Ingeborg Bachmann

(1926 - 1973 / Austria)

Ingeborg Bachmann
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Bachmann was born in Klagenfurt, in the Austrian state of Carinthia, the daughter of a headmaster. She studied philosophy, psychology, German philology, and law at the universities of Innsbruck, Graz, and Vienna. In 1949, she received her Doctor of Philosophy from the University of Vienna with her dissertation titled "The Critical Reception of the Existential Philosophy of Martin Heidegger," her thesis adviser was Victor Kraft.

After graduating, Bachmann worked as a scriptwriter and editor at the Allied radio station Rot-Weiss-Rot, a job that enabled her to obtain an overview of contemporary literature and also supplied her with a decent income, making possible proper ... more »

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  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (11/6/2015 12:15:00 PM)

    '' DARKNESS SPOKEN ''

    Like Orpheus I play death on the strings of life, and to the beauty of the Earth and your eyes, which administer heaven, I can only speak of darkness. Don't forget that you also, suddenly, on that morning when your camp was still damp with dew, and a carnation slept on your heart, you saw the dark stream race past you. The string of silence taut on the pulse of blood, I grasped your beating heart. Your curls were transformed into the shadow hair of night, black flakes of darkness buried your face. And I don't belong to you. Both of us mourn now. But like Orpheus I know life on the side of death, and the deepening blue of your forever closed eye..


    (by INGEBORG BACHMANN, translated by Peter Filkins)

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (11/6/2015 12:13:00 PM)

    '' DARKNESS SPOKEN '', ITALIAN translation:


    ''DIRE COSE OSCURE''

    Come Orfeo canto io
    la morte sulla corda della vita,
    e nella bellezza della Terra,
    e dei tuoi occhi in cui si specchia il cielo,
    so dire solo cose oscure.
    Non dimenticare: anche tu
    quel mattino, quando ancora il tuo giaciglio
    era umido di rugiada e il garofano dormiva
    sul tuo cuore, vedesti all’improvviso
    il fiume scuro,
    che accanto ti passò.
    Con la corda del silenzio
    tesa sull’onda del sangue,
    afferrai il tuo cuore sonante.
    I tuoi riccioli si trasformarono
    nei capelli d’ombra della notte,
    e i fiocchi neri dell’oscurità
    nevicarono sul tuo volto.
    E io non ti appartengo.
    Ora ci lamentiamo entrambi.
    Ma, come Orfeo, conosco
    la vita sulla corda dell’amore,
    e colgo il blu
    del tuo occhio per sempre serrato.


    (by INGEBORG BACHMANN, translated by Peter Patti)

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (11/6/2015 8:31:00 AM)

    THIS IS THE ITALIAN TRANSLATION OF Ingeborg Bachmann's ENIGMA:
    _________________________________________________________

    Enigma (1967) Per Hans Werner Henze, al tempo degli Ariosi (*)


    Nulla verrà più.

    Non vi sarà più primavera.
    Almanacchi millenari lo predicono a tutti.

    Ma nemmeno estate e altre cose
    che recano il bell'attributo « estivo » —
    nulla verrà più.

    Non devi assolutamente piangere,
    dice una musica.

    Nessun
    altro
    dice
    qualcosa.

    ________

    (*) epoca degli Ariosi = 1963 [composizione di Henze per soprano, violino e orchestra su brani di Torquato Tasso]

    time of the airy compositions,1963: Henze's composition for soprano, violin and orchestra - concerning poems by Torquato Tasso
    ________

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (11/6/2015 8:15:00 AM)

    a beautiful poem by Ingeborg Bachmann:

    Enigma (1967) Für Hans Werner Henze aus des Zeit der Ariosi

    Nichts mehr wird kommen.

    Frühling wird nicht mehr werden.
    Tausendjährige Kalender sagen es jedem voraus.

    Aber auch Sommer und weiterhin, was so gute Namen
    wie »sommerlich« hat -
    es wird nichts mehr kommen.

    Du sollst ja nicht weinen,
    sagt eine Musik.

    Sonst
    sagt
    niemand
    etwas.

Read all 4 comments »
Best Poem of Ingeborg Bachmann

In The Storm Of Roses

Wherever we turn in the storm of roses,
the night is lit up by thorns, and the thunder
of leaves, once so quiet within the bushes,
rumbling at our heels.

Read the full of In The Storm Of Roses

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