"Hermann Hesse's Collection of Seasonal Poems" Reading Notes#
Author: [German] Hermann Hesse, illustrated by [German] Ulrich Anders
Reading Time: 0 hours
These are the notes and excerpts I recorded while reading "Hermann Hesse's Collection of Seasonal Poems" on WeChat Reading.
Awakening from Despair#
Do you still belong to me, enchanting world? For a long time, I could only gaze at you from afar through tears, and all I saw was emptiness?
Do you still belong to me, enchanting world? For a long time, I could only gaze at you from afar through tears, and all I saw was emptiness?
Night of the Sirocco#
Quietly transforming the night above the lake valley into poetry and a canvas of the soul, it awakened the deepest music within me, my soul soaring in urgent desire, regaining youth, yearning to return to the torrent of life, to battle fate, wanting to know what it lacks, humming a tune, treating happy dreams as a game. Wanting to start anew, to once again turn the fiery vitality of distant youth into the cooled remnants of today, wanting to wander, to pursue love, aimless wishes ringing like black bells, reaching the stars.
Quietly transforming the night above the lake valley into poetry and a canvas of the soul, it awakened the deepest music within me, my soul soaring in urgent desire, regaining youth, yearning to return to the torrent of life, to battle fate, wanting to know what it lacks, humming a tune, treating happy dreams as a game. Wanting to start anew, to once again turn the fiery vitality of distant youth into the cooled remnants of today, wanting to wander, to pursue love, aimless wishes ringing like black bells, reaching the stars.
Farm#
But those who live here do not have to face this problem; survival needs no reason, and thinking has become a game. In people's consciousness, the world is so beautiful, yet life is so short, that not all wishes can be fulfilled steadily;
But those who live here do not have to face this problem; survival needs no reason, and thinking has become a game. In people's consciousness, the world is so beautiful, yet life is so short, that not all wishes can be fulfilled steadily;
Morning Sunshine#
You traverse all dust and disturbances draped in light, illuminating every arduous pursuit in the maze, and that pure morning light.
You traverse all dust and disturbances draped in light, illuminating every arduous pursuit in the maze, and that pure morning light.
In the Garden#
Like others, I accept this orderly cycle, seeing it as an obvious and essentially beautiful thing; occasionally, in the moments of sowing and harvesting, I suddenly think that among all of Earth's creations, only we humans are dissatisfied with the cycle, not content with the immortality of all things, but pursuing individuality, self, and a unique life.
Like others, I accept this orderly cycle, seeing it as an obvious and essentially beautiful thing; occasionally, in the moments of sowing and harvesting, I suddenly think that among all of Earth's creations, only we humans are dissatisfied with the cycle, not content with the immortality of all things, but pursuing individuality, self, and a unique life.
Spring in Locarno#
And these outsiders, whether at home in Berlin or in the mountains, or God knows where, they compete for the last empty bed, coughing from the smoke of cars, their eyes blinded. This strange world, I can never understand.
And these outsiders, whether at home in Berlin or in the mountains, or God knows where, they compete for the last empty bed, coughing from the smoke of cars, their eyes blinded. This strange world, I can never understand.
Spring Stroll#
The lonely wanderer, the process of growth is like a concerto, surrounding me with countless voices, I cannot distinguish it from my inner desires and restraint. I once stepped out of the city, and only returned to the crowd long after; I traveled by train, viewing paintings and sculptures, listening to the beautiful new songs of Othmar Schoeck. Now, the joyful breeze brushes my face, just as it blows through the swaying silver lotus, awakening my inner tumultuous memories, like a whirlpool of dust, pain and past memories resound in my blood, entering my consciousness. Pebbles by the roadside, you are stronger than I! The great tree on the grass, it could even be you, the small raspberry bush, or even the rose-colored silver lotus, will outlive me.
The world of words, the world of opinions, the world of people, the world of ever-expanding desires, a world filled with fervent fears, repeatedly captures me, confuses me, and imprisons me. Thousands of times, you have made me ecstatic and fearful with piano pieces, newspapers, telegrams, death notices, registration forms, and all the marvelous yet useless things; your world is filled with desires and fears, the beautiful melodies of opera are moving, yet absurd. But, God bless, you will never completely leave me, the piety towards miracles, the passion of Christ during the transfiguration, the readiness for death, the will for rebirth. Desires will turn into fears, fears will turn into redemption, the song of life's transience will accompany me on the road, but I feel no sorrow within, filled with determination, filled with hope.
The lonely wanderer, the process of growth is like a concerto, surrounding me with countless voices, I cannot distinguish it from my inner desires and restraint. I once stepped out of the city, and only returned to the crowd long after; I traveled by train, viewing paintings and sculptures, listening to the beautiful new songs of Othmar Schoeck. Now, the joyful breeze brushes my face, just as it blows through the swaying silver lotus, awakening my inner tumultuous memories, like a whirlpool of dust, pain and past memories resound in my blood, entering my consciousness. Pebbles by the roadside, you are stronger than I! The great tree on the grass, it could even be you, the small raspberry bush, or even the rose-colored silver lotus, will outlive me.
The world of words, the world of opinions, the world of people, the world of ever-expanding desires, a world filled with fervent fears, repeatedly captures me, confuses me, and imprisons me. Thousands of times, you have made me ecstatic and fearful with piano pieces, newspapers, telegrams, death notices, registration forms, and all the marvelous yet useless things; your world is filled with desires and fears, the beautiful melodies of opera are moving, yet absurd. But, God bless, you will never completely leave me, the piety towards miracles, the passion of Christ during the transfiguration, the readiness for death, the will for rebirth. Desires will turn into fears, fears will turn into redemption, the song of life's transience will accompany me on the road, but I feel no sorrow within, filled with determination, filled with hope.
The Scent of Daffodils#
Just like every psychological experience, it is the visible manifestation of greatness and eternity, the convergence of opposites, and their fusion in the fire of reality; it has no meaning, nor is it advice; on the contrary, it signifies everything, the mystery of existence, beauty, happiness, the meaning itself, a gift and treasure for the observer, like Bach's ear, Cézanne's eye. These names and explanations are not the experience; they arise afterward; the experience itself is merely appearance, miracle, mystery, both beautiful and serious, both gentle and ruthless.
Just like every psychological experience, it is the visible manifestation of greatness and eternity, the convergence of opposites, and their fusion in the fire of reality; it has no meaning, nor is it advice; on the contrary, it signifies everything, the mystery of existence, beauty, happiness, the meaning itself, a gift and treasure for the observer, like Bach's ear, Cézanne's eye. These names and explanations are not the experience; they arise afterward; the experience itself is merely appearance, miracle, mystery, both beautiful and serious, both gentle and ruthless.
Flower Branches#
Until the heart grows weary of childhood, finding tranquility and acknowledging: the restless games of life are filled with desire but are not in vain.
Until the heart grows weary of childhood, finding tranquility and acknowledging: the restless games of life are filled with desire but are not in vain.
Small Chapel#
Everyone's path to piety may be different. I have experienced many mistakes and pains on my path, much self-torture, and great ignorance, a primitive forest-like ignorance. I was once a free spirit, knowing that piety is a disease of the soul. I was once an ascetic, nailing my flesh. I did not know that piety means health and happiness. Piety is nothing but trust. Simple, healthy, kind-hearted people, children, and savages all possess trust. And we, who are no longer pure and kind-hearted, must find trust in a roundabout way. Starting with trusting ourselves. Faith is not won through reconciliation, guilt, and malice, nor through morality and sacrifice. All these efforts are in seeking help from the deities dwelling outside the self. And the God we must believe in exists within our hearts. People cannot say "no" to themselves and "yes" to God.
Those who return home from their journeys are different from those who have always stayed at home. They love deeper and are less bound by justice and delusion. Justice is the virtue of those who stay at home, an ancient and primitive virtue of humanity, while we young people only know one happiness—love—and only know one virtue—trust.
But our faith and piety as wanderers are lonely. Those who hold old beliefs are unwilling to be our companions, and the currents of the world pass over our islands and drift away.
Everyone's path to piety may be different. I have experienced many mistakes and pains on my path, much self-torture, and great ignorance, a primitive forest-like ignorance. I was once a free spirit, knowing that piety is a disease of the soul. I was once an ascetic, nailing my flesh. I did not know that piety means health and happiness. Piety is nothing but trust. Simple, healthy, kind-hearted people, children, and savages all possess trust. And we, who are no longer pure and kind-hearted, must find trust in a roundabout way. Starting with trusting ourselves. Faith is not won through reconciliation, guilt, and malice, nor through morality and sacrifice. All these efforts are in seeking help from the deities dwelling outside the self. And the God we must believe in exists within our hearts. People cannot say "no" to themselves and "yes" to God.
Those who return home from their journeys are different from those who have always stayed at home. They love deeper and are less bound by justice and delusion. Justice is the virtue of those who stay at home, an ancient and primitive virtue of humanity, while we young people only know one happiness—love—and only know one virtue—trust.
But our faith and piety as wanderers are lonely. Those who hold old beliefs are unwilling to be our companions, and the currents of the world pass over our islands and drift away.
Tiny Joys#
Its premise is moderate joy, love, and poetry, which have gradually withered and been lost in modern daily life. These small joys, especially those given to the poor, are so inconspicuous and numerous in daily life that countless laborers' numb senses are hardly touched by them. They are unnoticed, unheralded, and require no money! (Strangely, even the poor do not know that the best joys are always obtainable without spending money.)
Accompanying the act of watching, joy, love, and poetry come along. If a person picks a small flower for the first time and carries it with them while working, it indicates that they have taken a step towards the joys of life.
Experience as many of these small joys as possible each day, while allocating the larger, even somewhat exhausting joys sparingly to holidays or other beautiful times; this is my advice to anyone suffering from a lack of time and enthusiasm for life. To restore oneself from daily affairs, for daily redemption and liberation, we are granted these small, rather than larger, joys.
Its premise is moderate joy, love, and poetry, which have gradually withered and been lost in modern daily life. These small joys, especially those given to the poor, are so inconspicuous and numerous in daily life that countless laborers' numb senses are hardly touched by them. They are unnoticed, unheralded, and require no money! (Strangely, even the poor do not know that the best joys are always obtainable without spending money.)
Accompanying the act of watching, joy, love, and poetry come along. If a person picks a small flower for the first time and carries it with them while working, it indicates that they have taken a step towards the joys of life.
Experience as many of these small joys as possible each day, while allocating the larger, even somewhat exhausting joys sparingly to holidays or other beautiful times; this is my advice to anyone suffering from a lack of time and enthusiasm for life. To restore oneself from daily affairs, for daily redemption and liberation, we are granted these small, rather than larger, joys.
In the Spring of 1915#
The world knows nothing of the murder; the world has become a child, and we stand there, breathless, in the fragrant and pleasant atmosphere, no longer understanding fear, pain, and death.
The world knows nothing of the murder; the world has become a child, and we stand there, breathless, in the fragrant and pleasant atmosphere, no longer understanding fear, pain, and death.
Mountain Beech#
A young mountain beech appears in all my dreams, and the departed May has taken away my beloved with the wind from beneath the tree.
A young mountain beech appears in all my dreams, and the departed May has taken away my beloved with the wind from beneath the tree.
Peach Tree#
I look at it with dissatisfaction; alas, even trees cannot be trusted, they can also get lost, leave you and die, disappearing into the vast darkness!
I look at it with dissatisfaction; alas, even trees cannot be trusted, they can also get lost, leave you and die, disappearing into the vast darkness!
Pruned Oak#
I, a lonely and hard-living person, have found a memorable and precious chain of joy in the world; I hope those who may be happier and more joyful than I discover that there is even greater joy in the world.
I, a lonely and hard-living person, have found a memorable and precious chain of joy in the world; I hope those who may be happier and more joyful than I discover that there is even greater joy in the world.
In Beautiful May#
You always hear people say that spring is the most beautiful season of the year. But its most beautiful aspect is the anticipation of summer.
You always hear people say that spring is the most beautiful season of the year. But its most beautiful aspect is the anticipation of summer.
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