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Faust By

Faust by Johann Wolfang von Goethe: Translated by Bayard Taylor illustrated by Harry Clarke | von Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, von Goethe, Johann Wolfgang. Goetheanum goethes faust 1 amp 2. faust part one. faust der tragödie zweiter teil. faust zitate und sprüche kurze und lange textstellen. faust i johann wolfgang. Check out Schumann: Scenes from Goethe's Faust by Antoni Wit on Amazon Music. Stream ad-free or purchase CD's and MP3s now on datenshi.nu

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"Die unbegreiflich hohen Werke Sind herrlich wie am ersten Tag.". Faust (Volume #13 of The Dennis Wheatley library of the occult). by Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von; Taylor, Bayard (translated by) and a great selection of. Das Coronavirus verursacht erhebliche Verzögerungen. Wir arbeiten daran, alle Aufträge so schnell wie möglich zu erfüllen. Faust By Johann. quotes from Faust, First Part: 'Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin datenshi.nuss has genius, power and magic in it!'. Faust. Eine Tragödie. von. Goethe. Tübingen. in der J. G. Cotta'schen Buchhandlung. [3]. Goetheanum goethes faust 1 amp 2. faust part one. faust der tragödie zweiter teil. faust zitate und sprüche kurze und lange textstellen. faust i johann wolfgang. Faust by Johann Wolfang von Goethe: Translated by Bayard Taylor illustrated by Harry Clarke | von Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, von Goethe, Johann Wolfgang.

Faust By

Download Citation | Lesarten von Goethes Faust by Ulrich Gaier, and: Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Faust: Eine Tragödie, Erster Theil, Frühere. Das Coronavirus verursacht erhebliche Verzögerungen. Wir arbeiten daran, alle Aufträge so schnell wie möglich zu erfüllen. Faust By Johann. Available now at datenshi.nu - ISBN: - Soft cover - Cornelsen Verlag GmbH & Co - - Befriedigend/Good: Durchschnittlich erhaltenes. Buy Faust by Will Quadflieg from Amazon's Movies Store. Everyday low prices and free delivery on eligible orders. Check out Schumann: Scenes from Goethe's Faust by Antoni Wit on Amazon Music. Stream ad-free or purchase CD's and MP3s now on datenshi.nu Available now at datenshi.nu - ISBN: - Soft cover - Cornelsen Verlag GmbH & Co - - Befriedigend/Good: Durchschnittlich erhaltenes. Download Citation | Lesarten von Goethes Faust by Ulrich Gaier, and: Johann Wolfgang Goethe, Faust: Eine Tragödie, Erster Theil, Frühere.

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Faust 1926 Allein bedenkt! Mit farbigen Illustrationen von Franz Eintracht Frankfurt Mainz versehen. Das nimmt man nicht genau. Nun gut, es sey dir überlassen! Versprichst du mir, ich soll genesen, In diesem Wust von Raserey? O weh! Ja, unsre Wirthschaft ist nur klein, Und doch will sie versehen seyn. Du kannst die Freude bald erleben, Das Kesselchen herauszuheben.

Student : So was he Faust or Mephisto? Professor : He was both, he was both. It has the original German, and his fine translation which I frequently had to turn to for help on the facing pages.

Plus, he includes a finely written, if a bit fawning, introduction. View all 39 comments. Although rarely staged in its entirety, it is the play with the largest audience numbers on German-language stages.

Faust is considered by many to be Goethe's magnum opus and the greatest work of German literature. View 1 comment. View all 11 comments.

Sep 27, Brett C rated it really liked it Shelves: tragedy. This is a re-read for me since I read excerpts of the first act in college.

I enjoyed reading this and enjoyed the Walter Kaufmann translation. The concept of the devil, witchcraft, selling one's sole, and the downward spiral that follows such an ordeal has always intrigued me.

Also the This is a re-read for me since I read excerpts of the first act in college. This particular book had the German on the left side and simultaneous English on the right side.

So that means of the pages you're only reading pages of the English. I enjoyed re-reading this and I may read it again in a few years from now.

View all 6 comments. Passion for learning, passion for love, passion for life in all its forms and facets. The deprivation of passion by the slow grind of facts and figures and hypocrisy, the boons of inheritance providing shortcuts without granting the necessary experience of true effort, and excess.

When the world is at one's feet, what is there left for passion to strive for? But until then, what will you do to achieve that world? It's an almost impossible balance, especially when the rest of the world is thrown in at full tilt.

The passion becomes split, and when one track is spent the next is sought, and the next, and the next, by any means to any measure. One may wish at the beginning to be good, but when the so-called custodians of morality sell it by the yard for a varying price, and all the esteem generated by the straight and narrow pales in comparison to the smallest glimpse of moonlit wraith, well.

One must consider the odds when the devil comes a calling. On the one hand, your wish at the immortal's command.

On the other, all the ramifications of those wishes, bound as they are in a reality of finite glory, finite justice, finite truth.

To go forth enraptured in the potential, and in the end consigning everything outside of that potential to the flames.

Now, who among you would proclaim yourselves worthy of judging just how far one can go? Also, the German language is one that I am intent on mastering, and what better piece to work towards than one of, if not the , pillars of German literature?

So, until we meet again, Mephisto, preferably on a span of stage that does full honors to your Walpurgisnacht. I'm very much looking forward to it.

View all 3 comments. Here I am, a speck of flesh and bones in the vast ocean of time, rating and attempting to review this timeless masterpiece of classic literature.

I guess artists are doomed to be eternally judged by those to whom their work is exposed, even centuries after their time. You think Goethe even imagined that after two and a half centuries a Greek nobody would "not-talk" about his Faust in a "non-place" called internet?

I know I may be getting a bit weird here but hey, I just read Faust. What did you Here I am, a speck of flesh and bones in the vast ocean of time, rating and attempting to review this timeless masterpiece of classic literature.

What did you expect? Anyway, I think it's one of the best literary works ever created. The way Goethe used alternating styles in his writing was genius.

The scene on Walpurgis Night is one of the most trippy, psychedelic, out-there things I've ever read. But the most impressive is the concept itself.

With the catharsis only foreshadowed but never played before your eyes, you feel in every rhyme that Faust is nothing but a puppet in the hands of himself?

Trapped by his own will to live, to fly high and his tendency to stay stuck on the ground, he becomes a vulnerable victim for our friend Mephistopheles.

And a strange journey begins Ok, I surpassed myself here. Just one more thing. I'd like to say that reading Faust after midnight by the fireplace with the only source of light being the fire and the lights on the Christmas tree, is one hell of experience!

View all 4 comments. Jul 13, Bradley rated it really liked it Shelves: shelf , fantasy. Yep, it's actually epic fantasy. Don't let the stage actors or the music and the poetry fool you.

The original is in German. An interesting story. Or perhaps Goethe was one hell of a weird artist. Actually, scratch that, he was. Like an opium dream.

Breakdown: I loved the poetry a Yep, it's actually epic fantasy. Breakdown: I loved the poetry and most of the translation.

It was pretty neat. What there was of the original story was slightly convoluted and drawn out. The battle was pretty cool, too.

It's Faust. A classic tale. But you know what? View all 12 comments. This tragedy is an absolute classic and simply belongs to the repertoire of well-founded literary knowledge.

View 2 comments. Sep 04, Rebecca McNutt rated it it was amazing Shelves: supernatural , classic , german , fiction. Faust has definitely inspired a great many other works of fiction.

I still remember people complaining in the early 's a complaint which had been going on since the 's that the 2nd Care Bears film was supposedly referencing Faust and trying to introduce it to young children.

It just goes to show how pervasive this work has become in not just history, but also contemporary pop culture. It was definitely an intriguing book to read through which works on a simple enough premise, but its v Faust has definitely inspired a great many other works of fiction.

It was definitely an intriguing book to read through which works on a simple enough premise, but its vivid and meticulous writing and themes of good and evil in a way that isn't necessarily so black-and-white made it even more interesting.

There are lots of interpretations on the book which could be made depending on the reader, and I think if I went back and read it a second time, I might find a different meaning in it altogether.

Faust is, for lack of a better term, a sort of poetic fantasy novel with supernatural elements. The battle for one man's soul and the struggle between two opposite realms, not to mention the corruption of power, give the story a lot of depth alone, but von Goethe's writing also includes a lot of weird albeit fun happenings throughout, as well.

I'm glad I was able to find the full version of the book. My school's bookstore only sells it in separate halves for some reason so I ordered a copy online instead.

Shelves: drama. Senior year at Grinnell College was an intellectual idyll. Days were spent studying in a private library cubicle, evenings working as a bartender at the college's pub, nights writing at my desk or reading abed.

Faust was read aloud, partly because the translation was beautiful, partly because Part Two was so boring that reading it this way was necessary in order to stay awake.

This Senior year at Grinnell College was an intellectual idyll. This method kept me immersed in Faust for months. That, the contemporaneous immersion in the bible, and the extensive study of German philosophy during the day encouraged a certain earnest purposiveness.

I felt like Faust. I had two girlfriends that senior year. The first, a resident of our off-campus project house, Susan, left school for NYC before the second semester.

The second, Janny, stayed with me through the move to New York after graduation. Susan was a Gretchen-like figure who would sleep beside me as I read into the wee hours.

Janny was even more Faustian than I. Rather than being libidinously distracted from work, the presence of these two women, each in different ways, encouraged it.

Except for the months between the first semester and meeting Janny towards the end of the second, I was not yearning for love or thinking about romantic relationships except in a sublimated, religio-philosophical vein.

Indeed, even during those intervening months, the one erotic interest that arose was treated as something more world-historical than personal, the object of my interest, Mindy, never knowing of it.

That was intentional. I thought myself beyond such quotidian concerns and intended the sublimation, thinking of it in the terms of medieval alchemical spiritualism.

This self-inflation led, ultimately, to a protacted experience of the demonic, to concrete hallucinations which terrified me, popped the bubble and circumvented any possible deals with the devil.

In retrospect, the whole year was one of the best of my life and that was because of sedulous work and the grace of two women.

I'm glad I read this if only because my preconceptions of this work have been shattered. It's not loaded with philosophy, in fact there are hardly any abstruse passages.

It's got a modern feel; according to Kaufmann's introduction, earlier Victorian translations are what made it seem not: I pictured Brecht puppets in many of the scenes.

It's funny; humor runs almost throughout especially in the speech of Mephisto, who, of course, is more entertaining than Faust.

The language can be colloquial I'm glad I read this if only because my preconceptions of this work have been shattered. The language can be colloquial and even a bit bawdy.

The end of the first part is particularly lyrical and it certainly owes quite a bit to the madness of Shakespeare's Ophelia.

I don't know German, but I liked being able to glance over to the opposite page to see what the original looked like when a translated word or phrase caught my fancy.

This edition, for the inclusion of the original text and the impressive translation at least it was to me , probably deserves 5 stars.

View all 8 comments. Mar 04, Gabrielle Dubois rated it it was amazing Shelves: 19th-century. The second reason is that I cannot read in German, obwohl ich ein wenig Deutsch spreche, lese und schreibe!

Goethe was so right! Nerval succeeded in translating poetry which I thought was impossible; and he did it in poetic alexandrines without missing the purpose of Goethe.

Let me choose the means to gently train him in my ways. God relies on the freedom he has put in Men for Faust to save himself. Faust is an old man who has spent his life learning everything.

But he realizes that the only thing he knows is that he knows nothing. He feels sorry for this.

God is infinite and contains in Him all creation. Faust would like to be the equal of God. I understand Faust: he is only a human being who wants more than he can.

He sought to understand everything, while forgetting to live. It was because he was aware of his weak human mind that knows so little, that he wanted to understand everything.

But his vainglory pushed him to work all his life to try to discover the secrets of the universe. And from the very first lines, shines by its absence the only thing that Faust did not learn in his books: happiness, how to be happy.

It is time to prove by actions that the dignity of man does not yield to the greatness of a God! And about the meaning of the words or how to use the words, Mephistopheles has his own and unique idea on the subject.

Like he has his own idea about studies: Eritis sicut Deus, bonum et malum scientes. That's worth its weight in jewels! Goethe describes the working woman, the mother, the woman whose chores begin before daylight, last until the evening and even at night when the children are babies.

All men of the 19th century were not blind about the condition of women. About books: Can a book deliver the soul from its eternal thirst?

We are not consoled if consolation does not come from our own heart. All the knowledge of the world does not bring happiness: one must seek it and find it in oneself.

About ownership: Anything that does not serve is an unnecessary burden. Only the creation of the mind is useful. We need to be moved and to feel deeply immensity, and sometimes immensity is in the books.

So, let's not be afraid to read old books. Our mind is not so limited that a new word can disturb it. So many other deep, beautiful, poetic, magical or true thoughts are waiting for you in Faust and will do us good.

The first thing I have to mention before starting this review is that I had to punch in the edition information.

It features gilded pages possibly produced by a can of spray paint , a leather or leather like binding, a b The first thing I have to mention before starting this review is that I had to punch in the edition information.

It features gilded pages possibly produced by a can of spray paint , a leather or leather like binding, a built in book mark that feels like silk might be Rayon , and some delicious lithographs lifted from a German version.

So I planned on being a bit bored, but hoped still to be bedeviled, bewitched, bedazzled, and bespectacled. The first part you can guess; Dr.

So I felt hot on the trail when Faust and Mephistopheles make their first stop, at the bar. Next surprise: As soon as these fine, upstanding allegories are done hanging around the watering hole, they go searching for underage girl for Dr.

That might sound like a condition best treated with a topical ointment, but moments like the one above have me wondering where the great schism between the text of Faust, and the vague soul-for-knowledge-trading Faust in popular culture comes from.

Thinking along those lines, it makes some sense that at the time the book was written that the first thing a scholarly man of high virtue might be expected to do when given a free pass would be to a go to a place of low repute and b do his best to grab a bite of some unblemished peach.

The Proctophantasmist is apparently some guy who dissed our man Goethe but who was later discredited after he decided that applying leeches to his pooper cured his demonic possession, or something.

Well, ol' Wiley-G sure slapped the smile off of Pooper-Sucker's face by writing him into the play! This sort of bizarre commentary on currency is exactly why I signed up, and at this point the book was, if not growing on me, certainly weird enough to delight They vanish just as quickly while chorus groups have pages of lines, and events from the Iliad and Odyssey are heavily referenced Homeric fan-fiction really.

The drag in Faust comes in a section longer than entire plays, and considerably more of an eye-watering-yawn-inducer than other, better, plays using Greek mythology.

