Tipp No. 44: “IF”- Poem by Rudyard Kipling (“Wenn”- deut. Übersetzung des Gedichts)

Gedichte, poems, Psychologie, psychology, Uncategorized
looking-out-the-window

This poem is the most valuable gift, I got from my ex partner many years ago. I thought of the poem as a prayer…Actually, I could recite it.

Today, I am less lofty. But the poem still touches me. Therefore, I`ve tried to translate into German language on my own. The translations that are available online didn`t “strike the right note” in my view.

“If” (Wenn)

By Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

Wenn du deinen klaren Kopf behältst, während alle anderen um dich herum
ihn verlieren und dir dies zum Vorwurf machen,
Wenn du auf dich vertraust, während alle anderen an dir zweifeln,
du ihren Zweifeln aber auch Raum gibst;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

Wenn du abwarten kannst, ohne dabei zu ermüden
Oder wenn du belogen wirst, ohne selbst mit Lügen vorzugehen,
Oder wenn du gehasst wirst, dem Hass keinen Weg bereitest,
und dich dennoch weder überlegen gibst, noch zu weise (überheblich) sprichst.

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

Wenn du träumen kannst – und deine Träume nicht zu deinem Meister machst;
Wenn du denken kannst – und deine Gedanken nicht zum Selbstzweck erhebst;
wenn du Triumph und Niederlage begegnen kannst,
Und diese beiden Blender ganz einfach gleichbehandelst;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‚em up with worn-out tools:

Wenn du es ertragen kannst, die Wahrheit, die du ausgesprochen hast,
von Schurken verdreht zu vernehmen, um Dummköpfe in die Irre zu führen,
Oder zusiehst wie die Dinge, denen du dein Leben gewidmet hast, in Scherben liegen,
und du niederkniest, und sie mit verschlissenen Werkzeug wiederaufbaust:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

Wenn du in der Lage bist, all dein Erreichtes auf einen Haufen zu werfen
und dessen Verlust mit einem Münzwurf riskierst,
und verlierst, und beginnst noch einmal ganz von vorne
und niemals auch nur ein Wort verlierst über deinen Verlust;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‚Hold on!‘

Wenn du dein Herz und Willen (Nerven) und Kraft (Sehnen) zwingen kannst,
deinem Vorhaben zu dienen lange Zeit nachdem sie bereits geschwunden sind,
Und festhältst, auch wenn nichts mehr in dir ist
außer dem Willen, der ihnen sagt: „Halte durch!“

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

Wenn du mit dem gemeinen Volk reden kannst und deine Tugend behältst,
Oder mit Königen wandelst – ohne die Bodenhaftung zu verlieren,
Wenn alle mit dir rechnen, aber keiner zu sehr;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds‘ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

Wenn du die unversöhnliche Minute anfüllen kannst
mit sechzig Sekunden eines Langstreckenlaufes wert,
Dein ist die Welt und alles was darin ist,
Und – was noch mehr ist – dann bist du ein Mensch, mein Sohn!

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Poem No. 212: “I am” – by MeanAileen

Gedichte, poems, Psychologie, psychology

I am warmhearted and icy cold,
with a pretty face that’s getting old.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan. 
I am petite and cuss like a trucker,
slightly naive, but I’m no sucker. 
I am a sinner with a halo of gold,
an open book with secrets untold. 
I am a hypocrite but always play fair,
a bleeding heart and I don’t care. 
I am a mother who acts like a child,
crazy, impatient and easily riled. 
I am spontaneous and I am a bore, 
forever forgiving, I still keep score. 
I am unstable and wonderfully wise,
a ****** deviant in sweet disguise. 
I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive. 
I am shy and I am outspoken
with a heart of glass, easily broken.
I am awkward and well refined,
lost, insightful and a little love-blind. 
I am respected and I am addicted
shamed by burdens, self inflicted.
I am a perfectionist and I am a slob,
unbiased and shallow, an inept snob.
I am nocturnal, a creature of night,
blissfully ignorant, typically right.
I am cautious and I have no fear,
a loser and quitter, still I persevere.
I am brilliant and easily amused,
over-zealous and under-enthused. 
I am impervious with wounds to heal,
a habitual liar just keepin’ it real.
I am witty and weird and mean-
I am what I am…….100 Aileen.
A lil bit about who I am…

Poem No. 135: “The Guesthouse” by Jalaluddin Rumi

Gedichte, poems, Psychologie, psychology
Japanese Guesthouse

The Guesthouse

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

(Translation by Coleman Barks )

Poem No. 115: “The Crazy Woman” by Gwendolyn Brooks

arts, Gedichte, poems
Designer Iris Apfel

I shall not sing a May song. 
A May song should be gay. 
I’ll wait until November 
And sing a song of gray. 

I’ll wait until November 
That is the time for me. 
I’ll go out in the frosty dark 
And sing most terribly. 

And all the little people 
Will stare at me and say, 
“That is the Crazy Woman 
Who would not sing in May.” 

Cartoon No. 10: Multiple Personalities (Multiple Persönlichkeiten)

arts, Cartoons, humor, Insights, Kunst, Oddities, Psychologie, psychology, Zen
Fr Soltau

The Turtle (Master): “Little Buddha, your true nature consists auf 3 aspects:

  • what you think you are,
  • what others think you are,
  • and what you are in  truth.

The Wayfarer: Damn! Exactly what I was concerned of…

“Multiple Personality Disorder!”

Poem No. 11: “I`m nobody! Who are you?” by Emily Dickinson

Creatures, Gedichte, poems
frog in a bog
I`m nobody! Who are you?
                       Are you nobody too?
Then there is a pair of us --- don t tell!
They d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!