[Note: This piece about the German poet Hans Enzensberger has been sent in by Anne Boileau who presented him at the Poetry Café on May 26th — see  Events and Meetings. S.H.]

Hans Magnus Enzensberger was born in 1929 in Kaufbeuren, Bavaria and grew up in Nurnberg. This was an exciting time for a boy – destruction, bombings, death, bulletins, and after the war, shortages, very little government, near anarchy. He realized at a young age that his country had not only been defeated but was in deep disgrace, a pariah throughout the world. He vowed to learn languages and leave Germany behind. While still at school he made friends with American servicemen based at the Nurnberg airbase and earned pocket money interpreting and translating for them, and trading on the black market. He observed the collective amnesia about Germany’s recent past, the fact that cities were in ruins but no one commented on it: “There was no self reflection for a long time in the media in postwar Germany.”

He studied foreign languages, linguistics and Philosophy at various universities, including the Sorbonne and after gaining a doctorate worked as a radio producer. He travelled widely in Scandinavia, the US, Mexico and South America; from 1968-69 he lived in Cuba and for several years on a small island in Norway.

He is an accomplished linguist. He has edited an influential periodical called Kursbuch, and is eminent as a critic, translator and contributor to all the media. He has re-invented the art of essay writing; his writings cover in an often rather quirky style all sorts of topics, politics, the environment, philosophy. He also writes under a pseudonym. (Ref: Michael Hamburger, one of his translators.)

But it is his poetry which I chiefly want to talk to you about.

He says the poet is an omnivore, not a specialist. He thinks a poem should be accessible and easy to understand on one level, while at the same time have layers of other meaning which can be peeled away like onion skins. He does not claim to be prescient, but is an observer and critic. Rather than saying straight out that something is bad, he paints an image or a scene, often with humour, to say what he means in a more original and memorable way.

He hates tyranny and dictators. “If Hitler had survived I would not have been tolerated – I’d have been done away with. I’ve been lucky, I have said what I like, not been sent into exile or put in prison. Poetry is risky. If you take on the risk it’s wrong to complain.”

He loves Europe – there is nowhere better in the world – but is appalled at the growing level of bureaucracy- Brussels is a sort of Politburo, it meets behind closed doors.

George Steiner writes: “HME is a poet of formidable intelligence and range, like Brecht before him he combines an intense political imagination with lyric gusto. The reader discovers in him both a satirist and a friend.”

An example of his work :

blindlings

siegreich sein
wird die sache der sehenden
die einäugigen
haben sich in die hand genommen
die macht ergriffen
und den blinden zum könig gemacht

an der abgeriegelten grenze stehen
blindekuhspielende polizisten
zuweilen erhaschen sie einen augenarzt
nach dem gefahndet wird
wegen staatsgefährdender umtriebe

sämtliche leitende herren tragen
ein schwarzes pflästerchen
über dem rechten aug
auf den fundämtern schimmeln
abgeliefert von blindenhunden
herrenlose lupen und brillen

strebsame junge astronomen
lassen sich glasaugen einsetzen
weitblickende eltern
unterrichten ihre kinder beizeiten
in der fortschrittlichen kunst des schielens

der feind schwärzt borwasser ein
für die bindehaut seiner agenten
anständige bürger aber trauen
mit rücksicht auf die verhältnisse
ihren augen nicht
streuen sich pfeffer und salz ins gesicht
betasten weinend die sehenswürdigkeitenund erlernen die blindenschrift

der könig soll kürzlich erklärt haben
er blicke voll zuversicht in die zukunft

from   Landesprache   Suhrkamp 1962

blindly

victory will go
to the sighted ones
those with one eye
have joined hands
seized power
and made the blind man king

at the heavily armed  border policemen are playing blind-man’s-buff
while on the hunt for an eye doctor
who is wanted
for activities dangerous to the state

all the prominent gentlemen wear
a small black patch
over their right eye
in lost property offices
abandoned lenses and spectacles
brought in by guide dogs gather dust

assiduous young astronomers
are getting glass eyes fitted
while far-seeing parents
instruct their children
in the progressive art of squinting

the enemy is smuggling in eyewash
for the conjunctiva of his agents
but decent citizens
considering the circumstances
do not trust their eyes
throw pepper and salt into their own faces
weep while running their hands
over works of art
and are studying Braille

they say the king has just declared
that he looks to the future  with
confidence.

Translation: Anne Boileau