Satre's The Flies is a fine example of something better. Only highpoint: Faust seduces and knocks up others, they also die tragically after their children.

It's like the tragedy mentioned in the title is that Faust has lethal sperm, and the Devil is just hanging around because the Make a Wish Foundation sent him.

After turning away from said tragedy, again with apparent apathy, Faust becomes emperor and dies after planning to dredge a wetland.

Things get really Christian, except for some weird bits requiring a run to the dictionary, resulting in finds like this: Lemur nocturnal Madagascar mammal, , coined by Linnaeus, from L.

So called for its nocturnal habits and ghostly stares. And this happens: Shortly afterwards Mephistopheles finds himself distracted by the hind quarters of sweet little boys, and Faust makes it up to heaven with what one assumes is something like "a C, for trying.

This is to discourage you from reading the book. I mean, I get why this is important: it's one of the first major works in German to have a huge poetic scope and to reach back to the Greek world for inspiration.

Both of these would be critical for the education of some of my favorite Germans. It just that the second half, which Goethe wrote far later in life, is such a mind-numbing bore.

So please consider that, and the following as contributing influences to my two star review: This may or may not be amazing in German, or judging by reviews on this site, Arabic.

In English, with this translator, however, the pictures and rare pretty line are the only thing saving about half the book. Including while playing scrabble.

I've never been called on it either. Faust is not a member of the horticulture department. View all 7 comments. I get it, it's impressive. Any epic poem is an incredible feat of creativity and perseverance.

But Lord have mercy, does anybody actually enjoy reading this? Give Feedback External Websites. Let us know if you have suggestions to improve this article requires login.

External Websites. Naxos Classical Music - Faust. The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica Encyclopaedia Britannica's editors oversee subject areas in which they have extensive knowledge, whether from years of experience gained by working on that content or via study for an advanced degree See Article History.

Read More on This Topic. Work on Faust accompanied Goethe throughout his adult life. Of a possible plan in to dramatize the story of I saw him with these eyes upon a wine-cask riding Out of the cellar-door, just now.

Still in my feet the fright like lead is weighing. Upon a low hearth stands a great caldron, under which a fire is burning. Various figures appear in the vapors which rise from the caldron.

An ape sits beside it, skims it, and watches lest it boil over. The he-ape, with the young ones, sits near and warms himself.

Ceiling and walls are covered with the most fantastic witch-implements. These crazy signs of witches' craft repel me!

I shall recover, dost thou tell me, Through this insane, chaotic play? From an old hag shall I demand assistance?

And will her foul mess take away Full thirty years from my existence? Woe's me, canst thou naught better find! Another baffled hope must be lamented: Has Nature, then, and has a noble mind Not any potent balsam yet invented?

Once more, my friend, thou talkest sensibly. There is, to make thee young, a simpler mode and apter; But in another book 'tis writ for thee, And is a most eccentric chapter.

Betake thyself to yonder field, There hoe and dig, as thy condition; Restrain thyself, thy sense and will Within a narrow sphere to flourish; With unmixed food thy body nourish; Live with the ox as ox, and think it not a theft That thou manur'st the acre which thou reapest;— That, trust me, is the best mode left, Whereby for eighty years thy youth thou keepest!

I am not used to that; I cannot stoop to try it— To take the spade in hand, and ply it. The narrow being suits me not at all. That were a charming sport, I own: I'd build a thousand bridges meanwhile, I've a notion.

Not Art and Science serve, alone; Patience must in the work be shown. Long is the calm brain active in creation; Time, only, strengthens the fine fermentation.

And all, belonging thereunto, Is rare and strange, howe'er you take it: The Devil taught the thing, 'tis true, And yet the Devil cannot make it.

Perceiving the Animals See, what a delicate race they be! That is the maid! To the Animals It seems the mistress has gone away? O cast thou the dice!

Make me rich in a trice, Let me win in good season! Things are badly controlled, And had I but gold, So had I my reason.

In the meantime the young apes have been playing with a large ball, which they now roll forward. The world's the ball: Doth rise and fall, And roll incessant: Like glass doth ring, A hollow thing,— How soon will't spring, And drop, quiescent?

Here bright it gleams, Here brighter seems: I live at present! Dear son, I say, Keep thou away! Thy doom is spoken! Wert thou the thief, I'd know him and shame him.

Look through the sieve! Know'st thou the thief, And darest not name him? The fool knows it not! He knows not the pot, He knows not the kettle! What do I see?

What heavenly form revealed Shows through the glass from Magic's fair dominions! O lend me, Love, the swiftest of thy pinions, And bear me to her beauteous field!

Ah, if I leave this spot with fond designing, If I attempt to venture near, Dim, as through gathering mist, her charms appear!

Can woman, then, so lovely be? And must I find her body, there reclining, Of all the heavens the bright epitome?

Can Earth with such a thing be mated? Why, surely, if a God first plagues Himself six days, Then, self-contented, Bravo! This time, thine eyes be satiate!

I'll yet detect thy sweetheart and ensnare her, And blest is he, who has the lucky fate, Some day, as bridegroom, home to bear her.

FAUST gazes continually in the mirror. So sit I, like the King upon his throne: I hold the sceptre, here,—and lack the crown alone.

O be thou so good With sweat and with blood The crown to belime! They handle the crown awkwardly and break it into two pieces, with which they spring around.

We speak and we see, We hear and we rhyme! If lucky our hits, And everything fits, 'Tis thoughts, and we're thinking!

The caldron, which the SHE-APE has up to this time neglected to watch, begins to boil over: there ensues a great flame , which blazes out the chimney.

To leave the kettle, and singe the Frau! What is that here? Who are you here? What want you thus? Who sneaks to us?

The fire-pain Burn bone and brain! The Animals whimper. In two! There lies the brew! There lies the glass!

The joke will pass, As time, foul ass! To the singing of thy crew. Abomination, thou! Know'st thou, at last, thy Lord and Master?

What hinders me from smiting now Thee and thy monkey-sprites with fell disaster? Hast for the scarlet coat no reverence? Dost recognize no more the tall cock's-feather?

Have I concealed this countenance? O pardon, Sir, the rough salute! Yet I perceive no cloven foot; And both your ravens, where are they now? This time, I'll let thee 'scape the debt; For since we two together met, 'Tis verily full many a day now.

Culture, which smooth the whole world licks, Also unto the Devil sticks. The days of that old Northern phantom now are over: Where canst thou horns and tail and claws discover?

And, as regards the foot, which I can't spare, in truth, 'Twould only make the people shun me; Therefore I've worn, like many a spindly youth, False calves these many years upon me.

It's long been written in the Book of Fable; Yet, therefore, no whit better men we see: The Evil One has left, the evil ones are stable. Sir Baron call me thou, then is the matter good; A cavalier am I, like others in my bearing.

Thou hast no doubt about my noble blood: See, here's the coat-of-arms that I am wearing! Give us a goblet of the well-known juice! But, I must beg you, of the oldest brewage; The years a double strength produce.

With all my heart! Now, here's a bottle, Wherefrom, sometimes, I wet my throttle, Which, also, not the slightest, stinks; And willingly a glass I'll fill him.

Yet, if this man without due preparation drinks, As well thou know'st, within an hour 'twill kill him. He is a friend of mine, with whom it will agree, And he deserves thy kitchen's best potation: Come, draw thy circle, speak thine adjuration, And fill thy goblet full and free!

