiten;
- Type
- Chapter
- Information
- The Brecht Yearbook / Das Brecht-Jahrbuch 44 , pp. 5 - 13Publisher: Boydell & BrewerPrint publication year: 2019