The river
(Poet's title: Der Strom)
Set by Schubert:
D 565
[probably June 1817]
Mein Leben wälzt sich murrend fort;
Es steigt und fällt in krausen Wogen,
Hier bäumt es sich, jagt nieder dort,
In wilden Zügen, hohen Bogen.
Das stille Tal, das grüne Feld
Durchrauscht es nun mit leisem Beben,
Sich Ruh ersehnend, ruhige Welt,
Ergötzt es sich am ruhigen Leben.
Doch nimmer findend, was es sucht,
Und immer sehnend, tost es weiter,
Unmutig rollt’s auf steter Flucht,
Wird nimmer froh, wird nimmer heiter.
My life is rolling on, grumbling away;
It climbs and falls in twisting waves,
It rears up here, it gets pushed down there,
In savage strokes, high arches.
Through the quiet valley, the green meadow,
It is now burbling onward with a gentle agitation,
Longing for rest, a peaceful world,
It takes delight in a peaceful life.
Yet never finding what it is looking for
And forever longing, it roars on,
In a bad humour it rolls on in perpetual flight,
It is never going to be satisfied, it is never going to be happy.
All translations into English that appear on this website, unless otherwise stated, are by Malcolm Wren. You are free to use them on condition that you acknowledge Malcolm Wren as the translator and schubertsong.uk as the source. Unless otherwise stated, the comments and essays that appear after the texts and translations are by Malcolm Wren and are © Copyright.
☙
Themes and images in this text:
Climbing Fields and meadows Fleeing Green High, low and deep Longing and yearning Lost and found Noise and silence Rest Rivers (Strom) Valleys Waves – Woge
Rivers, like human beings, have different characters. This one seems to be unable to grow out of the anger and agitation of its youth. In its middle and later years, when some streams meander peacefully towards the ocean others never really settle down. Similarly some humans enter old age with an air of serenity and wisdom while others simply become grumpy old men.
We may never know which particular grump wrote this poem. Since Schubert gave the manuscript of his setting to his old schoolfriend Albert Stadler, it may be that Stadler himself was the poet.
☙
Original Spelling Der Strom Mein Leben wälzt sich murrend fort; Es steigt und fällt in krausen Wogen, Hier bäumt es sich, jagt nieder dort, In wilden Zügen, hohen Bogen. Das stille Thal, das grüne Feld Durchrauscht es nun mit leisem Beben, Sich Ruh ersehnend, ruhige Welt, Ergötzt es sich am ruhigen Leben. Doch nimmer findend, was es sucht, Und immer sehnend, tost es weiter, Unmuthig rollt's auf steter Flucht, Wird nimmer froh, wird nimmer heiter.