Finally she brings a great book, and stations in the circle the Apes, who are obliged to serve as reading-desk, and to hold the torches.

Now, what shall come of this? O, nonsense! That's a thing for laughter; Don't be so terribly severe! She juggles you as doctor now, that, after, The beverage may work the proper cheer.

See, thus it's done! Make ten of one, And two let be, Make even three, And rich thou 'It be. Cast o'er the four! From five and six The witch's tricks Make seven and eight, 'Tis finished straight!

And nine is one, And ten is none. This is the witch's once-one's-one! Thou'lt hear much more before we leave her.

They prate and teach, and no one interferes; All from the fellowship of fools are shrinking. Man usually believes, if only words he hears, That also with them goes material for thinking!

The lofty skill Of Science, still From all men deeply hidden! Who takes no thought, To him 'tis brought, 'Tis given unsought, unbidden! What nonsense she declaims before us!

My head is nigh to split, I fear: It seems to me as if I hear A hundred thousand fools in chorus. O Sibyl excellent, enough of adjuration!

But hither bring us thy potation, And quickly fill the beaker to the brim! This drink will bring my friend no injuries: He is a man of manifold degrees, And many draughts are known to him.

Down with it quickly! Drain it off! Thy wish be on Walpurgis Night expressed; What boon I have, shall then be given unto thee. Come, walk at once!

A rapid occupation Must start the needful perspiration, And through thy frame the liquor's potence fling. The noble indolence I'll teach thee then to treasure, And soon thou'lt be aware, with keenest thrills of pleasure, How Cupid stirs and leaps, on light and restless wing.

By Heaven, the girl is wondrous fair! Of all I've seen, beyond compare; So sweetly virtuous and pure, And yet a little pert, be sure!

The lip so red, the cheek's clear dawn,. I'll not forget while the world rolls on! How she cast down her timid eyes, Deep in my heart imprinted lies: How short and sharp of speech was she, Why, 'twas a real ecstasy!

She, there? She's coming from confession, Of every sin absolved; for I, Behind her chair, was listening nigh. So innocent is she, indeed, That to confess she had no need.

I have no power o'er souls so green. How now! You're talking like Jack Rake, Who every flower for himself would take, And fancies there are no favors more, Nor honors, save for him in store; Yet always doesn't the thing succeed.

Most Worthy Pedagogue, take heed! Let not a word of moral law be spoken! I claim, I tell thee, all my right; And if that image of delight Rest not within mine arms to-night, At midnight is our compact broken.

But think, the chances of the case! I need, at least, a fortnight's space, To find an opportune occasion. Had I but seven hours for all, I should not on the Devil call, But win her by my own persuasion.

You almost like a Frenchman prate; Yet, pray, don't take it as annoyance! Why, all at once, exhaust the joyance? Your bliss is by no means so great As if you'd use, to get control, All sorts of tender rigmarole, And knead and shape her to your thought, As in Italian tales 'tis taught.

But now, leave jesting out of sight! I tell you, once for all, that speed With this fair girl will not succeed; By storm she cannot captured be; We must make use of strategy.

Get me something the angel keeps! Lead me thither where she sleeps! Get me a kerchief from her breast,— A garter that her knee has pressed! That you may see how much I'd fain Further and satisfy your pain, We will no longer lose a minute; I'll find her room to-day, and take you in it.

Presents at once? That's good: he's certain to get at her! Full many a pleasant place I know, And treasures, buried long ago: I must, perforce, look up the matter.

I'd something give, could I but say Who was that gentleman, to-day. Surely a gallant man was he, And of a noble family; And much could I in his face behold,— And he wouldn't, else, have been so bold!

O welcome, twilight soft and sweet, That breathes throughout this hallowed shrine! Sweet pain of love, bind thou with fetters fleet The heart that on the dew of hope must pine!

How all around a sense impresses Of quiet, order, and content! This poverty what bounty blesses! What bliss within this narrow den is pent!

Receive me, thou, that in thine open arms Departed joy and pain wert wont to gather! How oft the children, with their ruddy charms, Hung here, around this throne, where sat the father!

Perchance my love, amid the childish band, Grateful for gifts the Holy Christmas gave her, Here meekly kissed the grandsire's withered hand.

I feel, O maid! O dearest hand, to thee 'tis given To change this hut into a lower heaven! And here! What sweetest thrill is in my blood!

Here could I spend whole hours, delaying: Here Nature shaped, as if in sportive playing, The angel blossom from the bud.

Here lay the child, with Life's warm essence The tender bosom filled and fair, And here was wrought, through holier, purer presence, The form diviner beings wear!

And I? What drew me here with power? How deeply am I moved, this hour! What seek I? Why so full my heart, and sore? Miserable Faust!

I know thee now no more. Is there a magic vapor here? I came, with lust of instant pleasure, And lie dissolved in dreams of love's sweet leisure! Are we the sport of every changeful atmosphere?

And if, this moment, came she in to me, How would I for the fault atonement render! How small the giant lout would be, Prone at her feet, relaxed and tender!

Here is a casket, not unmeet, Which elsewhere I have just been earning. Here, set it in the press, with haste!

I swear, 'twill turn her head, to spy it: Some baubles I therein had placed, That you might win another by it. True, child is child, and play is play.

Now quick, away! The sweet young maiden to betray, So that by wish and will you bend her; And you look as though To the lecture-hall you were forced to go,— As if stood before you, gray and loath, Physics and Metaphysics both!

But away! And yet 'tis not so warm outside. I feel, I know not why, such fear! My body's chill and shuddering,— I'm but a silly, fearsome thing!

There was a King in Thule, Was faithful till the grave,— To whom his mistress, dying, A golden goblet gave. Naught was to him more precious; He drained it at every bout: His eyes with tears ran over, As oft as he drank thereout.

When came his time of dying, The towns in his land he told, Naught else to his heir denying Except the goblet of gold. He sat at the royal banquet With his knights of high degree, In the lofty hall of his fathers In the Castle by the Sea.

There stood the old carouser, And drank the last life-glow; And hurled the hallowed goblet Into the tide below. He saw it plunging and filling, And sinking deep in the sea: Then fell his eyelids forever, And never more drank he!

She opens the press in order to arrange her clothes, and perceives the casket of jewels. How comes that lovely casket here to me? I locked the press, most certainly.

What can within it be? Perhaps 'twas brought by some one as a pawn, And mother gave a loan thereon? And here there hangs a key to fit: I have a mind to open it.

What is that? God in Heaven! Whence came Such things? Never beheld I aught so fair! Rich ornaments, such as a noble dame On highest holidays might wear!

How would the pearl-chain suit my hair? Ah, who may all this splendor own? Were but the ear-rings mine, alone!

One has at once another air. What helps one's beauty, youthful blood? One may possess them, well and good; But none the more do others care.

They praise us half in pity, sure: To gold still tends, On gold depends All, all! Alas, we poor! By all love ever rejected!

By hell-fire hot and unsparing! I wish I knew something worse, that I might use it for swearing! Just think, the pocket of a priest should get The trinkets left for Margaret!

The mother saw them, and, instanter, A secret dread began to haunt her. Keen scent has she for tainted air; She snuffs within her book of prayer, And smells each article, to see If sacred or profane it be; So here she guessed, from every gem, That not much blessing came with them.

