I agree completely with Bembelkandidat that Heine is not read often enough these days. Therefore I am delighted that the LiteraturWelt blog has declared 2006 "Heinrich Heine Jahr" to commemorate his death 150 years ago. So far, "Mozart Year" has has been receiving more publicity, but that could change through various Heine-events. For Heine is the most-translated German poet, and is known throughout the world as the poet of "Die Lorelei". Bembelkandidat has links to Heine’s works on the Web, and Bürger-Herold has links to radio programs and other Heine events.
To add something new to the Heine celebration I wanted to write about a short journalistic piece that I believe captures what Heine means to us. In 1938 the writer and journalist Maria Leitner took a dangerous trip into Nazi Germany. She made a brief stop in Duesseldorf – Heine’s birthplace – and wrote a short piece about her visit: Besuch bei Heinrich Heine (A Visit with Heinrich Heine). The Nazis, of course, wanted to erase all memory of Heine from the German consciousness, so when Leitner visited the City Library and asked to see the "Heine Room" the staff was completely startled. She identified herself as an American (actually, she was Coatian), so an older gentleman took pity on her and led her back to a small, musty, locked room. He handed her a couple of dusty old volumes: Die Bücher sind verstaubt, aber wenn man sie öffnet, ist es, als spreche jemand mit einer ganz jungen, frischen Stimme: (The books have practically turned to dust, but when you open them, it is as if someone is speaking with a very young, fresh voice.") Maria Leitner then noticed all the books in the Heine Room in different languages: Chinese, Japanese, Greek, Spanish – Bücher in hundert Sprachen! Alle diese Völker dachten, es sei ein deutscher Dichter, den sie in ihrer Sprache lasen und den sie liebten …. Das Dritte Reich will sie eines anderen belehren. (Books in one hundred languages! All of these people thought that they were reading a German poet in their own langauges, a poet that they loved dearly….The Third Reich wants to teach them something else). Like Heine, Maria Leitner later perished in France. Today the country that rejected its native son now embraces him – but he needs to be read, not just celebrated. His writing has lost none of its trenchant power in the last 150 years.
Die schlesischen Weber
Im düstern Auge keine Träne,
Sie sitzen am Webstuhl und fletschen die Zähne:
Deutschland, wie weben dein Leichentuch,
Wir weben hinein den dreifachen Fluch –
Wir weben, wir weben!Ein Fluch dem Gotte, zu dem wir gebeten
In Winterskälte und Hungersnöten;
Wir haben vergebens gehofft und geharrt,
Er hat uns geäfft und gefoppt und genarrt –
Wir weben, wir weben!Ein Fluch dem König, dem König der Reichen,
Den unser Elend nicht konnte erweichen,
Der den letzten Groschen von uns erpreßt
Und uns wie Hunde erschießen läßt –
Wir weben, wir weben!Ein Fluch dem falschen Vaterlande,
Wo nur gedeihen Schmach und Schande,
Wo jede Blume früh geknickt,
Wo Fäulnis und Moder den Wurm erquickt –
Wir weben, wir weben!Das Schiffchen fliegt, der Webstuhl kracht,
Wir weben emsig Tag und Nacht –
Altdeutschland, wir weben dein Leichentuch,
Wir weben hinein den dreifachen Fluch,
Wir weben, wir weben!No tears in their eyes, darkened by gloom,
They snarl, sitting by the loom:
Germany, we weave your shroud, bit by bit,
And it is the triple curse that we weave in it –
We are weaving, we are weaving!A curse to the God, whom we used to pray
In the cold of winder, every hungry day;
We hoped in vain, we waited in vain,
He has mocked us, fooled us in our pain –
We are weaving, we are weaving!A curse to the king, the king of the wealthy,
Who could not be moved by our misery,
Who squeezed from us our last penny,
And like dogs, let us be shot and die in agony –
We are weaving, we are weaving!A curse to our fake country,
Where every flower gets snapped too early,
Where only shame and infamy can thrive,
Where rottenness and decay keep the worms alive –
We are weaving, we are weaving!The shuttle flies, the loom crackles loud
Old Germany, we are weaving your shroud,
We weave day and night, we do not quit –
And it is the triple curse that we weave in it,
We are weaving , we are weaving!
