Hermann Hesse translation of 'Secretly We Thirst'
Hermann Hesse English Translations
Secretly We Thirst…
by Hermann Hesse
from The Glass Bead Game
translation by Michael R. Burch
Charismatic, spiritual, with the gracefulness of arabesques,
our lives resemble fairies’ pirouettes,
spinning gently through the nothingness
to which we sacrifice our beings and the present.
Whirling dreams of quintessence and loveliness,
like breathing in perfect harmony,
while beneath your bright surface
blackness broods, longing for blood and barbarity.
Spinning aimlessly in emptiness,
dancing (as if without distress), always ready to play,
yet, secretly, we thirst for reality
for the conceiving, for the birth pangs, for suffering and death.
Tags: secretly, thirst, fairies
EXCERPTS FROM SIDDHARTHA
by Hermann Hesse
translation by Michael R. Burch
In the house-shade,
by the sunlit riverbank beyond the bobbing boats,
in the Salwood forest’s deep shade,
beneath the shade of the fig tree,
that’s where Siddhartha grew up.
Siddhartha, the handsomest son of the Brahman,
like a young falcon,
together with his friend Govinda, also the son of a Brahman.
Siddhartha!
The sun tanned his shoulders lightly by the riverbanks when he bathed,
as he performed the sacred ablutions and offerings.
Shade poured into his black eyes
whenever he played in the mango grove,
whenever his mother sang to him,
whenever his father, the esteemed scholar, instructed him,
whenever the wise men advised him.
Siddhartha already knew how to speak the Om silently, the word of words,
to speak it silently within himself while inhaling,
to speak it silently without himself while exhaling,
always with his soul’s entire concentration,
his forehead haloed by the glow of his lucid spirit.
He already knew how to feel Atman in his being’s depths,
an indestructible unity with the universe.
Joy leapt in his father’s heart for his son,
so quick to learn, so eager for knowledge.
He saw Siddhartha growing up to become a prince among the Brahmans.
Siddhartha!
Bliss leapt in his mother’s breast when she saw her son's regal carriage,
his perfect posture,
his uprightness.
Siddhartha!
Love nestled and fluttered in the hearts of the girls when Siddhartha passed by with his luminous forehead, the aspect of a king, and his lean hips.
But most of all Siddhartha was loved by Govinda.
Thus Siddhartha was loved by all, a joy to all, a delight to all.
But alas, Siddhartha did not delight himself.
For Siddhartha had begun to nurse discontent deep within himself.
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