Before the Mother of God we'll lay it; With heavenly manna she'll repay it! He spake: "That is the proper view,— Who overcometh, winneth too. The Holy Church has a stomach healthy: Hath eaten many a land as forfeit, And never yet complained of surfeit: The Church alone, beyond all question, Has for ill-gotten goods the right digestion.

Then bagged the spangles, chains, and rings, As if but toadstools were the things, And thanked no less, and thanked no more Than if a sack of nuts he bore,— Promised them fullest heavenly pay, And deeply edified were they.

Sits unrestful still, And knows not what she should, or will; Thinks on the jewels, day and night, But more on him who gave her such delight.

The darling's sorrow gives me pain. Get thou a set for her again! The first was not a great display. Fix and arrange it to my will; And on her neighbor try thy skill!

Don't be a Devil stiff as paste, But get fresh jewels to her taste! Such an enamored fool in air would blow Sun, moon, and all the starry legions, To give his sweetheart a diverting show.

God forgive my husband, yet he Hasn't done his duty by me! Off in the world he went straightway,— Left me lie in the straw where I lay. And, truly, I did naught to fret him: God knows I loved, and can't forget him!

I scarce can stand, my knees are trembling! I find a box, the first resembling, Within my press! Of ebony,— And things, all splendid to behold, And richer far than were the old.

But, ah! Yet thou canst often this way wander, And secretly the jewels don, Walk up and down an hour, before the mirror yonder,— We'll have our private joy thereon.

And then a chance will come, a holiday, When, piece by piece, can one the things abroad display, A chain at first, then other ornament: Thy mother will not see, and stories we'll invent.

Whoever could have brought me things so precious? That something's wrong, I feel suspicious. It is enough that you are she: You've a visitor of high degree.

Pardon the freedom I have ta'en,— Will after noon return again. I am a creature young and poor: The gentleman's too kind, I'm sure.

The jewels don't belong to me. Ah, not alone the jewelry! The look, the manner, both betray— Rejoiced am I that I may stay! I would I had a more cheerful strain!

Take not unkindly its repeating: Your husband's dead, and sends a greeting. In Padua buried, he is lying Beside the good Saint Antony, Within a grave well consecrated, For cool, eternal rest created.

Yes, one of weight, with many sighs: Three hundred masses buy, to save him from perdition! My hands are empty, otherwise. Not a pocket-piece?

What every journeyman within his wallet spares, And as a token with him bears, And rather starves or begs, than loses? Madam, it is a grief to me; Yet, on my word, his cash was put to proper uses.

Besides, his penitence was very sore, And he lamented his ill fortune all the more. Alack, that men are so unfortunate! Surely for his soul's sake full many a prayer I'll proffer.

If not a husband, then a beau for you! It is the greatest heavenly blessing, To have a dear thing for one's caressing. I stood beside his bed of dying.

He cried: "I find my conduct wholly hateful! To leave my wife, my trade, in manner so ungrateful! Ah, the remembrance makes me die! Would of my wrong to her I might be shriven!

In the last throes his senses wandered, If I such things but half can judge. He said: "I had no time for play, for gaping freedom: First children, and then work for bread to feed 'em,— For bread, in the widest sense, to drudge, And could not even eat my share in peace and quiet!

Not so: the memory of it touched him quite. Said he: "When I from Malta went away My prayers for wife and little ones were zealous, And such a luck from Heaven befell us, We made a Turkish merchantman our prey, That to the Soldan bore a mighty treasure.

Then I received, as was most fit, Since bravery was paid in fullest measure, My well-apportioned share of it. Who knows, now, whither the four winds have blown it?

A fair young damsel took him in her care, As he in Naples wandered round, unfriended; And she much love, much faith to him did bear, So that he felt it till his days were ended.

The villain! From his children thieving! Even all the misery on him cast Could not prevent his shameful way of living! But see! He's dead therefrom, at last.

Were I in your place, do not doubt me, I'd mourn him decently a year, And for another keep, meanwhile, my eyes about me.

Ah, God! There never was a sweeter fool than mine, Only he loved to roam and leave me, And foreign wenches and foreign wine, And the damned throw of dice, indeed.

Well, well! That might have done, however, If he had only been as clever, And treated your slips with as little heed. I swear, with this condition, too, I would, myself, change rings with you.

Yes, my good dame, a pair of witnesses Always the truth establishes. I have a friend of high condition, Who'll also add his deposition.

I'll bring him here. And this young lady will be present, too? A gallant youth! Ah, bravo! Do I find you burning?

Well, Margaret soon will still your yearning: At Neighbor Martha's you'll this evening meet. A fitter woman ne'er was made To ply the pimp and gypsy trade!

We've but to make a deposition valid That now her husband's limbs, outstretched and pallid, At Padua rest, in consecrated soil.

Sancta simplicitas! Now, there you are! O holy man! Is it the first time in your life you're driven To bear false witness in a case?

Of God, the world and all that in it has a place, Of Man, and all that moves the being of his race, Have you not terms and definitions given With brazen forehead, daring breast?

And, if you'll probe the thing profoundly, Knew you so much—and you'll confess it roundly! Yes, knew I not more deeply thy desire.

For wilt thou not, no lover fairer, Poor Margaret flatter, and ensnare her, And all thy soul's devotion swear her? It will! I feel, the gentleman allows for me, Demeans himself, and shames me by it; A traveller is so used to be Kindly content with any diet.

I know too well that my poor gossip can Ne'er entertain such an experienced man. Don't incommode yourself!

How could you ever kiss it! It is so ugly, rough to see! What work I do,—how hard and steady is it! Mother is much too close with me. Alas, that trade and duty us so harry!

With what a pang one leaves so many a spot, And dares not even now and then to tarry! In young, wild years it suits your ways, This round and round the world in freedom sweeping; But then come on the evil days, And so, as bachelor, into his grave a-creeping, None ever found a thing to praise.

Yes, out of sight is out of mind! Your courtesy an easy grace is; But you have friends in other places, And sensibler than I, you'll find.

Ah, that simplicity and innocence ne'er know Themselves, their holy value, and their spell! That meekness, lowliness, the highest graces Which Nature portions out so lovingly—.

So you but think a moment's space on me, All times I'll have to think on you, all places! Yes, for our household small has grown, Yet must be cared for, you will own.

We have no maid: I do the knitting, sewing, sweeping, The cooking, early work and late, in fact; And mother, in her notions of housekeeping, Is so exact!

Not that she needs so much to keep expenses down: We, more than others, might take comfort, rather: A nice estate was left us by my father, A house, a little garden near the town.

But now my days have less of noise and hurry; My brother is a soldier, My little sister's dead. True, with the child a troubled life I led, Yet I would take again, and willing, all the worry, So very dear was she.

I brought it up, and it was fond of me. Father had died before it saw the light, And mother's case seemed hopeless quite, So weak and miserable she lay; And she recovered, then, so slowly, day by day.

She could not think, herself, of giving The poor wee thing its natural living; And so I nursed it all alone With milk and water: 'twas my own.

Lulled in my lap with many a song, It smiled, and tumbled, and grew strong. But surely, also, many a weary hour. I kept the baby's cradle near My bed at night: if 't even stirred, I'd guess it, And waking, hear.

