I first encountered the poet Hilde Domin in a poetry seminar in Freiburg where we discussed the anthology Doppelinterpretationen – published by Hilde Domin.  The book consists of individual short poems by some of the most important postwar German poets – Günter Eich, Peter Huchel, Ingeborg Bachmann, Nelly Sachs, and – Hilde Domin.  Each poem is followed by a self-interpretation of the poet and then an interpretation by a literary critic.  Hilde Domin’s contribution was Lied zur Ermutigung II (‘Song for Encouragement II’) followed by her own interpretation and then interpreted by the philosopher Hans-Georg Gadamer. The short poem is in many ways representative of Hilde Domin’s oeuvre.

Lange wurdest du um die türelosen
Mauern der Stadt gejagt.

Du fliehst und streust
Die verwirrten Namen der Dinge
Hinter Dich

Vertrauen, dieses schwerste
ABC.

Ich mache ein kleines Zeichen
In die Luft,
Unsichtbar,
Wo die neue Stadt beginnt,
Jerusalem,
Die goldene,
Aus Nichts

This poem contains many of the themes that reoccur in so many of Hilde Domin’s poems.  First there is the persecution (“gejagt“).  Domin (née Löwenstein) was a Jew, and along with her husband Erwin Walter Palm, was went into exile to flee the Nazi terror (“du fliehst“)  leaving behind her German language (for Domin, a kind of Heimat).  Despite losing everything the Lyric-I can learn to trust (“Vertrauen“) and evokes the dream home of the Jewish diaspora – Jerusalem.  This sense of optimism in the face of evil and Nothingness (“aus Nichts“)  is why Hilde Domin has been called ” the poet of “dennoch” (“nevertheless”). 

The book Doppelinterpretationen also has an introductory essay by Domin – Über das Interpretieren von Gedichten – which outlines in abbreviated form some of the ideas in her book on postwar poetics  Wozu Lyrik heute which was in part written as a response – or rejection – of Adornp’s famous statement “To write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.” For Domin, poetry after Auschwitz is absolutely essential.

HIlde Domin is largely unknown in the US and other English-speaking countries, even though her reputation has only grown in Germany, where today she is recognized as an important postwar poet along with Marie-Luise Kaschnitz and Peter Huchel.  Nelly Sachs is better-known here since her poems were published in English translation after she was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1958.  Finally, this year we have TWO bilingual English-German collections of Hilde Domin’s poem published here: one- With My Shadow: The Poems of Hilde Domin,  by Sarah Kafatou, a writer and translator who knew Hilde Domin, and also The Wandering Radiance: Selected Poems of Hilde Domin, by Maine poet and German Scholar Mark S. Burrows.  I have read Mark Burrows book but not Sarah Kafatou’s translations. Julie Enszer has an interesting piece in the Jewish Book Council comparing both translations. I found The Wandering Radiance extremely valuable, not only for the wonderful translations, but also for the foreword by Hilde Domin’s biographer Marion Tauschwitz (see my review of her biography) and Mark Burrows’ excellent essay about Domin’s life and poetic style.  The book also has a translation of a short essay by Hilde Domin on ‘Exile and Homeland’ – the two poles she synthesizes in so many of her poems.

Compared to the work of other postwar poets – notably that of her friend Paul Celan – Domin’s poems are accessible, even to some extent ‘simple’ – “Vollkommenheit im Einfachen” as the critic Walter Jens described them. This explains, to some extent, her popularity in Germany. Mark Burrows has some insightful comments on her style:

“What distinguishes her poetic voice is her startling use of metaphor, unexpected twists of diction, and a syntax often compressed to the point of abruptness. She eschewed rhyme and meter in favor of free verse from the the start, and by her third collection (Hier), published in 1964, had abandoned punctuation almost entirely. The temperament of her poems depends on a distinct musicality shaped largely by the rhythm of speech. Plainness? Perhaps, but one carried by a sense of “fullness: that demands readers’ attention in “listening” their way into the sound and pace of her voice – and their own.”

“Plainness” with a sense of “fullness” – presents some distinct challenges to the translator. Mark Burrows does a superb job in recreating Hilde Domin’s unique poetic voice for the English readers:  Here is Burrows’ translation of her poem Wie wenig ich nütze bin: However Little Use I Am

However Little Use I Am

However little use I am,

I lift a finger and leave behind

not even the smallest stroke

in the air.

