Ingeborg Bachmann

The Wife a-Lost

Since I noo mwore do zee your feace, Up steairs or down below, I’ll zit me in the lwonesome pleace, Where flat-bough’d beech do grow; Below the beeches’ bough, my love, Where you did

The Geate a-Vallen to

In the zunsheen of our zummers Wi’ the hay time now a-come, How busy wer we out a-vield Wi’ vew a-left at hwome, When waggons rumbled out ov yard Red wheeled, wi’ body blue,

Verwunschnes Wolkenschloß, in dem wir treiben… Wer weiß, ob wir nicht schon durch viele Himmel So ziehen mit verglasten Augen? Wir, in die Zeit verbannt Und aus dem Raum gestoßen, Wir, Flieger durch die

The Girt Woak Tree

The girt woak tree that’s in the dell! There’s noo tree I do love so well; Vor times an’ times when I wer young I there’ve a-climb’d, an’ there’ve a-zwung, An’ pick’d the eacorns

The Broken Heart

News o’ grief had overteaken Dark-eyed Fanny, now vorseaken; There she zot, wi’ breast a-heaven, While vrom zide to zide, wi’ grieven, Vell her head, wi’ tears a-creepen Down her cheaks, in bitter weepen.

My Orcha'd in Linden Lea

‘Ithin the woodlands, flow’ry gleaded, By the woak tree’s mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded, Now do quiver under voot; An’ birds do whissle over head, An’ water’s bubblen in its bed, An’ there

Easter Zunday

Last Easter Jim put on his blue Frock cwoat, the vu’st time-vier new; Wi’ yollow buttons all o’ brass, That glitter’d in the zun lik’ glass; An’ pok’d ‘ithin the button-hole A tutty he’d

Tokens

Green mwold on zummer bars do show That they’ve a-dripped in winter wet; The hoof-worn ring o’ groun’ below The tree do tell o’ storms or het; The trees in rank along a ledge

Woak Hill

When sycamore leaves wer a-spreaden Green-ruddy in hedges, Bezide the red doust o’ the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill; I packed up my goods, all a-sheenen Wi’ long years o’ handlen, On dousty red

Zummer An' Winter

When I led by zummer streams The pride o’ Lea, as naighbours thought her, While the zun, wi’ evenen beams, Did cast our sheades athirt the water; Winds a-blowen, Streams a-flowen, Skies a-glowen, Tokens

The Surprise

As there I left the road in May, And took my way along a ground, I found a glade with girls at play, By leafy boughs close-hemmed around, And there, with stores of harmless

Vull a Man

No, I’m a man, I’m vull a man, You beat my manhood, if you can. You’ll be a man if you can teake All steates that household life do meake. The love-toss’d child, a-croodlen

The Young that Died in Beauty

If souls should only sheen so bright In heaven as in e’thly light, An’ nothen better wer the cease, How comely still, in sheape an’ feace, Would many reach thik happy pleace, – The

Stay

Now the journey is ending, The wind is losing heart. Into your hands it’s falling, A rickety house of cards. The cards are backed with pictures Displaying all the world. You’ve stacked up all