And I must nurse it, warm beside me press it, And oft, to quiet it, my bed forsake, And dandling back and forth the restless creature take, Then at the wash-tub stand, at morning's break; And then the marketing and kitchen-tending, Day after day, the same thing, never-ending.

One's spirits, Sir, are thus not always good, But then one learns to relish rest and food. Yes, the poor women are bad off, 'tis true: A stubborn bachelor there's no converting.

Speak plainly, Sir, have you no one detected? Has not your heart been anywhere subjected? And thou forgiv'st my freedom, and the blame To my impertinence befitting, As the Cathedral thou wert quitting?

I was confused, the like ne'er happened me; No one could ever speak to my discredit. Ah, thought I, in my conduct has he read it— Something immodest or unseemly free?

He seemed to have the sudden feeling That with this wench 'twere very easy dealing. I will confess, I knew not what appeal On your behalf, here, in my bosom grew; But I was angry with myself, to feel That I could not be angrier with you.

Loves me—not—loves me—not— plucking the last leaf, she cries with frank delight :.

Faust By Get A Copy Video

Hvorostovsky - Valentin's aria from Faust (Gounod)

Faust By About the Book

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So called for its nocturnal habits and ghostly stares. And this happens: Shortly afterwards Mephistopheles finds himself distracted by the hind quarters of sweet little boys, and Faust makes it up to heaven with what one assumes is something like "a C, for trying.

This is to discourage you from reading the book. I mean, I get why this is important: it's one of the first major works in German to have a huge poetic scope and to reach back to the Greek world for inspiration.

Both of these would be critical for the education of some of my favorite Germans. It just that the second half, which Goethe wrote far later in life, is such a mind-numbing bore.

So please consider that, and the following as contributing influences to my two star review: This may or may not be amazing in German, or judging by reviews on this site, Arabic.

In English, with this translator, however, the pictures and rare pretty line are the only thing saving about half the book. Including while playing scrabble.

I've never been called on it either. Faust is not a member of the horticulture department. View all 7 comments.

I get it, it's impressive. Any epic poem is an incredible feat of creativity and perseverance. But Lord have mercy, does anybody actually enjoy reading this?

Part I is a barely understandable tale of Faust, a former physician and current scholar, who suffers from discontent.

So, he does what any one of us would do if, of course, we were in his shoes and sells his post-life soul to one of Satan's representatives.

Eventually, Faust's actions end up causing the death of many. That much I could fo I get it, it's impressive. That much I could follow, sort of.

But Part II? Yeah right. You didn't understand that. Nobody does. Was Goethe on mind-altering substances when he wrote that? I mean, he threw it all in: empires, Helena of Troy, shape-shifters, magical sub-surface ocean scenes, love and marriage, intrigue and disguise, and much more.

He put it all into a boiling pot of incomprehensible sludge and we were told to enjoy it because it is cultured to do so. Well, I dissent.

Although the meaning and many of the ideas of this work are remarkable, the delivery is painful. One star for writing hundreds of pages, and another for rhyming all the while.

View all 5 comments. Jun 05, Prickle added it Shelves: poetry , favorites , norton. What does this all mean?

I have not been able to get this book out of my head. I very much like books such as Monte Cristo and Notre-Dame, but what good is it if they're forgotten the next instant?

I often notice that I am not French, so I will not condense this into a pretty aphorism that negates itself, useful as that often is in impressing the layman for a lack of profundity in my day-to-day life I often try to attach unasked-for importance to the books I read, now by far my most cherished a What does this all mean?

I often notice that I am not French, so I will not condense this into a pretty aphorism that negates itself, useful as that often is in impressing the layman for a lack of profundity in my day-to-day life I often try to attach unasked-for importance to the books I read, now by far my most cherished activity, in some metaphysical anticipation that this one will be the one to irrevocably change my life.

I was stunned by their erudition and insight, in their sincerity and irony, and the extent at which I realized I knew nothing about the world. Their inspiration came unlooked for, but now, precisely because I try to look for this same influence in the new books I read, it never comes in the same fashion.

Buddenbrooks, Ficciones, and even Anna Karenina are excellent books, by God! Why else do so many of us want to experience something for the first time, or look with nostalgia on the past?

We must now either throw everything to the dogs and try something new, or to press on in hopes of that elusive something we have not yet experienced.

Perhaps one is the other? What, shouldn't you start your review already? Not everyone is as fond of riddles, confessions, and dramatic irony as you are.

I know it is the height of impudence to turn something as crass and inconsequential as a review into "art", but a few of my best reviews have done that curious thing, whether I intended it to or not, that reflects the very nature of the work I was writing the review for.

You who have read Faust may have already picked up on the connection between my experience and Goethe's tragedy.

Did I really intend it? I certainly did not know going in. I said in my review of Don Quixote that I would not write another review until I read another book that would greatly affect me perhaps I was dishonest in not writing a review for Petersburg and Pessoa; on a reread, surely!

But they are not school essays, for Christ's sake; one does not repackage something they already know, but learn more more about the book in their review.

It at least is a good litmus test that if I myself did not enjoy rereading my own review, it is rubbish, and this is useful to apply elsewhere.

I do not even regret getting sidetracked, one must by necessity take some Faustian detours in order to reach the perfect ending. Like Goethe himself, though the ending to Part I of the tragedy is pure devastation, Faust gets up, soliloquizes on the sunrise, and presses on against the wind.

What can keep a man down! It is much too crude to call Faust an allegory for a man's turbulent journey through life, but it is not wholly without support.

How the man can move from one subject to the next after a whole life of useless learning, nose in books, to love and war and money and the classical ideal!

Only does he not realize at the end that this activity is what pushes his soul along view spoiler [and what ultimately redeems it hide spoiler ] , how greatness is increased in him moment from moment, how we constantly reinvent ourselves, exactly as Goethe did with his literature, to arrive at a work of art.

So the force which would do evil, but constantly does good! Indeed this sneering Mephistopheles that has planted that seed of temptation in the heart of men has created everything as no perfect creator ever could.

This is that work of art which was composed throughout an entire lifetime, and if you do not see it as such appears fragmentary, but seen together is perfect as few works ever are.

Now I am a hypocrite myself, still bound to this seemingly closed-off world of book reading, but even my closest friends will remark that I was not the same person I was the year before, and in a year I will not be the same person I am now if I do not cease this vain pursuit.

But by all means: beautiful moment, do not pass! Perhaps none of my other reviews will be this personal it still is a great pleasure to talk about oneself, if one will admit such a thing , nor do I give concrete meaning that will be in any way meaningful to all readers see, this is the part where I negate myself , but it should serve as a literary landmark in the eyes of many.

I must admit I was slightly underwhelmed by Part I, thinking that without the pathos and general wackiness it was not as important as it was touted to be and not always hearing the most flattering things about the 2nd part approached with lessened enthusiasm, yet was all the more floored as a result by its surprising cohesiveness.

This is not a review of this specific edition, but the two parts from the excellent David Luke translation. To think that this edition only has "fragments" of Part II!

I highly encourage all to read the entirety of the second part and in general to not deprive yourself.

It is sometimes pleasant to find yourself in the hands of a master, and Goethe has a work of art that its end could be found in its beginning, if only one would really look!

It was a great pleasure to read this. I have not enjoyed the work of classic as much since I've read The Divine Comedy earlier this year.

