Today is Mother's Day. For some of us, to have been a child once means bittersweet and often ambivalent feelings - as is certainly true for those of us who are parents. Parenthood might well have meant deep joy and satisfaction, or a bottomless barrel of pain. Some have experienced both, which must have meaning somewhere. I am thinking of the Littleton mothers particularly on what must be a searingly difficult day.
Last year I ran a Mother's Day poem, written by Adolf Hitler, who is reported to have been close to his mother. Few ZGrams I have ever done have caused such echo and accord.
At the time, I only ran the English, somewhat lyricially discordant version, and I told my readers that the German version was much more beautiful. I have been looking for it ever since.
Yesterday a reader sent me both with this intro:
"The following is a poem written by Hitler in 1930. I thought it may be something you would want to have and/or distribute. Feel free. My translation is probably a little clumsy since I am not proficient in German. You may be able do a better job."
Actually, I have another source that says this poem was written as early as 1923. I am not sure, but I don't think it matters.
I ask my English-speaking readers to indulge me just for once - as I am remembering my own, German-speaking mother first who has been dead for almost 20 years:
DENK ES!
Wenn Deine Mutter alt geworden
und älter Du geworden bist,
Wenn ihr, -was früher leicht und mühelos,
nunmehr zur Last geworden ist,
Wenn ihre lieben, treuen Augen
nicht mehr, wie einst, in's Leben sehn,
Wenn ihre müdgeword'nen Füsse
sie nicht mehr tragen woll'n beim Steh'n,
Dann reiche ihr den Arm zur Stütze,
geleit sie sacht, mit Freud' und Lust!
Die Stunde kommt, da Du sie weinend
zum letzten Gang begleiten musst.
Und fragt sie Dich, so gib ihr Antwort,
undfragt sie wieder, hör ihr zu!
Und fragt sie nochmals, steh ihr Rede,
nicht ungestüm, in sanfter Ruh!
Und kann sie Dich nicht recht verstehn,
erklär ihr alles frohbewegt!
Die Stunde kommt, die bittre Stunde,
da Dich ihr Mund nach nichts mehr frägt!
<end>
For the English translation, I borrow the version from last year's May 10 ZGram - which is a translation of content rather than a word-for-word rendition:
"When your mother has grown older,
When her dear, faithful eyes
no longer see life as they once did
When her feet, grown tired,
No longer want to carry her as she walks -
Then lend her your arm in support,
Escort her with happy pleasure.
The hour will come when, weeping, you
Must accompany her on her final walk.
And if she asks you something,
Then give her an answer.
And if she asks again, then speak!
And if she asks yet again, respond to her,
Not impatiently, but with gentle calm.
And if she cannot understand you properly
Explain all to her happily.
The hour will come, the bitter hour,
When her mouth asks for nothing more.