Mnemosyne
[This page by Susan Ranson]
This poem, probably written in autumn 1803 not long before ‘Life at Mid-point’, begins with words that hint at another rich, sculptural picture of ripe fruit in a lake landscape. It diverges into scenes of false paths and lost heroes but is, unlike the later poem, threaded through with brave refusal to submit to misfortune. Although, in these last few years of his best work, Hölderlin frequently writes of loss and dread he can usually temper it with his resilient belief in the highest human qualities. Memory (and its opposite, presentiment) is seen here as an ultimate good, heavy though it may lie on the shoulders; Hölderlin tends to see both sides of the picture.
In Greek myth, Mnemosyne (stressed Mnemósynë in English) was mother, by Jupiter, of the nine Muses: memory is the source of all art and knowledge. Achilles, Ajax and Patroclus died at Troy, Ajax (Salamis was his native city) by his own hand. Scamander: a river of Troy.
Like his subject-matter, Hölderlin’s ‘free verse’, like that of many great poets, is subtly ordered and balanced. Being who he is, he writes here in flowing snatches and half-lines of classical Greek metres.
Mnemosyne Letzte Fassung
Reif sind, in Feuer getaucht, gekochet
Die Frucht und auf der Erde geprüfet und ein Gesetz ist,
Daß alles hineingeht, Schlangen gleich,
Prophetisch, träumend auf
Den Hügeln des Himmels. Und vieles
Wie auf den Schultern eine
Last von Scheitern ist
Zu behalten. Aber bös sind
Die Pfade. Nämlich unrecht,
Wie Rosse, gehn die gefangenen
Element' und alten
Gesetze der Erd. Und immer
Ins Ungebundne gehet eine Sehnsucht. Vieles aber ist
Zu behalten. Und not die Treue.
Vorwärts aber und rückwärts wollen wir
Nicht sehn. Uns wiegen lassen, wie
Auf schwankem Kahne der See.
Wie aber Liebes? Sonnenschein
Am Boden sehen wir und trockenen Staub
Und heimatlich die Schatten der Wälder und es blühet
An Dächern der Rauch, bei alter Krone
Der Türme, friedsam; gut sind nämlich,
Hat gegenredend die Seele
Ein Himmlisches verwundet, die Tageszeichen.
Denn Schnee, wie Maienblumen
Das Edelmütige, wo
Es seie, bedeutend, glänzet auf
Der grünen Wiese
Der Alpen, hälftig, da, vom Kreuze redend, das
Gesetzt ist unterwegs einmal
Gestorbenen, auf hoher Straß
Ein Wandersmann geht zornig,
Fern ahnend mit
Dem andern, aber was ist dies?
Am Feigenbaum ist mein
Achilles mir gestorben,
Und Ajax liegt
An den Grotten der See,
An Bächen, benachbart dem Skamandros.
An Schläfen Sausen einst, nach
Der unbewegten Salamis steter
Gewohnheit, in der Fremd, ist groß
Ajax gestorben,
Patroklos aber in des Königes Harnisch. Und es starben
Noch andere viel. Am Kithäron aber lag
Eleutherae, der Mnemosyne Stadt. Der auch, als
Ablegte den Mantel Gott, das Abendliche nachher löste
Die Locken. Himmlische nämlich sind
Unwillig, wenn einer nicht die Seele schonend sich Zusammengenommen, aber er muß doch; dem
Gleich fehlet die Trauer.
Mnemosyne Final version
Ripe are and dipped in fire and cooked
The fruits and tried and proved on the earth, and there is a law
That everything enters, snake-like,
Prophetic, dreaming on
The hills of heaven. And much,
As if it were firewood laden
Heavy on shoulders, is
For the keeping. But the paths
Are wicked. And the captive
Elements and old
Laws of the earth go wrong,
As horses will. And there is
A longing always to enter the unconfined. Much, however, is
For the keeping. Faith is needed.
Forwards and back we will not
Look. Will let ourselves rock, as though
In a wave-swayed boat on the lake.
But those most loved things? On the ground
We see the sunshine and the dry dust
And homely woodland shadows and on roofs the smoke
Flowering round old crowns of towers
Tranquilly; for the day’s signs
Are good, should something from heaven
Have hurt the soul, setting its voice against it.
For snow, like lily of the valley
Denoting the noble mind
Wherever it may be found, shines out
On green Alp-meadows
And half on the high path where a traveller,
Speaking of the wayside cross
Once set up to the dead, storms
Ahead beside his friend, far
Presentiment
Possessing him. But what is this?
At the fig-tree my
Achilles died,
And Ajax lies
By the caves of the sea,
By streams that run alongside Scamander.
Once, with his temples in a roar,
After the unchanging ways of unmoved
Salamis, and in a foreign land, great
Ajax died,
And Patroclus, but in the king’s armour. And others died,
Many more of them. But on Cithaeron lay
Eleutherae, Mnemosyne’s city. To whom, when God
Laid by his mantle, Evening afterwards also came and undid
Her hair. For he provokes the gods
Who will not collect himself, gathering up his strength
And sparing his soul, although he must; like him,
Grief goes awry.