The part of it might be because I've read it in Russian translation by wonderful Boris Pasternak , the poet and the Noble Prize winner for Doctor Zhivago.

The poetry of the translation is exceptional. I did not know that Faust was historical figure and he was the part of the German folklore for a long time before Goethe and his friends from the "Sturm und Drang" It was a great pleasure to read this.

I did not know that Faust was historical figure and he was the part of the German folklore for a long time before Goethe and his friends from the "Sturm und Drang" literary movement took his story as a theme of their own work.

Only Goethe's play has become famous. I would not try to analyse it. I just put a few brief observations. Probably not unusually, I've preferred the first part containing Margarita's story.

It was truly original in its plot and its conflict. The characters he has created since have become archetypical.

The second part throws the net much wider, raises a lot more questions varying from the philosophy of the Antiquity to the creation of the artificial intelligence: "With the years passing, the crafty mind of a thinker will create an artificial mind".

But I enjoyed it less as I found it less innovative even if equally profound. Mainly, Goethe refers to the Antique characters following a well trodden path since at least Dante.

In his case though, the core story is related to Helen of Troy and Faust's obsession with her. Coming back to the first part, I was fascinated by one sentence Mephisto said which made his part in the story much more ambiguous and open for interpretation.

He said: "I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good. The Russian is even more ambiguous: "I am a part of a force that creates good while wishing evil.

Bulgakov in his The Master and Margarita has created similar, even more amplified ambiguity for his Wolland.

It has always puzzled me there. I've read it relatively young and I was always thinking is Wolland a baddie or a goodie? It is difficult to say without going into too much of theological arguments.

But even that might not help with the literature. In general, i was amazed how much Bulgakov has taken from Goethe's story.

I would never guess. Maybe it is time to re-read him with this hindsight. Goethe- what a poet, what a thinker! And my applauses to Pasternak as well.

Then you may forge your chains to bind me. View all 10 comments. Shelves: e-books , read , classics , proofreading , gutenberg , drama , free-literature , mtbr-challenge , fictionth-century , german-literature.

MOOC's, educational materials, Free download available at Project Gutenberg. I made the proofing for Free Literature and it will be published by Project Gutenberg.

The original file is provided by Gallica - Biblioteque Nationale de France. Voici un extrait de la lettre que M. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe brought together allegory, mythology, and elements of magical realism to create his epic play Faust.

A very brief synopsis is: Faust, a learned gentleman, is burned out and seeks more in life. He feels like something is missing in his life, so he makes a deal with the devil to sell his soul if the devil can give him something which he never wants to end.

The devil takes the deal and the play follows different ways that Faust seeks that ultimate carnal knowledge and utopia which he thinks his soul is lacking.

The character Mephistopheles the devil incarnate was interesting and entertaining. I have to say that I enjoyed the 1st part of Faust much more than the 2nd half.

The 1st part made more sense and was easier to follow. The 2nd part was honestly over my head. When I get into Greek mythology and references to that I just have a lot of trouble following and comprehending or caring for that matter.

It was very difficult for me to slog through certain parts. Faust had its moments of brilliance. The contrasting of the characters Faust and Homunculus was interesting.

The play also felt a lot like Macbeth with the witches and Walpurgis Night scenes. Would I recommend Faust? Yes on part 1 which stands by itself.

I love the Faust myth by Goethe. It has engendered hundreds of imitations in literature my favorite being Thomas Mann's Dr Faustus and opera Busoni's is the craziest, Gounod's probably the loudest and movies well, too many to even name.

I have read various English translations and never been able to read the original German much to my regret. Nonetheless, it is an essential read.

Jan 09, sologdin rated it really liked it Shelves: of-best-sentence-and-moost-solaas , sympathy-for-the-devil. The absent masses, and the absent master.

This writing thus knows but one unrest, as two souls war within the text. RSB]; Oh never learn to know the other!

Two souls, alas, are dwelling in my breast, And one is striving [NB] to forsake its brother. Unto the world in grossly loving zest, With clinging tendrils, one adheres; The other rises forcibly in quest Of rarefied ancestral spheres.

He plainly associates the oikos, "our narrow den" with how the "light pervades our breast [Busen] again" , signifying a sophrosyne of sorts "fills the heart that knows itself" , the condition of possibility for "Reason again begins to speak" --the repetitive 'again' indicating that outside the oikos, the polis, works against these interests, which he endeavors to seek Two souls.

On the basis of unrequited desire: The god that dwells within my heart [Busen] Can stir my depths, I cannot hide-- Rules all my powers with relentless art, But cannot move the world outside; And thus existence is for me a weight, Death is desirable, and life I hate.

Faustus by contrast wants a bed of roses. Some haggling over the agreement here, which amounts to putting Faust in fetters and freeing Mephisto ff.

Another contrast with Marlowe. F is unable to do this, or unwilling—sorcery as very plainly cipher for labor power. I do not know you any more. Two souls war within his breast indeed!

As in Dante, Faust may be subjugating reason to appetite? Marlowe —radical absence, as in the dedication. Too much. Like a mountain overwhelms.

Infinite riches in a little room. Wealth hid within the massy entrails of the earth. This was a challenge, both in making myself tackle Part 2 as well as Part 1, and in choosing the most difficult of the translations that I have collected over the years.

At the same time, the resulting English does not read easily, which means that I prob This is a review of the Walter Arndt translation in the Norton Critical Edition.

At the same time, the resulting English does not read easily, which means that I probably read most pages twice.

But well worth it. A very great bonus here is the Norton critical edition. He is so articulate and reasoned in his opinion that you must translate as closely as possible to the form of the original.

They do, of course, and properly so; for it implies no reproach to either poet or translator to recognize that assonance, sonority, rhythm, rhyme, on the one hand, and syntax, grammar, phonology, semasiology of the linguistic code, on the other, are all hierarchical degrees and ranges of restriction.

They are weights, arms, and torques of the artistic balance between freedom and necessity of expression. Luckily he is also a very good poet, so that while the language may at times be a little difficult to penetrate, it is almost never lead-footed or clumsy.

Much of the poetry is truly beautiful. Arndt is also funny and scathing in his attitude toward those who translate more loosely, never hesitating to name names.

He must have been a real popular guy at academic conferences. To an artist who has it at his command, and to the reader or listener who knows the original, it was clearly the sole solution which could do elementary justice to the stringent demands of the model.

What could be plainer than the fact that in the transference, the bringing home of a work of poetry from another language, fidelity and prose are mutually exclusive goals?

Only the sort of musty, once-modish prejudice aired in TLS offers some clue to why many translators and reviewers seem unable to grasp that simple truth Besides all else it is, this poem is a sovereign Glasperlenspiel , by the magister ludi of German literature Arndt, of course, has the luxury of writing for an audience that is highly motivated to work through his poetry.

Most of his readers will already know the poem, or will be in a classroom with an instructor guiding them scene by scene. There are also footnotes on the relevant pages, and 35 pages of Interpretive Notes in a font so small I cannot bring myself to read them.

That is one drawback of the edition; the font is small and the pages dense. Both contributed to my inability to read for more than 15 pages or so at a time.

My main intent in this review is to offer a comparison of the several different translations I own, to help potential readers sort out which one they might want.

But I also want to mention the wealth of critical material in the second half of the edition. So, to the comparison. From Part I, in the study where Faust is about to make his pact with Mephistopheles.

