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Best Famous Zeit Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Zeit poems. This is a select list of the best famous Zeit poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Zeit poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of zeit poems.

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Written by Rainer Maria Rilke | Create an image from this poem

Autumn Day

 Four Translations

Lord: it is time.
The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them to ripeness, and chase the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time, will stay up, read, write long letters, and wander the avenues, up and down, restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
Translated by Galway Kinnell and Hannah Liebmann, "The Essential Rilke" (Ecco) Lord, it is time.
The summer was too long.
Lay your shadow on the sundials now, and through the meadow let the winds throng.
Ask the last fruits to ripen on the vine; give them further two more summer days to bring about perfection and to raise the final sweetness in the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will establish none, whoever lives alone now will live on long alone, will waken, read, and write long letters, wander up and down the barren paths the parks expose when the leaves are blown.
Translated by William Gass, "Reading Rilke: Reflections on the Problem of Translation" (Knopf) Lord: it is time.
The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your shadows, and on the meadows let the wind go free.
Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine; grant them a few more warm transparent days, urge them on to fulfillment then, and press the final sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening, and wander the boulevards, up and down, restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.
Translated by Stephen Mitchell, "The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke" (Random House) Lord, it is time now, for the summer has gone on and gone on.
Lay your shadow along the sun- dials and in the field let the great wind blow free.
Command the last fruit be ripe: let it bow down the vine -- with perhaps two sun-warm days more to force the last sweetness in the heavy wine.
He who has no home will not build one now.
He who is alone will stay long alone, will wake up, read, write long letters, and walk in the streets, walk by in the streets when the leaves blow.
Translated by John Logan, "Homage to Rainer Maria Rilke," (BOA Editions) Original German Herbsttag Herr: es ist Zeit.
Der Sommer war sehr gross.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren, und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los.
Befiehl den letzten Fruchten voll zu sein; gieb innen noch zwei sudlichere Tage, drange sie zur Vollendung hin und jage die letzte Susse in den schweren Wein.
Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben, wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben und wird in den Alleen hin und her unruhig wandern, wenn die Blatter treiben.
-- Rainer Maria Rilke, Paris, Sept.
21, 1902


Written by Rainer Maria Rilke | Create an image from this poem

Herr Es Ist Zeit

 Herr: es ist Zeit.
Der Sommer war sehr gro?.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren, und auf den Fluren la? die Winde los.
Befiehl den letzten Früchten voll zu sein; gieb innen noch zwei südlichere Tage, dränge sie zur Vollendung hin und jage die letzte Sü?e in den schweren Wein.
Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben, wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben und wird in den Alleen hin und her unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.
Written by Calvin Ziegler | Create an image from this poem

Am Grischtdaag / At Christmas

AM GRISCHTDAAG

Sis Grischtdaag.
Die ganz Welt iwwer Frei die Leit sich sehr, Un alles is harrlich, as wann der Daag Vom Himmel gelosse waer.
Ich hock allee in mei Zimmer Un denk so iwwer die Zeit - Wie der Geischt vun Grischt sich immer Weider un weider ausbreid: Un wie heit in yeder Famillye Frehlich un gutes Mut In die liewi aldi Heemet Sich widder versammle dutt.
Ach widder deheem! Ach, Yammer! - Net all! Deel sin yo heit Zu weit vun uns ab zu kumme - Fatt in de Ewichkeit.
Net all deheem! Verleicht awwer - Unich behaap's kann sei - Im Geischt sin mir all beisamme Un griesse enanner uff's nei! So sin mir vereenicht widder - Loss die Zeit vergeb wiesie will; Ich drink eich ein Gruss, ihr Brieder! Verwas sitzt dir all so schtill? Weit ab - iwwer Barig un Valley, Un iwwer die Ewichkeit's Brick - Vun eich Brieder all, wie Geischdeschall Kummt mir Eier Gruss zerick.
AT CHRISTMAS It's Christmas.
The whole world over Everyone's filled with love, And everything's joyful, as if the day Was given from above.
I sit alone in my room Thinking about the times - How the spirit of Christ always Wider and wider shines.
And how today all families With much happiness embrace As they gather once again In the dear old home place.
All home again! Oh, not so! - Not all! Some today in reality Are far from us below - Away in eternity! Not all at home! Perhaps though - And I insist I knew - In the spirit we're all together And greet each other anew.
So we are together again - May the time go as it will, I drink to you a toast, brothers! Why do you all sit so still? Far away - over valley and ridge, And over the eternal bridge - From you brothers, like a spiritual echo Your greeting returns below.
Written by Rg Gregory | Create an image from this poem

(i) the inkman

 whirligig twister
dancer prancer
st vitus’s quester
chancer romancer

the inkman cometh
from that nether world
where dream and coincidence
are darkly furled
accident rubbed him
into puzzling light
he is what he isn’t
(he’s the geist of zeit)

whirligig twister
dancer prancer
st vitus’s quester
chancer romancer

he cannot move
but he never stops
particle-wave
(ask the science-cops)
all creation swirls
from his restless frame
he isn’t what he is
that’s the inkman’s game

whirligig twister
dancer prancer
st vitus’s quester
chancer romancer


(ii) ninkam poop

so this the inkman’s alter ego
the fool who shadows us
wherever we go
he can’t get right a thing in the light
desperately wants to be our amigo
but he knows us 
knows us

knows us from the inside out
each beat of the heart
(he’s in with a shout)
sets him dancing (call it prancing)
 he’s what the dreamt world’s all about
and we’re just à la carte 
à la carte

to him his à la carte (his me 
and you) his raison d’etre
such a fool – we can’t be-
lieve he’s a manifest of our mutual quest
to live to the full fate’s strange decree
etcetera 
etcetera

etcetera – wow – this idiot
poop the inkman bringeth
(proof he’s what he’s not)
is the sum already of our going steady
(on even keel – patiently - why not)
and why not he singeth 
danceth

danceth our lot (our ninkam poop)
our nobility of folly
(our life’s amazing scoop)
the making of joy from almost lost alloy
an astonishing loop the loop
by two half off their trolley
how jolly
Written by Ingeborg Bachmann | Create an image from this poem

Menschenlos

 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 Nacht und Bodenlose.
Wer weiß, ob wir nicht schon um Gott geflogen, und, weil wir pfeilschnell schäumten ohne ihn zu sehen und unsre Samen weiterschleuderten, um in noch dunkleren Geschlechtern fortzuleben, jetzt schuldhaft treiben? Wer weiß, ob wir nicht lange, lang schon sterben? Der Wolkenball mit uns strebt immer höher.
Die dünne Luft lähmt heute schon die Hände, und wenn die Stimme bricht und unser Atem steht.
.
.
? Bleibt Verwunschenheit für letzte Augenblicke?