Time smudges my face,

It has already begun.

Behind my steps in the dust

rain washes the street clean

like a housewife.

I was here

I cross over

without a trace.

The elms along the way

nod to me as I come,

a green a blue a golden greeting,

and forget me

before I’ve passed by.

I cross over-

But leave perhaps the small sound of my voice,

my laughter and my tears

and also the trees’ greeting in the evening

on a small scrap of paper.

And in passing,

entirely without intention,

I light one or another

of the streetlamps

In the hearts along the roadside

I always felt I had a good knowledge of postwar German literature, but I knew next to nothing about the work of Marie Luise Kaschnitz (1900-1974), Which is odd, since Kaschnitz was a prolific poet and author – equally admired for her poetry and short stories.  She won every conceivable award in Germany for her work -including the prestigious Georg Büchner-Preis in 1955.  Yet Kaschnitz is not mentioned at all in Peter Demetz's survey Postwar German Literature.  Nor does she appear in Anatol Regnier's Jeder schreibt für sich allein (see my review) – a survey of German authors who remained in Germany during the Third Reich – even thought her first novel – Liebe beginnt – was published in 1933 and was well-received.  I became interested in Kaschnitz after I came across a selection of her late poems translated by the German-American poet Liesel Mueller (1924-2020), whom I very much admire.  I suspect that Kaschnitz is largely passed over today, since her poems- especially her most powerful late ones – are highly personal. 

Liesel Mueller writes in her introduction:

"The switch from "we" to "I" allowed the poet and her persona to come together, as they had not done so before, and to free a lyrical voice that was uniquely hers. Yet there was never any danger of solipsism. She never wavered in her belief that writers must bear witness, nor abandoned her defense of objective values." 

She alluded to this in her acceptance speech for the Georg Büchner-Preis:

"Den billigen Trost, den manche Leser vom Gedicht erwarten, habe ich nie geben wollen, und wenn meine Verse im Gegensatz zu den sogenannten hermetischen oder surrealistischen eher verständlich waren, so hängt das damit zusammen, daß mein Weg in der Lyrik mich von der Natur zum Menschen geführt hat und daß ich nie ganz vergessen konnte, daß ich mich Menschen mitteilte, freilich solchen, die die Mühe des Ungewohnten und nur langsam zu Begreifenden nicht scheuen."

Dagmar von Gersdorf's straightforward biography of Marie Luise Kashnitz does a good job of illuminating the personal aspects of her poetry, often including snippets of her poems while describing key episodes of the poet's long life. I would have liked to see a more critical assessment of her poetry and prose – what made it unique and still speaks to us today.  What also struck me about the biography is the bibliography, which includes hundreds of names: a  Who's Who of postwar German literature and publishing. Kaschnitz had the gift of friendship. She was an early admirer and friend of Paul Celan and attempted to console him during his plagiarism scandal  – and was devastated by his suicide. Kaschnitz was something of a mother figure to Ingeborg Bachmann and supported her through her bipolar mood swings.  Coincidentally Kashnitz died in Rome close to where Ingeborg Bachmann tragically died in a fire (likely suicide as well). Other close friendships include Theodor Adorno and – late in life – the poet Peter Huchel. 

In her long life, Marie Luise Kaschnitz witnessed the death and destruction of war and lost friends and beloved siblings along the way.  But it was the death of her husband – the archeologist Guido von Kashnitz – that nearly silenced her for good.  Dagmar von Gersdorff describes the centrality of the poet's long marriage to Guido in her life. She was completely devoted to him – despite his infidelities.  And for a long period following the death of Guido she was incapable of writing.  But in 1962 she published perhaps her strongest collection of poems Dein Schweigen – meine Stimme – all dealing with the death of her husband. She somehow found her voice (Stimme) again.  As Liesel Muller writes: "The pull of opposing forces, here represented by the longing for death and her native liveliness and curiosity, became characteristic of her poetry,"

Here is the last stanza of her poem "Ich lebte":

                    Angst zu sterben
                    Und Angst zu leben
                    Hielten sich die Waage noch immer.
                    Natur trug unbekümmert ihr altes Gewand
                    Herzzerreißende Schönheit.
                    Das Leben war noch immer ein Geheimnis,
                    Der Tod ein andres.