First the German, then the translations, moving from the ones that adhere most closely to the original to those that are looser.

Verlucht voraus die hohe Meinung, Womit der Geist sich selbst umfangt! Verflucht das Blenden der Erscheinung, Die sich an unsre Sinne drangt!

Arndt Norton Critical Edition : My curse I hurl on all that spangles The mind with dazzling make-belief, With lures and blandishments entangles The soul within this cave of grief!

Accursed, to start, the smug delusion Whereby the mind itself ensnares! Cursed, brash phenomenal intrusion That blinds the senses unawares! Walter Kaufman Anchor : I now curse all that would enamor The human soul with lures and lies, Enticing it with flattering glamour To live on in this cave of sighs.

Cursed be the lofty self-opinion With which the mind itself deludes! A curse first on the high presences of our own intellectual pride!

I curse above all that false self-exaltation with which the mind befuddles itself. Cursed be the blinding of illusion that wraps our senses.

Baccalaureus: Dies ist der Jugend edelster Beruf! Mit mir begann der Mond des Wechsels Lauf. Da schmuckte sich der Tag auf meinen Wegen, die Erde grünte, blühte mir entengen.

The world was not until I made it be; I guided up the sun from out the sea; The moon began her changing course with me; And lo! Wayne: This is the noblest call for youthful soul!

The world was not, until I made it whole; I raised the sun from oceans where it lay; For me the moon began her changeful way; The day stood forth in beauty at my feet, The green earth blossomed my approach to greet.

I also want to mention another resource, particularly if you are going to attempt to read the original German. This is a three volume study version for English-speaking students of German, with extensive introductions and notes in English, the German text, and a full vocabulary volume.

That is true. After all this reading I am still befuddled. What a fun read!!! I went into it expecting poetry and denseness Instead it's a great romp with an imp and a poet.

I can see why it inspired so many retellings! Sheer fun and tonnes of jokes for us layfolk to chew on. My super fun review, if it doesn't charge you up to read it Apr 12, Furrawn rated it it was amazing.

I had forgotten just how incredible this book is I found myself writing lines down to try and memorize View all 22 comments.

Jan 25, Khashayar Mohammadi rated it really liked it Shelves: german-lit , classics , plays , faith-spirituality , mythology-folklore. Goethe's Faust is as impressive as Walter Kaufman's masterful translation.

If you're into stuff like this, you can read the full review. Apr 06, Mia rated it liked it Shelves: translated , cant-beat-the-classics , had-to-read-for-class , amorality-and-antiheroes.

So much has been written about this great work that I really have nothing to add to the conversation except the admittedly childish observation that when the characters narrate their sword fights it sounds hilariously sexual.

What could that So much has been written about this great work that I really have nothing to add to the conversation except the admittedly childish observation that when the characters narrate their sword fights it sounds hilariously sexual.

What could that be? My hand is getting lame. Well, I loved it. I loved it so much I read it twice, the second time annotating, and I spent so much time on it, I knew that I would not read as many books in as I wanted, because I spend all November and December writing.

Goethe is probably one of my favorite writers and thinkers. He did not invent Faust, but he reinvented him so well, that we will always think he created the myth.

It's personal for me. I wonder what Shelley thought when he heard of it. I wonder how people of that time emb Well, I loved it.

I wonder how people of that time embraced it. And it still resonates. Aug 03, Paul D. I hated, hated, hated this book. I liked the language and poetry of the translation I read.

I hated the moral. Unreconstructed, unrepentant, gross, nihilistic Romanticism. This book is evil.

It teaches that striving is what matters. Faust strives in seduction, fraud, war, debauchery, empire-building, and exploitation of nature.

For this he is redeemed. Apparently the b I hated, hated, hated this book. Apparently the book is extremely well structured and cultured.

The poetry mimics different kinds of classical plays and poems. It is absolutely bursting with allusions and references to classical figures and stories like the guts out of a fat, distended corpse.

Who cares? A parade of pedantic trivial minutiae does not gain profundity from its obscurantism. Whole chunks and sections of the book were simply impenetrable without notes.

That is less sophisticated writing than the literary equivalent to name-dropping insecurity. One portion truly bothered me.

Faust and Helen, representatives of German and Classical culture, marry and have a son. The hybrid is what Faust and a generation of German intellectuals tried to create.

Euphorion is a figure of overweening striving, one who reaches beyond the bounds of mortality. The German-classical hybrid, Faust seems to say, is nearly divine.

Euphorion plunges to his death—but it is portrayed as heroic. If our culture is the divine one, then the other human cultures are sub-standard, and we have an obligation to spread ours to others, whether others accept it willingly or not.

Faust was a proto-fascist. This weird, beautiful, complicated play was the work of Goethe's entire life; he wrote it over 60 years, and I doubt he was done when he died.

Part II was published posthumously in ; it had his, uh, prehumous approval, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't have been happy to spend another ten years tweaking it.

To call it an exploration of the Faust myth seems almost like an insult; it's more the distillation of everything he knew and believed, framed loosely by Faust.

And I do mean loosely. Th This weird, beautiful, complicated play was the work of Goethe's entire life; he wrote it over 60 years, and I doubt he was done when he died.

That's undoubtedly part of why it's so complicated. It abruptly switches scenes, themes, tone and meter; sometimes I was halfway through a scene before I even figured out what was going on.

It's one of the few works where, at the halfway mark, I was already imagining what it would be like when I read it again. That's a way of saying I didn't get it, and I didn't get it, at least not fully.

Hell, it's the entire life of one of our greatest thinkers; I'm not ashamed to admit it. It's also a way of saying that I'm not sure I picked the right translation.

I have nothing to compare it to, but Atkins' felt matter-of-fact - plodding - unpoetic. As well, the endnotes and introduction were cursory.

Jun 05, Mar rated it liked it. To catch but shifting shapes was his endeavor: The latest, poorest, emptiest Moment —this, — He wished to hold it fast forever.

Me he resisted in such vigorous wise, But Time is lord, on earth the old man lies. The clock stands still— " Mephistopheles.

Readers also enjoyed. About Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was a German writer. Print Cite.

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The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica Encyclopaedia Britannica's editors oversee subject areas in which they have extensive knowledge, whether from years of experience gained by working on that content or via study for an advanced degree See Article History.

Read More on This Topic. Work on Faust accompanied Goethe throughout his adult life. Of a possible plan in to dramatize the story of Learn More in these related Britannica articles:.

Of a possible plan in to dramatize the story of the man who sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for earthly fulfillment, perhaps including his ultimate redemption, no firm evidence survives.

Wikimedia Commons Wikiquote. I've never been called on it either. Thus the tendency is to contract rather than to expand the acknowledged excellences of the language. The Times. It is much too crude Social Facebook Games call Faust an allegory for a man's turbulent journey through life, but it is not wholly without support. The world was not until I made it be; I guided up the sun from out the sea; The Faust By began her changing course with me; And lo! What want you thus? In two! I suppose at the Casino Titan No Deposit Bonus Codes May 2017 conspicuous part: The language, it was strangely various; Both in style and Free Slot Casino Play, it was multifarious. It has engendered hundreds of imitations in literature my favorite being Thomas Mann's Dr Faustus and opera Busoni's is the craziest, Gounod's Clearwater Casino the loudest and movies well, too many to even name. Faust By Faust By

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