Simon T. Kaye

As I crossed the border from Germany into Austria, a thick fog descended upon me. And, within minutes, peaks loomed out of the mist, gathering on the horizon on either side of the train. They were varying shades of grey, a surrealist impression of a mountain-range, an illustration on the wall of a one-night cheap hotel.

I was pretty foggy, as well, and the strange mist helped me realise it: foggy about how, exactly, Austria is distinct from Germany. Just how much do they share, culturally, other than a language, and an oft-unified history? I have heard it described as a ‘historical accident’ that these two countries are politically seperate at all. But that sounds a little familiar; Ein Reich, anyone?

Immediate first impressions may count for nothing, but here they are anyway: with the geographical differences comes a psychological difference. People here seem a touch closer to the German Swiss here, in terms of temperament at least. Also like the swiss, they clearly favour the lifestyle of apartment-living; the outskirts of every town we passed through, and Salzburg, the one I stopped in, was filled with blocky, carefully clean apartment buildings.

As a final goodbye to Bavarian Germany, here is a poem that has generously been shared and translated for me. It is by a man called Alfred Mombert, is untitled, and fairly characterises a style that my correspondent describes as ‘Schwaermerei’, or extreme, inspired enthusiasm. My best advice would be for you to read it aloud, even if your German pronounciation isn’t the best. These words, especially before translation, carry an incredible amount of aesthetic appeal: the weight of them, the shape of them. At least I think so; see what you reckon.

Einsames Land! Einsamer Baum darinnen!

Suess ist das Stehn und Sinnen

unter deinen Zweigen.

Aus deinen Wipfeln sinkt es nieder,

das Selig-Daemmernde und Schweigende.

Die Haende stgrecke ich aus, und sie fuellen sich

mit unsichtbaren Blaettern, und ich fuehlte das ganz

im reifgewordenen Herzen.

O Baum, an deinem Stamm, unter deinen Zweigen

ward ich ein blinder Mann, und sammle ein

die Gaben, die aus deinen Wipfeln niedersinken.

Das Herrlichste, es sinkt mir auf das Haupt,

und auf die Schultern, liegt zu meinen Fuessen.

Es verschuettet mich.

Reicht eine Harfe! Das Tief-Ewige

umschauert mich.

Es dringt ein Glanz in eine Nacht.

Das muss die Traene sein, die draussen auf der Schwelle

des Hauses lagert und den Mond anblickt.

Reicht mir die Harfe! Glaenzender war ich nie!

Schlliessd die Pforten auf! oeffnet die Fenster!

Ihr Alle, Alle kommt zum grossen Fest!

…

Lonely land! Lonely tree within it!

Sweet is it to stand and meditate

under your twigs.

From your tips it sinks down,

the Holy-Darkening and Silent.

My hands I stretch out, and they fill

with invisible leaves, and I would feel this completely

In my ripened heart.

O tree, against your stem, under your branches

I became a blind man, and gather in

The gifts that sink down from your tips.

The lordliest (most glorious), sinks onto my head

and onto my shoulders, it lies at my feet.

It engulfs/overthrows me.

Hand me a harp! The Deep-Everlasting

encloses me thrillingly.

A glory presses out into the night.

This must be the tear that rests on the threshold

of the house and contemplates the moon.

Hand me the harp! Never was I more bright/brilliant!

Throw open all the portals! open the windows!

All of you, all, come to the great celebration!

Pretty melodramatic. But such a beautiful language, and so well applied here. It’s easy to detect that very German love (almost worship) of nature, of the forest, in this work; the great cultural history of the Jaeger (hunter). And easy to imagine it springing from the Tolkienesque countryside of Bavaria as well.