Johann Christian Friedrich Hölderlin was a major German lyric poet, commonly associated with the artistic movement known as Romanticism.
The poetry of Hölderlin, widely recognized today as one of the highest points of German literature, was little known or understood during his lifetime and slipped into obscurity shortly after his death; his illness and reclusion made him fade from his contemporaries' consciousness – and, even though selections of his work were being published by his friends already during his lifetime, it was largely ignored for the rest of the 19th century.
In fact, Hölderlin was a man of his time, an early supporter of the French Revolution – in his ... more »
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Friedrich Holderlin Poems
Hyperion's Song Of Destiny
Holy spirits, you walk up there in the light, on soft earth. Shining god-like breezes
Bread and Wine
Round about the city rests. The illuminated streets grow Quiet, and coaches rush along, adorned with torches. Men go home to rest, filled with the day's pleasures; Busy minds weigh up profit and loss contentedly
The god Is near, and hard to grasp. But where there is danger, A rescuing element grows as well.
The fruits are ripe, dipped in fire, Cooked and sampled on earth. And there's a law, That things crawl off in the manner of snakes,
Half of Life
With its yellow pears And wild roses everywhere The shore hangs into the lake, O gracious swans,
1. It is still bright night in the Alps, and a cloud, Authoring joyfulness, covers the yawning valley.
The northeast blows, my favorite among winds, since it promises fiery spirit and a good voyage to mariners.
Out For A Walk
The margins of the forest are beautiful, as if painted onto the green slopes. I walk around, and sweet peace rewards me for the thorns
When I Was A Boy
When I was a boy a god would often rescue me from the shouting and violence of humans. Then, safe and well, I would play
The Course Of Life
You too wanted better things, but love forces all of us down. Sorrow bends us more forcefully, but the arc doesn't return to its
At The Middle Of Life
The earth hangs down to the lake, full of yellow pears and wild roses. Lovely swans, drunk with
It's not yet Time. They are still Unbound. And the indifferent don't care About godly matters.
Celebration Of Peace
The holy, familiar hall, built long ago, Is aired, and filled with heavenly, Softly echoing, quietly modulating music.
Suevia, my mother, happy land! You also are like your more shining sister Lombardy over there Flowed through by a hundred streams
Comments about Friedrich Holderlin
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Hyperion's Song Of Destiny
Holy spirits, you walk up there
in the light, on soft earth.
Shining god-like breezes
touch upon you gently,
as a woman's fingers
play music on holy strings.
Like sleeping infants the gods
breathe without any plan;
the spirit flourishes continually
in them, chastely kept,
as in a small bud,
and their holy eyes
look out in still
A place to rest
isn't given to us.
decline and blindly fall
from one hour to the next,
like water thrown
from cliff to cliff,