And in my dream I was
just halfway up the Holy Mountain
of homesickness called Heidelberg.
I had just crossed the Neckar river
and, dripping wet was climbing what
the travel agents without culture
keep calling the most lovely promenade.
A Schinkenbrot right near the fork,
I've missed the Philosophenweg
as well as what is called the Schlangenweg.
I munched and chased the food
with generosity straight out of Baden,
a potent Kirschwasser, Schladerer,
and watched, while nodding joyfully,
the river and the Altstadt, as well as
in the shadows, the town of Mannheim.
Now, freshly strengthened it was off
to try the Drachenschlucht, precarious
it is and not for the faint of heart.
Then, lovelier it cannot get, the Garden,
the one made for exclusive use of the Philosophers.
A beam of light, some quick reflection
now beckoned from the distant shore,
it was the Koenigsstuhl, the restaurant,
I smelled the Sauerbraten now. And in the blink
of philospher's keen vision, I flew, a bird
whose real nature comes to life in Heidelberg.
Who needs a cable car to taste the wine
in ancient barrels, made of sacred wood.
I woke with the sweet taste of Neckar wine
still on my lips and to the voice of one Professor,
who's been up in Valhalla for some forty years.
It has been good to pay a visit to refresh
my memory from student days, so long ago.
I will be in demand once I get up above the town
where all are happy, just looking down upon
the scenery, while drinking wine outside all seasons.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem