Die Hunde freunden gern sich an Mit jedermann. Wenig nur ist uns bekannt Trotz unsrem Freundschaftsband. To a Cat I Stately, kindly, lordly friend, Condescend Here to sit by me, and turn Glorious eyes that smile and burn, Golden eyes, love's lustrous meed, On the golden page I read. All your wondrous wealth of hair, Dark and fair, Silken-shaggy, soft and bright As the clouds and beams of night, Pays my reverent hand's caress Back with friendlier gentleness.
Dogs may fawn on all and some As they come; You, a friend of loftier mind, Answer friends alone in kind. Just your foot upon my hand Softly bids it understand. Morning round this silent sweet Garden-seat Sheds its wealth of gathering light, Thrills the gradual clouds with might, Changes woodland, orchard, heath, Lawn, and garden there beneath. Fair and dim they gleamed below: Now they glow Deep as even your sunbright eyes, Fair as even the wakening skies. Can it not or can it be Now that you give thanks to see?
May not you rejoice as I, Seeing the sky Change to heaven revealed, and bid Earth reveal the heaven it hid All night long from stars and moon, Now the sun sets all in tune? What within you wakes with day Who can say? All too little may we tell, Friends who like each other well, What might haply, if we might, Bid us read our lives aright.
II Wild on woodland ways your sires Flashed like fires: Fair as flame and fierce and fleet As with wings on wingless feet Shone and sprang your mother, free, Bright and brave as wind or sea. Free and proud and glad as they, Here to-day Rests or roams their radiant child, Vanquished not, but reconciled, Free from curb of aught above Save the lovely curb of love. Love through dreams of souls divine Fain would shine Round a dawn whose light and song Then should right our mutual wrong — Speak, and seal the love-lit law Sweet Assisi's seer foresaw.
Dreams were theirs; yet haply may Dawn a day When such friends and fellows born, Seeing our earth as fair at morn, May for wiser love's sake see More of heaven's deep heart than we. Algernon Charles Swinburne, gest. Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind. Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht? Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif. Du liebes Kind, komm geh' mit mir! Willst feiner Knabe du mit mir geh'n?
Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh'es genau: Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe — Comment The Erl-King O who rides by night thro' the woodland so wild? It is the fond father embracing his child; And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm.
My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy; She shall bear three so lightlyt thro' wet and thro' wild, And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child. Sir Walter Scott — Comment The poetry corner - Vol. Translation Nuit d'hiver Nikolaus Lenau: Traduction The Owls Baudelaire: Translation Premature Spring Goethe: Translation This is ecstasy Verlaine: Translation The Spring Oracle Goethe: Translation Anonym — anonym Wo wohnen denn die Feen im Winter?
Pour faire le portrait d'un oiseau. Hunters in the Snow. A Stopwatch and an Ordnance Map. Translation Tagesanbruch Stephen Spender: A Spring Rain Song. Translation Akropolis Lawrence Durrell: Wolfsskin Denn Du bist nicht allein Anonym: The Man He Killed. Translation Sonett 98 Shakespeare. The Arrow and the Song. When coldness wraps this suffering clay.
Theodor Storm — Comment Darf es nochmals Oskar Werner sein? Herbsttag von Rilke http: Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr. Your summer's reign was grand. Comment Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky. Er ruht in der Wiege so sanft und traut. Dann die Predigt, wunderbar, Eine Predigt ohne Gleichen. Durch die Sommerherrlichkeit Schwirren Schwalben, flattern Falter.
Detlev von Liliencron — Kein deutsches Reich, nicht Schwarz, Roth, Gold! Blickt in die Zukunft! Ja, ein neu Panier Wird Deutschlands Volk einst siegreich schwingen: Blue The earth again like a ship steams out of the dark sea over The edge of the blue, and the sun stands up to see us glide Slowly into another day; slowly the rover Vessel of darkness takes the rising tide. I, on the deck, am startled by this dawn confronting Me who am issued amazed from the darkness, stripped And quailing here in the sunshine, delivered from haunting The night unsounded whereon our days are shipped.
I with the night on my lips, I sigh with the silence of death; And what do I care though the very stones should cry me unreal, though the clouds Shine in conceit of substance upon me, who am less than the rain. Do I know the darkness within them? What are they but shrouds? The clouds go down the sky with a wealthy ease Casting a shadow of scorn upon me for my share in death; but I Hold my own in the midst of them, darkling, defy The whole of the day to extinguish the shadow I lift on the breeze. And I know the host, the minute sparkling of darkness Which vibrates untouched and virile through the grandeur of night, But which, when dawn crows challenge, assaulting the vivid motes Of living darkness, bursts fretfully, and is bright: Runs like a fretted arc-lamp into light, Stirred by conflict to shining, which else Were dark and whole with the night.
Runs to a fret of speed like a racing wheel, Which else were aslumber along with the whole Of the dark, swinging rhythmic instead of a-reel. Is chafed to anger, bursts into rage like thunder; Which else were a silent grasp that held the heavens Arrested, beating thick with wonder. Leaps like a fountain of blue sparks leaping In a jet from out of obscurity, Which erst was darkness sleeping.
Runs into streams of bright blue drops, Water and stones and stars, and myriads Of twin-blue eyes, and crops Of floury grain, and all the hosts of day, All lovely hosts of ripples caused by fretting The Darkness into play. David Herbert Lawrence — Kenne ich die Dunkelheit in ihnen? Muth, Muth, Arme ringende Menschenseele! Gustav Sack — Blue Sky. I do not like you like this, not this cloudless braggart. Dann wieder Stille, als ob selber Gott als Alp auf seiner Erde lastete Christian Morgenstern — Besondere Bekanntheit erreichte seine komische Lyrik, die jedoch nur einen Teil seines Werkes ausmacht.
Wie perlenschwer Die Pflanzen umher! How pearls have crown'd The plants all around! How sighs the breeze Thro' thicket and trees! How loudly in the sun's clear rays The sweet birds carol forth their lays! It plane lee marks four my revue Miss Steaks I can knot sea. Ein Schatten - die Wirklichkeit. December 1] — October 9, was a Russian poet, prose writer, dramatist, translator, critic and historian. He was one of the principal members of the Russian Symbolist movement.
November ebenda war eine deutsche Frauenrechtlerin und Schriftstellerin. Der Regulatorhebel steigt nach links; der Eisenstier harrt dieses Winks Nun bafft vom Rauchrohr Kraftgeschnauf: Nun springt es auf! Gerrit Engelke — Alfred Wolfenstein — Comment There Is Another Sky There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin, Never mind silent fields - Here is a little forest, Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear the bright bee hum: Prithee, my brother, Into my garden come!
Emily Dickinson — Wallace Stevens — http: Das Gras ist voll Und voll von dir selbst. Comment Dann, wenn du gehst Dann, wenn Du gehst, scheinst Du mir nie gewesen. Es ging so leise, wie es kam. In meiner Brust erlosch das Licht. Comment Eve-Song I span and Eve span A thread to bind the heart of man; But the heart of man was a wandering thing That came and went with little to bring: But one prize is beyond his reach: The Ogre cannot master Speech.
August durch einmarschierende Truppen des Warschauer Paktes niedergeschlagen. Der sonst so flink ist, nun der matte Steife. Wie ist der stolze Vogel nun so zahm! Sie necken ihn mit ihren Tabakspfeifen, Verspotten seinen Gang, der schwach und lahm. Therese Robinson — Damit gibst Du mir Wind in meine Segel. Poesie funktioniert nun mal anders als Mathematik. Comment Zur Abwechslung mal ein klassisches Liebesgedicht und weil es Sonntagabend ist Ich habe dich so lieb Ich habe dich so lieb!
Ich habe dir nichts getan. Nun ist mir traurig zu Mut. Die Zeit entstellt alle Lebewesen. Er kann nicht lesen. Er kann nicht schreiben. Ich habe dich so lieb. Detlev von Liliencron - Comment Venus Pandemos Das war das letzte Mal. Keiner schien das Paar zu kennen. Es wurde immer stiller durch den Raum; sie blickten alle auf den stummen Mann und auf das sonderbar geduckte Weib.
Jetzt stand sie auf. Sie ging; er folgte automatisch nach. Comment The Summer Rain My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read, 'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large Down in the meadow, where is richer feed, And will not mind to hit their proper targe. Plutarch was good, and so was Homer too, Our Shakespeare's life were rich to live again, What Plutarch read, that was not good nor true, Nor Shakespeare's books, unless his books were men. Here while I lie beneath this walnut bough, What care I for the Greeks or for Troy town, If juster battles are enacted now Between the ants upon this hummock's crown?
Bid Homer wait till I the issue learn, If red or black the gods will favor most, Or yonder Ajax will the phalanx turn, Struggling to heave some rock against the host. Tell Shakespeare to attend some leisure hour, For now I've business with this drop of dew, And see you not, the clouds prepare a shower-- I'll meet him shortly when the sky is blue. This bed of herd's grass and wild oats was spread Last year with nicer skill than monarchs use. A clover tuft is pillow for my head, And violets quite overtop my shoes.
And now the cordial clouds have shut all in, And gently swells the wind to say all's well; The scattered drops are falling fast and thin, Some in the pool, some in the flower-bell. I am well drenched upon my bed of oats; But see that globe come rolling down its stem, Now like a lonely planet there it floats, And now it sinks into my garment's hem. Drip drip the trees for all the country round, And richness rare distills from every bough; The wind alone it is makes every sound, Shaking down crystals on the leaves below. For shame the sun will never show himself, Who could not with his beams e'er melt me so; My dripping locks--they would become an elf, Who in a beaded coat does gayly go.
Her ear is heavy, She broods on the world. Who has mixed my boy's bread? Who, with sadness and madness, Has turned my child's head? Deep love lieth under These pictures of time; They fade in the light of Their meaning sublime.
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The Lethe of Nature Can't trance him again, Whose soul sees the perfect, Which his eyes seek in vain. Have I a lover Who is noble and free? Love works at the centre, Heart-heaving alway; Forth speed the strong pulses To the borders of day. I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow; Of thine eye I am eyebeam. So take thy quest through nature, It through thousand natures ply; Ask on, thou clothed eternity; Time is the false reply. She stood Monadnoc's head.
Thorough a thousand voices Spoke the universal dame; "Who telleth one of my meanings Is master of all I am. Kein Vogel singt im Feld. Sie schaun sich an verstohlen Und fragen dem Schlaf nichts nach. Comment Venetian Glass As one who sails upon a wide, blue sea Far out of sight of land, his mind intent Upon the sailing of his little boat, On tightening ropes and shaping fair his course, Hears suddenly, across the restless sea, The rhythmic striking of some towered clock, And wakes from thoughtless idleness to time: Time, the slow pulse which beats eternity!
So through the vacancy of busy life At intervals you cross my path and bring The deep solemnity of passing years. For you I have shed bitter tears, for you I have relinquished that for which my heart Cried out in selfish longing. And to-night Having just left you, I can say: Thank God that I have known a soul so true, So nobly just, so worthy to be loved! Die Pferde scheun und bleiben zitternd stehn. Ohne sich lang zu bedenken, sprangen sie, der Bock voraus, hinunter und stillten ihren Durst. Der Fuchs beruhigte ihn und sagte: Mit einem Sprung war der Fuchs gerettet und spottete nun des Bocks voll Schadenfreude, der ihn hingegen mit Recht der Treulosigkeit beschuldigte.
Endlich nahm der Fuchs Abschied und sagte: Wie dumpfes Unkraut lass' vermodern, was in dir noch des Glaubens ist: Comment The Moon Time wears her not; she doth his chariot guide; Mortality below her orb is placed. She does not wane, but my fortune, Which her rays do not bless, My wayward path declineth soon, But she shines not the less. And if she faintly glimmers here, And paled is her light, Yet alway in her proper sphere She's mistress of the night. Henry David Thoreau — Viele Geschicke weben neben dem meinen, durcheinander spielt sie all das Dasein, und mein Teil ist mehr als dieses Lebens schlanke Flamme oder schmale Leier.
Comment Sea Fever I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,. Hugo von Hofmannsthal - He who, secure within, can say, Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today. Be fair or foul or rain or shine The joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. Not Heaven itself upon the past has power, But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour. John Dryden — Sie denkt allein ihn zu verschlingen. Das soll ihr aber nicht gelingen. Sie ziehn ihn in die Quere, Das tut ihm weh gar sehre.
Ob das ihm wohl was helfen kann? Die beiden Enten raufen, Da hat der Frosch gut laufen. Die Enten haben sich besunnen Und suchen den Frosch im Brunnen. Sie suchen ihn im Wasserrohr, Der Frosch springt aber schnell hervor. Da kommt der Koch herbei sogleich Und lacht: Jetzt raucht er wieder, Gott sei Dank! And prayer is made, and praise is given, By all things near and far; The ocean looketh up to heaven, And mirrors every star.
Its waves are kneeling on the strand, As kneels the human knee, Their white locks bowing to the sand, The priesthood of the sea! They pour their glittering treasures forth, Their gifts of pearl they bring, And all the listening hills of earth Take up the song they sing. The green earth sends its incense up From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewy cup She pours her sacred wine. The mists above the morning rills Rise white as wings of prayer; The altar-curtains of the hills Are sunset's purple air.
The winds with hymns of praise are loud, Or low with sobs of pain,-- The thunder-organ of the cloud, The dropping tears of rain. With drooping head and branches crossed The twilight forest grieves, Or speaks with tongues of Pentecost From all its sunlit leaves. The blue sky is the temple's arch, Its transept earth and air, The music of its starry march The chorus of a prayer. So Nature keeps the reverent frame With which her years began, And all her signs and voices shame The prayerless heart of man. John Greenleaf Whittier Comment Leisure Leisure, thou goddess of a bygone age,:: When hours were long and days sufficed to hold:: Wide-eyed delights and pleasures uncontrolled By shortening moments, when no gaunt presage Of undone duties, modern heritage,:: Haunted our happy minds; must thou withhold:: Thy presence from this over-busy world, And bearing silence with thee disengage:: Deeps of unhewn woods:: Alone can cherish thee, alone possess Thy quiet, teeming vigor.
Not to have worshipped, marred by alien moods:: That sole condition of all loveliness, The dreaming lapse of slow, unmeasured time. Amy Lowell — Comment Enough I am wearing dark glasses inside the house To match my dark mood. Meiner Seele unendliche See Ebbet langsam in sanfter Flut. Guitarren klimpern, rote Kittel schimmern. Im Park erblicken zitternd sich Geschwister. Georg Trakl — Heute aber, als ich Abschied nahm, achselzuckt ich: Und jener Freund dachte wohl schon damals: Auden — http: Ihr seid die Bogen, von denen eure Kinder als lebende Pfeile ausgeschickt werden.
Comment Auguries of Innocence To see a world in a grain of sand, And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, And eternity in an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage. A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state. A horse misused upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing. The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight Does the rising sun affright. Every wolf's and lion's howl Raises from hell a human soul. The wild deer, wand'ring here and there, Keeps the human soul from care. The lamb misus'd breeds public strife, And yet forgives the butcher's knife. The bat that flits at close of eve Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night Speaks the unbeliever's fright. He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be belov'd by men. He who the ox to wrath has mov'd Shall never be by woman lov'd. The wanton boy that kills the fly Shall feel the spider's enmity. He who torments the chafer's sprite Weaves a bower in endless night. The caterpillar on the leaf Repeats to thee thy mother's grief. Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war Shall never pass the polar bar. The beggar's dog and widow's cat, Feed them and thou wilt grow fat. The gnat that sings his summer's song Poison gets from slander's tongue. The poison of the snake and newt Is the sweat of envy's foot. The poison of the honey bee Is the artist's jealousy. The prince's robes and beggar's rags Are toadstools on the miser's bags. A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent. It is right it should be so; Man was made for joy and woe; And when this we rightly know, Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine. Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine. The babe is more than swaddling bands; Every farmer understands. Every tear from every eye Becomes a babe in eternity; This is caught by females bright, And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar, Are waves that beat on heaven's shore. The babe that weeps the rod beneath Writes revenge in realms of death. The beggar's rags, fluttering in air, Does to rags the heavens tear. The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun, Palsied strikes the summer's sun. The poor man's farthing is worth more Than all the gold on Afric's shore. One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands Shall buy and sell the miser's lands; Or, if protected from on high, Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith Shall be mock'd in age and death. He who shall teach the child to doubt The rotting grave shall ne'er get out. He who respects the infant's faith Triumphs over hell and death. The child's toys and the old man's reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. The questioner, who sits so sly, Shall never know how to reply. He who replies to words of doubt Doth put the light of knowledge out. The strongest poison ever known Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
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Nought can deform the human race Like to the armour's iron brace. When gold and gems adorn the plow, To peaceful arts shall envy bow. A riddle, or the cricket's cry, Is to doubt a fit reply. The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please. If the sun and moon should doubt, They'd immediately go out. To be in a passion you good may do, But no good if a passion is in you. The whore and gambler, by the state Licensed, build that nation's fate. The harlot's cry from street to street Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse, Dance before dead England's hearse. Every night and every morn Some to misery are born, Every morn and every night Some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night. We are led to believe a lie When we see not thro' the eye, Which was born in a night to perish in a night, When the soul slept in beams of light. God appears, and God is light, To those poor souls who dwell in night; But does a human form display To those who dwell in realms of day. Comment Der andere Mann Du lernst ihn in einer Gesellschaft kennen.
Er ist zu dir nett. Er kann dir alle Tenniscracks nennen. Er sieht gut aus. Du siehst ihn dir an Dann tritt zu euch beiden dein Mann. Dein Mann kommt nicht gut dabei weg. Und hinten am Hals der Speck! Und du denks bei dir so: Dann siehst du ihn in Freude und Zorn, Von oben und unten, von hinten und vorn Wir sind manchmal reizend, auf einer Feier Und den Rest des Tages ganz wie Herr Meyer. Beurteil uns nie nach den besten Stunden. Aug', mein Aug', was sinkst du nieder? Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Er warb, wie Herrscher werben. Nicht mit Worten, und nicht mit Blicken. Da aber sank der blaue Mantel nieder.
Dir o Weib zeig ich mich wahr: Die Frau entfloh voll Graun. Comment Pigeon Any time I happen to open my front door. He recently took early retirement from his job as a teacher of English at Winchester College and moved to Ely with his partner, the poet Wendy Cope. Comment Chan fhaca mi aingeal no naomh, ach chuala mi fuaim na mara agus eilean mo chridhe na theis meadhan. Angel nor saint have I seen, but I have heard the roar of the Western sea, and the isle of my heart is in the midst of it. Da macht ein Hauch mich von Verfall erzittern.
Die Amsel klagt in den entlaubten Zweigen. Comment Herbstgedichte 2 Dies ist ein Herbsttag, wie ich keinen sah! Comment Discovered Seen you down at chu'ch las' night, Nevah min', Miss Lucy.
You was sma't ez sma't could be, But you could n't hide f'om me. Ain't I got two eyes to see! Guess you thought you's awful keen; Evahthing you done, I seen; Seen him tek yo' ahm jes' so, When he got outside de do'-- Oh, I know dat man's yo' beau! Say now, honey, wha'd he say?
Nevah min', Miss Lucy! Keep yo' secrets--dat's yo' way Won't tell me an' I'm yo' pal! Paul Laurence Dunbar — Amerikanischer Schriftsteller. Er war einer der ersten schwarzen Dichter, die in den gesamten Vereinigten Staaten Anerkennung erlangten. To Christ Our Lord I caught this morning morning's minion, king- dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy!
My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird,--the achieve of; the mastery of the thing! Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here Buckle! And the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier! No wonder of it: Thronfolger, -erbe, Herzog dapple: Schleier, Kopftuch to plod: Asche, Gluit to gall: Comment Sonnet d'automne Ils me disent, tes yeux, clairs comme le cristal: Je hais la passion et l'esprit me fait mal! Je connais les engins de son vieil arsenal: Crime, horreur et folie!
Charles Baudelaire — Comment Autumn Sonnet Your eyes like crystal ask me, clear and mute, "in me, strange lover, what do you admire? Roy Campbell — Autumn Sonnet They say to me, thy clear and crystal eyes: My heart and soul despise All save that antique brute-like faith of thine;. Sturm — Rainer Maria Rilke, gest. Comment Aus Faust 1. Teil Osterspaziergang [Faust sieht im Gebirge die Sonne untergehen. Was schein die Flur nur heut so leer?
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Ferdinand Avenarius — Sunflower Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun; Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my Sunflower wishes to go!
Comment A littel Weinachtsgedicht [aus urheberrechtl. Comment Das gilt sogar bis 70 Jahre nach seinem Tod ;-. Carl Busse - Comment Damit das Gedicht nicht ganz verloren geht, verlinke ich es mal: Februar in Linz Vadder Abraham Musik: September in Klagenfurt Nur mal so aus Interesse: Welches Urheberrecht gilt denn jetzt? Das des Autoren oder das des Musikers? Comment penguin, das hat doch niemand bestritten. Entschjuldigung, dass ich etwas gefragt habe. Comment Aber gefragt hatte doch Chaostranslater, dessen Frage nach dem Vorrang des Urheberrechts ich allerdings nicht beantworten kann.
Sonnet When as my minde exemed was from caire, Among the Nymphis my self I did repose: Where I gaue eare to one, who did prepaire Her sugred voice this sequele to disclose. And thow who wrytes in stately verse and prose, This glorious Kings immortall gloire display. Tell how he doeth in tender yearis essay Aboue his age with skill our arts to blaise. Tell how he doeth with gratitude repay The crowne he wan for his deserued praise.
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Tell how of Ioue, of Mars, but more of God. The gloire and grace he hath proclaimed abrod. Comment The Visitor http: Am Abendweiher starben die Blumen, Ein erschrockener Amselruf. Vergebliche Hoffnung des Lebens. Bitte beachtet aber beim Webposting den Urheberschutz. Das Copyright gilt im allgemeinen noch 70 Jahre nach dem Tod des Autors. Comment Night Movement—New York http: Florida Road Workers http: Comment Eine kleine Lebenshilfe.
Wegen des Urheberrechts leider nur verlinkt. Maybe at last, being but a broken man, I must be satisfied with my heart, although Winter and summer till old age began My circus animals were all on show, Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot, Lion and woman and the Lord knows what. II What can I but enumerate old themes? First that sea-rider Oisin led by the nose Through three enchanted islands, allegorical dreams, Vain gaiety, vain battle, vain repose, Themes of the embittered heart, or so it seems, That might adorn old songs or courtly shows; But what cared I that set him on to ride, I, starved for the bosom of his faery bride?
And then a counter-truth filled out its play, 'The Countess Cathleen' was the name I gave it; She, pity-crazed, had given her soul away, But masterful Heaven had intetvened to save it. I thought my dear must her own soul destroy, So did fanaticism and hate enslave it, And this brought forth a dream and soon enough This dream itself had all my thought and love. And when the Fool and Blind Man stole the bread Cuchulain fought the ungovernable sea; Heart-mysteries there, and yet when all is said It was the dream itself enchanted me: Character isolated by a deed To engross the present and dominate memory.
III Those masterful images because complete Grew in pure mind, but out of what began? A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street, Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can, Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone, I must lie down where all the ladders start In the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart. William Butler Yeats — http: Comment Jetzt reifen schon die roten Berberitzen Jetzt reifen schon die roten Berberitzen, alternde Astern atmen schwach im Beet.
Wer jetzt nicht reich ist, da der Sommer geht, wird immer warten und sich nie besitzen. Rainer Maria Rilke — Comment I am most lovely I am most lovely, fair beyond desire: My breasts are sweet, my hair is soft and bright, And every movement flows by instinct right: Full well I know my touch doth burn like fire, That my voice stings the sense like smitten lyre; I am the queen of sensuous delight; Past years are sealed with the signet of my might; And at my feet pale present kneels a buyer. My beds are odorous with soft-shed scent, And strange moon flowers a tremulous twilight air Weave over all; and here, alone I sing My siren songs, until all souls are bent Within the subtle sweet melodious snare.
God, making love, made me love's grievous sting. George Moore — Comment Taffy is a Welshman http: Alun Rees Former journalist, one of Wales's leading poets. No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead.
When true hearts lie wither'd, And fond ones are flown, Oh! Thomas Moore — Die kannte ich noch nicht. Hier ist das Original. The Haunted Palace In the greenest of our valleys By good angels tenanted, Once a fair and stately palace-- Radiant palace--raised its head. In the monarch Thought's dominion It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion Over fabric half so fair! Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow This--all this--was in the olden Time long ago , And every gentle air that dallied In that sweet day, Upon the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away. Wanderers in that happy valley, Through two luminous windows, saw Spirits moving musically To a lute's well-timed law.
Round about a throne where, sitting, Porphyrogene! In state his glory well befitting, The ruler of the realm was seen. And all with pearl and ruby glowing Was the fair palace-door, Through which came, flowing, flowing, flowing, And sparkling everymore, A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty Was but to sing In voices of surpassing beauty The wit and wisdom of their king. But evil things, in robes of sorrow, Assailed the monarch's high estate. Ah, let us mourn--for never morrow Shall dawn upon him desolate!
And round about his house of glory That blushed and bloomed Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed. And travelers, now, within that valley Through the red-litten windows see Vast forms that move fantastically To a discordant melody, While, like a ghastly, rapid river, Through the pale door A hideous throng rush out forever And laugh--but smile no more. Edgar Allan Poe — Phantasus Heft 1 Nacht. Wie kalt, wie kalt! Da sagt der Landmann: Ihr Abendglocken lang und leise Gebt noch zum Ende frohen Mut.
Es ist der Liebe milde Zeit. Viel Stroh und Heu; Ein paar Gedichte sind auch dabei. Juli Magdalene, Margarethe Weinen gern allebeede. Feuer im Kamin; Nun singe mit Luthern: Hat sichs ausgeschneit, Wirst du Palmen schneiden. Comment Song-Day in Autumn When the autumn roses Are heavy with dew, Before the mist discloses The leaf's brown hue, You would, among the laughing hills Of yesterday Walk innocent in the daffodils, Coiffing up your auburn hair In a puritan fillet, a chaste white snare To catch and keep me with you there So far away.
When from the autumn roses Trickles the dew, When the blue mist uncloses And the sun looks through, You from those startled hills Come away, Out of the withering daffodils; Thoughtful, and half afraid, Plaiting a heavy, auburn braid And coiling it round the wise brows of a maid Who was scared in her play.
When in the autumn roses Creeps a bee, And a trembling flower encloses His ecstasy, You from your lonely walk Turn away, And leaning to me like a flower on its stalk, Wait among the beeches For your late bee who beseeches To creep through your loosened hair till he reaches, Your heart of dismay. Doch, ich will mein Bestes tun, Nach der Arbeit ist gut ruhn. Gotthold Ephraim Lessing — Vergieb der Sehnsucht Dieses Herzens, ich denke Roms. Comment Abendlicher Reigen 2. Lange schaut der Mond herein. Dann sprach noch weiter sie: Dich macht nicht Kranz noch Kleid Zu dem, was ich.
Comment Der Radwechsel Bertolt Brecht — http: Joachim Ringelnatz — Agnes Miegel — Hinauf - hinaus der Mieter zog - Geht alles seinen Gang. Der Herbstwind nach dem Sommer weht - Geht alles seinen Gang. Geht alles seinen Gang - Wie lang? Comment The Crocus Beneath the sunny autumn sky, With gold leaves dropping round, We sought, my little friend and I, The consecrated ground, Where, calm beneath the holy cross, O'ershadowed by sweet skies, Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form, Those blue unclouded eyes.
Around the soft, green swelling mound We scooped the earth away, And buried deep the crocus-bulbs Against a coming day. In blue and yellow from its grave Springs up the crocus fair, And God shall raise those bright blue eyes, Those sunny waves of hair. Not for a fading summer's morn, Not for a fleeting hour, But for an endless age of bliss, Shall rise our heart's dear flower. Harriet Beecher Stowe — Paul Gerhardt - 51 Autor mars 21 Aug 11 Comment Als man Raureif noch mit 'h' schrieb Comment Leisure What is this life if, full of care We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass, No time to see, in broad day light, Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at beauty's glance And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. William Henry Davies — Comment Fragment What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of coloured stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern?
Rather glass that's taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make Beauty a thing of awe; where sunbeams caught, Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion's sake. Amy Lowell — Fragment Was ist Poesie? Ist sie ein Mosaik aus farbigen Steinen, die in ein ausgefallenes Muster verwoben sind?
Wo man oft lange widerstand, Ein gutes Wort leicht Eingang fand. Johann Gottfried Herder Ob ich den Zwist entscheide? Wird noch die Frage seyn. Ich suche mich durch Beyde Im Stillen zu erfreu'n. Friedrich von Hagedorn The Competition My girl and my wine resolved to disentwine. How can I stand such pressure? It's time now to define: In secret I shall treasure them both - and both be mine: She gives me greater pleasure, but oft'ner does the wine! Heinrich Heine — Entstanden um Comment Ein Epitaph auf den vortrefflichen dramatischen Poeten W. Oder dass seine heiligen Reste seien versteckt Unter einer Pyramide, die sich zum Himmel hin reckt?
Shakespeare What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long monument. For whilst to th' shame of slow-endeavouring art Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Dodt make us marble with too much conceiving; And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done. Francis William Bourdillon — British poet and translator. Then was loneliness to me Best and true society, But ah! Here all thy classic pleasures cease, Musing mild, and thoughtful peace; Here thou com'st in sullen mood, Not with thy fantastic brood Of magic shapes and visions airy Beckon'd from the land of Fairy: No poetic being here Strikes with airy sounds mine ear; No converse here to fancy cold With many a fleeting form I hold, Here all inelegant and rude Thy presence is, sweet Solitude.
Comment The Voice Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Saying that now you are not as you were When you had changed from the one who was all to me, But as at first, when our day was fair. Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then, Standing as when I drew near to the town Where you would wait for me: Or is it only the breeze in its listlessness Travelling across the wet mead to me here, You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness, Heard no more again far or near? Thus I; faltering forward, Leaves around me falling, Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward, And the woman calling.
Thomas Hardy — So reifen sie bei keiner Frau, so schimmernd aus dem Saum: Und dennoch bist du so allein wie nie und schaust mich kaum; das macht: Die Engel alle bangen so, lassen einander los: So kam ich und vollendete dir tausendeinen Traum. Gott sah mich an; er blendete Du aber bist der Baum. Rainer Maria Rilke Aus: Das Buch der Bilder. Pleasant summer over And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, The grey smoke towers.
Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall! Fern ist nun der Sommer und der Blumenduft. Rauch steigt in die Luft. Lobt den Lauf des Jahres und den Wechsel auch! Blumen bringt der Sommer und der Herbst den Rauch! Clement's "You owe me five farthings", say the bells of St. Martin's "When will you pay me? Chip chop chip chop — The last man's dead. And he wondered why it had fallen to him, a year-old lobbyist without scientific training, to bring greater attention to this crisis.
Finally, weeks later, MacDonald called to tell him that Press had taken up the issue. On May 22, Press wrote a letter to the president of the National Academy of Sciences requesting a full assessment of the carbon-dioxide issue. Pomerance was amazed by how much momentum had built in such a short time. Scientists at the highest levels of government had known about the dangers of fossil-fuel combustion for decades. Yet they had produced little besides journal articles, academic symposiums, technical reports. Nor had any politician, journalist or activist championed the issue.
That, Pomerance figured, was about to change. One study found that climate change has made cataclysmic rain events like Harvey three times as common as they were. Harvey was a particularly slow-moving hurricane, making it significantly more destructive: The storm stood still and drenched already flood-prone areas. There was a brown velvet love seat in the living room of James and Anniek Hansen, under a bright window looking out on Morningside Park in Manhattan, that nobody ever sat in. Erik, their 2-year-old son, was forbidden to go near it.
The ceiling above the couch sagged ominously, as if pregnant with some alien life form, and the bulge grew with each passing week. Jim promised Anniek that he would fix it, which was only fair, because it had been on his insistence that they gave up the prospect of a prewar apartment in Spuyten Duyvil overlooking the Hudson and moved from Riverdale to this two-story walk-up with crumbling walls, police-siren lullabies and gravid ceiling.
Jim repeated his vow to fix the ceiling as soon as he had a moment free from work. Anniek held him to his word, though it required her to live with a hole in her ceiling until Thanksgiving — seven months of plaster dust powdering the love seat. Another promise Jim made to Anniek: He would make it home for dinner every night by 7 p.
Anniek did not begrudge him his deep commitment to his work; it was one of the things she loved about him. Still, it baffled her that the subject of his obsession should be the atmospheric conditions of a planet more than 24 million miles away. It baffled Jim, too. His voyage to Venus from Denison, Iowa, the fifth child of a diner waitress and an itinerant farmer turned bartender, had been a series of bizarre twists of fate over which he claimed no agency.
It was just something that happened to him. Hansen figured he was the only scientist at the National Aeronautics and Space Administration who, as a child, did not dream of outer space. He dreamed only of baseball. Every morning, he cut out the box scores, pasted them into a notebook and tallied statistics. Hansen found comfort in numbers and equations. He majored in math and physics at the University of Iowa, but he never would have taken an interest in celestial matters were it not for the unlikely coincidence of two events during the year he graduated: On the night of Dec.
They set a telescope in an old corncrib and, between 2 and 8 in the morning, made continuous photoelectric recordings of the eclipse, pausing only when the extension cord froze and when they dashed to the car for a few minutes to avoid frostbite. During an eclipse, the moon resembles a tangerine or, if the eclipse is total, a drop of blood.
But this night, the moon vanished altogether. The discovery led to his fascination with the influence of invisible particles on the visible world. You could not make sense of the visible world until you understood the whimsies of the invisible one. One of the leading authorities on the invisible world happened to be teaching then at Iowa: James Van Allen made the first major discovery of the space age, identifying the two doughnut-shaped regions of convulsing particles that circle Earth, now known as the Van Allen belts. Why, he tried to determine, was its surface so hot?
In , a Soviet satellite beamed back the answer: Though once it may have had habitable temperatures, it was believed to have succumbed to a runaway greenhouse effect: Earth lay in the middle, its Goldilocks greenhouse effect just strong enough to support life. The prospect of two or three more years of intense work had sprung up before him. Now Hansen would have an opportunity to apply to Earth the lessons he had learned from Venus. Jule Charney, the father of modern meteorology. They would create Mirror Worlds: Unlike the real world, they could be sped forward to reveal the future.
She thought she understood it. The scientists summoned by Jule Charney to judge the fate of civilization arrived on July 23, , with their wives, children and weekend bags at a three-story mansion in Woods Hole, on the southwestern spur of Cape Cod. The Jasons had predicted a warming of two or three degrees Celsius by the middle of the 21st century, but like Roger Revelle before them, they emphasized their reasons for uncertainty.
They had to get it right: Their conclusion would be delivered to the president. But first they would hold a clambake. They gathered with their families on a bluff overlooking Quissett Harbor and took turns tossing mesh produce bags stuffed with lobster, clams and corn into a bubbling caldron. While the children scrambled across the rolling lawn, the scientists mingled with a claque of visiting dignitaries, whose status lay somewhere between chaperone and client — men from the Departments of State, Energy, Defense and Agriculture; the E.
They exchanged pleasantries and took in the sunset. It was a hot day, high 80s, but the harbor breeze was salty and cool. The government officials, many of them scientists themselves, tried to suppress their awe of the legends in their presence: These were the men who, in the last three decades, had discovered foundational principles underlying the relationships among sun, atmosphere, land and ocean — which is to say, the climate.
The hierarchy was made visible during the workshop sessions, held in the carriage house next door: On the third day, Charney introduced a new prop: He dialed, and Jim Hansen answered. Charney called Hansen because he had grasped that in order to determine the exact range of future warming, his group would have to venture into the realm of the Mirror Worlds. Jule Charney himself had used a general circulation model to revolutionize weather prediction. But Hansen was one of just a few modelers who had studied the effects of carbon emissions. That was twice as much warming as the prediction made by the most prominent climate modeler, Syukuro Manabe, whose government lab at Princeton was the first to model the greenhouse effect.
The difference between the two predictions — between warming of two degrees Celsius and four degrees Celsius — was the difference between damaged coral reefs and no reefs whatsoever, between thinning forests and forests enveloped by desert, between catastrophe and chaos. In the carriage house, the disembodied voice of Jim Hansen explained, in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone, how his model weighed the influences of clouds, oceans and snow on warming.
The older scientists interrupted, shouting questions; when they did not transmit through the telephone, Charney repeated them in a bellow. On the final night at Woods Hole, Arakawa stayed up in his motel room with printouts from the models by Hansen and Manabe blanketing his double bed. The discrepancy between the models, Arakawa concluded, came down to ice and snow. Shortly before dawn, Arakawa concluded that Manabe had given too little weight to the influence of melting sea ice, while Hansen had overemphasized it.
The best estimate lay in between. When carbon dioxide doubled in or thereabouts, global temperatures would increase between 1. Yet within the highest levels of the federal government, the scientific community and the oil-and-gas industry — within the commonwealth of people who had begun to concern themselves with the future habitability of the planet — the Charney report would come to have the authority of settled fact. It was the summation of all the predictions that had come before, and it would withstand the scrutiny of the decades that followed it.
When the doubling threshold was broached, as appeared inevitable, the world would warm three degrees Celsius. The last time the world was three degrees warmer was during the Pliocene, three million years ago, when beech trees grew in Antarctica, the seas were 80 feet higher and horses galloped across the Canadian coast of the Arctic Ocean. The Charney report left Jim Hansen with more urgent questions.
Three degrees would be nightmarish, and unless carbon emissions ceased suddenly, three degrees would be only the beginning. The real question was whether the warming trend could be reversed. Was there time to act? And how would a global commitment to cease burning fossil fuels come about, exactly? Who had the power to make such a thing happen? But he would learn. Only Exxon was asking a slightly different question than Jule Charney. It wanted to know how much of the warming Exxon could be blamed for. A senior researcher named Henry Shaw had argued that the company needed a deeper understanding of the issue in order to influence future legislation that might restrict carbon-dioxide emissions.
In , in a presentation at the American Geophysical Union, Broecker predicted that fossil fuels would have to be restricted, whether by taxation or fiat. The company had been studying the carbon-dioxide problem for decades, since before it changed its name to Exxon. What was new, in , was the effort to quantify what percentage of emissions had been contributed by the oil-and-gas industry.
So did another A. The ritual repeated itself every few years. Industry scientists, at the behest of their corporate bosses, reviewed the problem and found good reasons for alarm and better excuses to do nothing. Why should they act when almost nobody within the United States government — nor, for that matter, within the environmental movement — seemed worried?
Why take on an intractable problem that would not be detected until this generation of employees was safely retired? Worse, the solutions seemed more punitive than the problem itself. Historically, energy use had correlated to economic growth — the more fossil fuels we burned, the better our lives became.
Why mess with that? Now there was a formal consensus about the nature of the crisis. Unfortunately, the graduate student installed on the tanker botched the job, and the data came back a mess. Shaw was running out of time. In , an Exxon colleague circulated an internal memo warning that humankind had only five to 10 years before policy action would be necessary. But Congress seemed ready to act a lot sooner than that. On April 3, , Senator Paul Tsongas, a Massachusetts Democrat, held the first congressional hearing on carbon-dioxide buildup in the atmosphere.
More urgent, the National Commission on Air Quality, at the request of Congress, invited two dozen experts, including Henry Shaw himself, to a meeting in Florida to propose climate policy. It seemed that some kind of legislation to restrict carbon combustion was inevitable. The Charney report had confirmed the diagnosis of the problem — a problem that Exxon helped create. Now Exxon would help shape the solution. Petersburg, Fla, that locals called the Pink Palace. The hotel stood amid blooms of poisonwood and gumbo limbo on a narrow spit of porous limestone that rose no higher than five feet above the sea.
In its carnival of historical amnesia and childlike faith in the power of fantasy, the Pink Palace was a fine setting for the first rehearsal of a conversation that would be earnestly restaged, with little variation and increasing desperation, for the next 40 years. The Don CeSar hotel in the s.
From the Don CeSar. In the year and a half since he had read the coal report, Pomerance had attended countless conferences and briefings about the science of global warming. But until now, nobody had shown much interest in the only subject that he cared about, the only subject that mattered — how to prevent warming. In a sense, he had himself to thank: During the expansion of the Clean Air Act, he pushed for the creation of the National Commission on Air Quality, charged with ensuring that the goals of the act were being met.
One such goal was a stable global climate. The Charney report had made clear that goal was not being met, and now the commission wanted to hear proposals for legislation. It was a profound responsibility, and the two dozen experts invited to the Pink Palace — policy gurus, deep thinkers, an industry scientist and an environmental activist — had only three days to achieve it, but the utopian setting made everything seem possible.
The conference room looked better suited to hosting a wedding party than a bureaucratic meeting, its tall windows framing postcard views of the beach. The sands were blindingly white, the surf was idle, the air unseasonably hot and the dress code relaxed: Jorling acknowledged the vagueness of their mission. A failure to recommend policy, he said, would be the same as endorsing the present policy — which was no policy. This provoked huffy consternation. How much did we value the future?
We have less time than we realize, said an M. The attendees seemed to share a sincere interest in finding solutions. They agreed that some kind of international treaty would ultimately be needed to keep atmospheric carbon dioxide at a safe level. But nobody could agree on what that level was. If the United States stopped burning carbon that year, it would delay the arrival of the doubling threshold by only five years. If Western nations somehow managed to stabilize emissions, it would forestall the inevitable by only eight years.
The only way to avoid the worst was to stop burning coal. It is the political problem. Pomerance glanced out at the beach, where the occasional tourist dawdled in the surf. Beyond the conference room, few Americans realized that the planet would soon cease to resemble itself. What if the problem was that they were thinking of it as a problem? The talk of ending oil production stirred for the first time the gentleman from Exxon. We are going to have a very orderly transition from fossil fuels to renewable energy sources. But first — lunch. It was a bright day, low 80s, and the group voted to break for three hours to enjoy the Florida sun.
He had refrained from speaking, happy to let others lead the discussion, provided it moved in the right direction. But the high-minded talk had soon stalled into fecklessness and pusillanimity. He reflected that he was just about the only participant without an advanced degree. But few of these policy geniuses were showing much sense. They remained cool, detached — pragmatists overmatched by a problem that had no pragmatic resolution.
After lunch, Jorling tried to focus the conversation. What did they need to know in order to take action? Yet nobody could agree what to do. Reading the indecision in the room, Jorling reversed himself and wondered if it might be best to avoid proposing any specific policy. Pomerance begged Jorling to reconsider.
The commission had asked for hard proposals. But why stop there? Why not propose a new national energy plan? Scoville pointed out that the United States was responsible for the largest share of global carbon emissions. But not for long. This was received by the room like a belch. Did the science really support such an extreme measure?
The Charney report did exactly that, Pomerance said. He was beginning to lose his patience, his civility, his stamina. But I would like to have a shot at avoiding it. Most everybody else seemed content to sit around. Some of the attendees confused uncertainty around the margins of the issue whether warming would be three or four degrees Celsius in 50 or 75 years for uncertainty about the severity of the problem. As Gordon MacDonald liked to say, carbon dioxide in the atmosphere would rise; the only question was when. The lag between the emission of a gas and the warming it produced could be several decades.
It was like adding an extra blanket on a mild night: It took a few minutes before you started to sweat. So what was the problem? Because of the lag between cause and effect, it was unlikely that humankind would detect hard evidence of warming until it was too late to reverse it. The lag would doom them. A pair of modest steps could be taken immediately to show the world that the United States was serious: Then the United States could organize an international summit meeting to address climate change.
This was his closing plea to the group. The next day, they would have to draft policy proposals. Yet these two dozen experts, who agreed on the major points and had made a commitment to Congress, could not draft a single paragraph. Hours passed in a hell of fruitless negotiation, self-defeating proposals and impulsive speechifying. She was interrupted by Waltz, the economist, who wanted simply to note that climate change would have profound effects. Crocetti waited until he exhausted himself, before resuming in a calm voice. They have disagreements about the details of this and that, but they feel that it behooves us to intervene at this point and try to prevent it.
They never got to policy proposals. They never got to the second paragraph. The final statement was signed by only the moderator, who phrased it more weakly than the declaration calling for the workshop in the first place. Pomerance had seen enough.
A consensus-based strategy would not work — could not work — without American leadership. He was an organizer, a strategist, a fixer — which meant he was an optimist and even, perhaps, a romantic. His job was to assemble a movement. And every movement, even one backed by widespread consensus, needed a hero. He just had to find one. Antarctica in December Chinstrap-Penguin Colonies Rapidly Decline The Antarctic Peninsula, where about three million pairs of penguins breed, is one of the most quickly warming areas on the planet; its average temperature has increased by five degrees Fahrenheit over the past 75 years.
Many scientists believe that this warming will endanger some penguin colonies in two ways: On the rocky shores of Deception Island, where the penguins breed, they need cold, dry land for their eggs to survive, but rising temperatures have introduced rain and pools of water to nesting sites. The penguin population of Baily Head, in the northern part of Antarctica, seems to have dropped from 85, breeding pairs in to 52, seven years later, a decline of almost 40 percent.
Scientists fear that as warm water shifts farther south along other coastal regions, larger populations of penguins could face a similar decline. The meeting ended Friday morning. On Tuesday, four days later, Ronald Reagan was elected president. And Rafe Pomerance soon found himself wondering whether what had seemed to have been a beginning had actually been the end. After the election, Reagan considered plans to close the Energy Department, increase coal production on federal land and deregulate surface coal mining.
Once in office, he appointed James Watt, the president of a legal firm that fought to open public lands to mining and drilling, to run the Interior Department. Reagan preserved the E. Instead, his administration considered eliminating the council. At the Pink Palace, Anthony Scoville had said that the problem was not atmospheric but political. That was only half right, Pomerance thought. For behind every political problem, there lay a publicity problem. And the climate crisis had a publicity nightmare. The Florida meeting had failed to prepare a coherent statement, let alone legislation, and now everything was going backward.
Kennedy and, if he could get away with it, Theodore Roosevelt. It was good business. What could be more conservative than an efficient use of resources that led to fewer federal subsidies? Meanwhile the Charney report continued to vibrate at the periphery of public consciousness. Every month or so, nationally syndicated articles appeared summoning apocalypse: But Pomerance understood that in order to sustain major coverage, you needed major events.
Studies were fine; speeches were good; news conferences were better. Hearings, however, were best. And two years after the Charney group met at Woods Hole, it seemed there was no more science to break through. They had found that the world had already warmed in the past century. Most unusual of all, the paper ended with a policy recommendation: Pomerance called Hansen to ask for a meeting. But more than that, he wanted to understand James Hansen. On top of many of the stacks lay a scrap of cardboard on which had been scrawled words like Trace Gases, Ocean, Jupiter, Venus.
At the desk, Pomerance found, hidden behind another paper metropolis, a quiet, composed man with a heavy brow and implacable green eyes. He would have no trouble passing for a small-town accountant, insurance-claims manager or actuary. In a sense he held all of those jobs, only his client was the global atmosphere. He liked what he saw. As Hansen spoke, Pomerance listened and watched. But Pomerance was excited to find that Hansen could translate the complexities of atmospheric science into plain English.
Though he was something of a wunderkind — at 40, he was about to be named director of the Goddard Institute — he spoke with the plain-spoken Midwestern forthrightness that played on Capitol Hill. He presented like a heartland voter, the kind of man interviewed on the evening news about the state of the American dream or photographed in the dying sun against a blurry agricultural landscape in a campaign ad. And unlike most scientists in the field, he was not afraid to follow his research to its policy implications.
Winds sweep desert sands and dust over formerly arable land, creating dunes that blanket roads and demolish homes. Nouakchott, the capital of Mauritania, was designed to accommodate 15, people. Today, more than one million people live there, because decades of severe drought and extreme weather have driven farmers to the area.
It was led by Representative James Scheuer, a New York Democrat — who lived at sea level on the Rockaway Peninsula, in a neighborhood no more than four blocks wide, sandwiched between two beaches — and a canny, year-old congressman named Albert Gore Jr. Gore had learned about climate change a dozen years earlier as an undergraduate at Harvard, when he took a class taught by Roger Revelle.
He had no memory of hearing it from his father, a three-term senator from Tennessee who later served as chairman of an Ohio coal company. Once in office, Gore figured that if Revelle gave Congress the same lecture, his colleagues would be moved to act. Or at least that the hearing would get picked up by one of the three major national news broadcasts.
After winning his third term in , Gore was granted his first leadership position, albeit a modest one: That, Gore vowed, would change. Environmental and health stories had all the elements of narrative drama: In a hearing, you could summon all three, with the chairman serving as narrator, chorus and moral authority. He told his staff director that he wanted to hold a hearing every week. It was like storyboarding episodes of a weekly procedural drama.
Grumbly assembled a list of subjects that possessed the necessary dramatic elements: Representative Albert Gore Jr. The Revelle hearing went as Grumbly had predicted. But Gore soon found another opening. If they could put a hearing together quickly enough, they could shame the White House before it could go through with its plan. Hansen could occupy the role of hero: A villain was emerging, too: Each man would testify. Koomanoff left open the possibility of funding other carbon-dioxide research, but Hansen was not optimistic, and when his funding lapsed, he had to release five employees, half his staff.
Koomanoff, it seemed, would not be moved. There emerged, despite the general comity, a partisan divide. Unlike the Democrats, the Republicans demanded action. We all accept that fact, and we realize that the potential consequences are certainly major in their impact on mankind. It is up to us now to summon the political will. A higher degree of certainty was required, he believed, in order to persuade a majority of Congress to restrict the use of fossil fuels.
Yet the experts invited by Gore agreed with the Republicans: The science was certain enough. Melvin Calvin, a Berkeley chemist who won the Nobel Prize for his work on the carbon cycle, said that it was useless to wait for stronger evidence of warming. He explained a few discoveries that his team had made — not with computer models but in libraries. By analyzing records from hundreds of weather stations, he found that the surface temperature of the planet had already increased four-tenths of a degree Celsius in the previous century.
Data from several hundred tide-gauge stations showed that the oceans had risen four inches since the s. Most disturbing of all, century-old glass astronomy plates had revealed a new problem: Some of the more obscure greenhouse gases — especially chlorofluorocarbons, or CFCs, a class of man-made substances used in refrigerators and spray cans — had proliferated wildly in recent years. You look pretty young. It occurred to Hansen that this was the only political question that mattered: How long until the worst began?
It was not a question on which geophysicists expended much effort; the difference between five years and 50 years in the future was meaningless in geologic time. Politicians were capable of thinking only in terms of electoral time: But when it came to the carbon problem, the two time schemes were converging. James Scheuer wanted to make sure he understood this correctly. No one else had predicted that the signal would emerge that quickly.
But we are pushing beyond the range of human adaptability. He had been irritated, during the hearing, by all the ludicrous talk about the possibility of growing more trees to offset emissions. False hopes were worse than no hope at all: They undermined the prospect of developing real solutions. He was told to speak into the microphone.
This was following the hottest summer on record. It affects how intense the burn is and how receptive the fuels are to embers. But Hansen did not get new funding for his carbon-dioxide research. He knew he had done nothing wrong — he had only done diligent research and reported his findings, first to his peers, then to the American people. But now it seemed as if he was being punished for it.
Anniek could read his disappointment, but she was not entirely displeased. At home, Jim spoke only about the teams and their fortunes, keeping to himself his musings — whether he would be able to secure federal funding for his climate experiments, whether the institute would be forced to move its office to Maryland to cut costs. But perhaps there were other ways forward.
Not long after Hansen laid off five of his assistants, a major symposium he was helping to organize received overtures from a funding partner far wealthier and less ideologically blinkered than the Reagan administration: It donated tens of thousands of dollars to some of the most prominent research efforts, including one at Woods Hole led by the ecologist George Woodwell, who had been calling for major climate policy as early as the mids, and an international effort coordinated by the United Nations. Hansen was glad for the support.
As a gesture of appreciation, David was invited to give the keynote address. David boasted that Exxon would usher in a new global energy system to save the planet from the ravages of climate change. Ethical considerations were necessary, too. Hansen had reason to feel upbeat himself. The Reagan administration was hostile to change from within its ranks. It seemed that something was beginning to turn. With the carbon-dioxide problem as with other environmental crises, the Reagan administration had alienated many of its own supporters. The early demonstrations of autocratic force had retreated into compromise and deference.
By the end of , multiple congressional committees were investigating Anne Gorsuch for her indifference to enforcing the cleanup of Superfund sites, and the House voted to hold her in contempt of Congress; Republicans in Congress turned on James Watt after he eliminated thousands of acres of land from consideration for wilderness designation. Each cabinet member would resign within a year. What started as a scientific story was turning into a political story.
This prospect would have alarmed Hansen several years earlier; it still made him uneasy. But he was beginning to understand that politics offered freedoms that the rigors of the scientific ethic denied. The political realm was itself a kind of Mirror World, a parallel reality that crudely mimicked our own. It shared many of our most fundamental laws, like the laws of gravity and inertia and publicity. And if you applied enough pressure, the Mirror World of politics could be sped forward to reveal a new future.
Hansen was beginning to understand that too. But in the fall of , the climate issue entered an especially long, dark winter. And all because of a single report that had done nothing to change the state of climate science but transformed the state of climate politics. A team of scientist-dignitaries — among them Revelle, the Princeton modeler Syukuro Manabe and the Harvard political economist Thomas Schelling, one of the intellectual architects of Cold War game theory — would review the literature, evaluate the consequences of global warming for the world order and propose remedies.
Then Reagan won the White House. There could be no climate policy, Fred Koomanoff and his associates said, until the academy ruled. A careful, comprehensive solution was being devised. They were eager to learn how the United States planned to act, so they could prepare for the inevitable policy debates. Rafe Pomerance was eager, too. Its scope was impressive: It was the first study to encompass the causes, effects and geopolitical consequences of climate change.
The authors did try to imagine some of them: He argued the opposite: There was no urgent need for action. Better to bet on American ingenuity to save the day. Major interventions in national energy policy, taken immediately, might end up being more expensive, and less effective, than actions taken decades in the future, after more was understood about the economic and social consequences of a warmer planet. Yes, the climate would change, mostly for the worst, but future generations would be better equipped to change with it. The reporters and staff members listened politely to the presentation and took dutiful notes, as at any technical briefing.
Government officials who knew Nierenberg were not surprised by his conclusions: He was an optimist by training and experience, a devout believer in the doctrine of American exceptionalism, one of the elite class of scientists who had helped the nation win a global war, invent the most deadly weapon conceivable and create the booming aerospace and computer industries. America had solved every existential problem it had confronted over the previous generation; it would not be daunted by an excess of carbon dioxide.
Nobody believed that he had been directly influenced by his political connections, but his views — optimistic about the saving graces of market forces, pessimistic about the value of government regulation — reflected all the ardor of his party. He worried about the dark undertow of industrial advancement, the way every new technological superpower carried within it unintended consequences that, if unchecked over time, eroded the foundations of society.
New technologies had not solved the clean-air and clean-water crises of the s. Activism and organization, leading to robust government regulation, had. He felt that he was the only sane person in a briefing room gone mad. A colleague told him to calm down. As The Wall Street Journal put it, in a line echoed by trade journals across the nation: Exxon soon revised its position on climate-change research.
The American Petroleum Institute canceled its own carbon-dioxide research program, too. He had various reasons: It lacked a unifying cause. Climate change, Pomerance believed, could be that cause. But its insubstantiality made it difficult to rally the older activists, whose strategic model relied on protests at sites of horrific degradation — Love Canal, Hetch Hetchy, Three Mile Island.
How did you protest when the toxic waste dump was the entire planet or, worse, its invisible atmosphere? Observing her husband, Lenore Pomerance was reminded of an old Philadelphia Bulletin ad campaign: Here the scenario was reversed: Pomerance acted cheerful at home, fooling his kids. She worried about his health. Near the end of his tenure at Friends of the Earth, a doctor found that he had an abnormally high heart rate. Pomerance planned to take a couple of months to reflect on what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Two months stretched to about a year. He brooded; he checked out. He spent weeks at a time at an old farmhouse that he and Lenore owned in West Virginia, near Seneca Rocks. Pomerance sat in the cold house and thought. The winter took him back to his childhood in Greenwich. He had a vivid memory of being taught by his mother to ice skate on a frozen pond a short walk from their home.
He remembered the muffled hush of twilight, the snow dusting the ice, the ghostly clearing encircled by a wood darker than the night. Winter, Pomerance believed, was part of his soul. When he thought about the future, he worried about the loss of ice, the loss of the spiky Connecticut January mornings. He worried about the loss of some irreplaceable part of himself. If science, industry and the press could not move the government to act, then who could?
Twenty years ago, there was no lake in this location — the flat tongue of Trift Glacier filled the basin completely, and mountaineers were able to walk across it to get to the other side of the valley. And we are losing options for action. It is too late to save the glaciers. It was as if, without warning, the sky opened and the sun burst through in all its irradiating, blinding fury. The mental image was of a pin stuck through a balloon, a chink in an eggshell, a crack in the ceiling — Armageddon descending from above. It was a sudden global emergency: There was a hole in the ozone layer.
The klaxon was rung by a team of British government scientists, until then little known in the field, who made regular visits to research stations in Antarctica — one on the Argentine Islands, the other on a sheet of ice floating into the sea at the rate of a quarter mile per year. At each site, the scientists had set up a machine invented in the s called the Dobson spectrophotometer, which resembled a large slide projector turned with its eye staring straight up. After several years of results so alarming that they disbelieved their own evidence, the British scientists at last reported their discovery in an article published in May by Nature.
But by the time the news filtered into national headlines and television broadcasts several months later, it had transfigured into something far more terrifying: Later came fears of atrophied immune systems and blindness. For there was no hole, and there was no layer. Ozone, which shielded Earth from ultraviolet radiation, was distributed throughout the atmosphere, settling mostly in the middle stratosphere and never in a concentration higher than 15 parts per million.
In satellite images colorized to show ozone density, however, the darker region appeared to depict a void. The ozone crisis had its signal, which was also a symbol: It was already understood, thanks to the work of Rowland and his colleague Mario Molina, that the damage was largely caused by the man-made CFCs used in refrigerators, spray bottles and plastic foams, which escaped into the stratosphere and devoured ozone molecules.
It was also understood that the ozone problem and the greenhouse-gas problem were linked. CFCs were unusually potent greenhouse gases. But nobody was worried about CFCs because of their warming potential. They were worried about getting skin cancer. The negotiators failed to agree upon any specific CFC regulations in Vienna, but after the British scientists reported their findings from the Antarctic two months later, the Reagan administration proposed a reduction in CFC emissions of 95 percent. The speed of the reversal was all the more remarkable because CFC regulation faced virulent opposition.
The alliance hounded the E. The few concessions the alliance won, like forcing the E. Senior members of the United Nations Environment Program and the World Meteorological Organization, including Bert Bolin, a veteran of the Charney group, began to wonder whether they could do for the carbon-dioxide problem what they had done for ozone policy.
The organizations had been holding semiannual conferences on global warming since the early s. But in , just several months after the bad news from the Antarctic, at an otherwise sleepy meeting in Villach, Austria, the assembled 89 scientists from 29 countries began to discuss a subject that fell wildly outside their discipline: An Irish hydrology expert asked if his country should reconsider the location of its dams. A Dutch seacoast engineer questioned the wisdom of rebuilding dikes that had been destroyed by recent floods. Bruce was a minister of the Canadian environmental agency, a position that conferred him the esteem that his American counterparts had forfeited when Reagan won the White House.
Just before leaving for Villach, he met with provincial dam and hydropower managers. In 20 years, will the rain be falling somewhere else? Bruce took this challenge to Villach: What am I supposed to tell him? People are hearing the message, and they want to hear more. So how do we, in the scientific world, begin a dialogue with the world of action? The world of action.
For a room of scientists who prided themselves as belonging to a specialized guild of monkish austerity, this was a startling provocation. On a bus tour of the countryside, commissioned by their Austrian hosts, Bruce sat with Roger Revelle, ignoring the Alps, speaking animatedly about the need for scientists to demand political remedies in times of existential crisis. The formal report ratified at Villach contained the most forceful warnings yet issued by a scientific body. Most major economic decisions undertaken by nations, it pointed out, were based on the assumption that past climate conditions were a reliable guide to the future.
But the future would not look like the past. Fortunately there was a new model in place to achieve just that. The balloon could be patched, the eggshell bandaged, the ceiling replastered. There was still time. But the lake is surrounded by several high-density cities, including Shanghai, Suzhou and Changzhou, metropolitan areas that have grown rapidly in the past few decades. Rampant sewer dumping and livestock drainage, combined with shifting agricultural practices, allowed the algae blooms to flourish, and now human mismanagement and global warming have entrenched them.
Over the past decade, the blooms have significantly expanded, and their season has grown longer. Yes, Moore clarified — of course, it was an existential problem, the fate of the civilization depended on it, the oceans would boil, all of that. Know how you could tell?
Political problems had solutions. And the climate issue had none. Without a solution — an obvious, attainable one — any policy could only fail. No elected politician desired to come within shouting distance of failure. Which meant that Pomerance had a very big problem indeed. He had followed the rapid ascension of the ozone issue with the rueful admiration of a competitor.
Unlike Friends of the Earth, W. Its mission was expansive enough to allow Pomerance to work without interference. Yet the only thing that anyone on Capitol Hill wanted to talk about was ozone. Use ozone to revive climate. The ozone hole had a solution — an international treaty, already in negotiation. Why not hitch the milk wagon to the bullet train? The problems were related, sure: But it had been difficult enough to explain the carbon issue to politicians and journalists; why complicate the sales pitch? At his suggestion, Pomerance met with Senator John Chafee, a Republican from Rhode Island, and helped persuade him to hold a double-barreled hearing on the twin problems of ozone and carbon dioxide on June 10 and 11, The ozone gang was good.
Robert Watson dimmed the lights in the hearing room. On a flimsy screen, he projected footage with the staticky, low-budget quality of a slasher flick. The footage was so convincing that Chafee had to ask whether it was an actual satellite image. Watson acknowledged that though created by satellite data, it was, in fact, a simulation. An animation, to be precise. The three-minute video showed every day of October — the month during which the ozone thinned most drastically — for seven consecutive years.
The other months, conveniently, were omitted. As the years sped forward, the polar vortex madly gyroscoping, the hole expanded until it obscured most of Antarctica. The smudge turned mauve, representing an even thinner density of ozone, and then the dark purple of a hemorrhaging wound. As Pomerance had hoped, fear about the ozone layer ensured a bounty of press coverage for the climate-change testimony. But as he had feared, it caused many people to conflate the two crises. It was all panic without a hint of caution: On the second day of the Senate hearing, devoted to global warming, every seat in the gallery was occupied; four men squeezed together on a broad window sill.
Pomerance had suggested that Chafee, instead of opening with the typical statement about the need for more research, deliver a call for action. But Chafee went further: He called for the State Department to begin negotiations on an international solution with the Soviet Union. It was the kind of proposal that would have been unthinkable even a year earlier, but the ozone issue had established a precedent for global environmental problems: After three years of backsliding and silence, Pomerance was exhilarated to see interest in the issue spike overnight.
The old canard about the need for more research was roundly mocked — by Woodwell, by a W. Only now the argument was so broadly accepted that nobody dared object. The ozone hole, Pomerance realized, had moved the public because, though it was no more visible than global warming, people could be made to see it. They could watch it grow on video. Its metaphors were emotionally wrought: Americans felt that their lives were in danger. An abstract, atmospheric problem had been reduced to the size of the human imagination.
It had been made just small enough, and just large enough, to break through. Thomas, said as much the day he signed the Montreal Protocol on Substances That Deplete the Ozone Layer the successor to the Vienna Convention , telling reporters that global warming was likely to be the subject of a future international agreement. Congress had already begun to consider policy — in alone, there were eight days of climate hearings, in three committees, across both chambers of Congress; Senator Joe Biden, a Delaware Democrat, had introduced legislation to establish a national climate-change strategy.
And so it was that Jim Hansen found himself on Oct. The convivial mood had something to do with its host. He first heard about the climate problem in the halls of the E. Topping was amazed to discover that out of the E. After leaving the administration, he founded a nonprofit organization, the Climate Institute, to bring together scientists, politicians and businesspeople to discuss policy solutions. Glancing around the room, Jim Hansen could chart, like an arborist counting rings on a stump, the growth of the climate issue over the decade. Former and current staff members from the congressional science committees Tom Grumbly, Curtis Moore, Anthony Scoville made introductions to the congressmen they advised.
There were more than people in all in the old ballroom, and if the concentric rings extended any further, you would have needed a larger hotel. That evening, as a storm spat and coughed outside, Rafe Pomerance gave one of his exhortative speeches urging cooperation among the various factions, and John Chafee and Roger Revelle received awards; introductions were made and business cards earnestly exchanged. Not even a presentation by Hansen of his research could sour the mood.
The next night, on Oct. It all seemed like the start of a grand bargain, a uniting of factions — a solution. He was scheduled to appear before another Senate hearing, this time devoted entirely to climate change. The process appeared entirely perfunctory, but this time, on the Friday evening before his appearance that Monday, he was informed that the White House demanded changes to his testimony.
No rationale was provided. Nor did Hansen understand by what authority it could censor scientific findings. The NASA administrator had another idea. The Office of Management and Budget had the authority to approve government witnesses, she explained. At the hearing three days later, on Monday, Nov. He was careful to emphasize the absurdity of the situation in his opening remarks, at least to the degree that his Midwestern reserve would allow: Assuming that one of the senators would immediately ask about this odd introduction, Hansen had prepared an elegant response.
He planned to say that although his NASA colleagues endorsed his findings, the White House had insisted he utter false statements that would have distorted his conclusions. He figured this would lead to an uproar. But no senator thought to ask about his title. So the atmospheric scientist from New York City said nothing else about it. But the brush with state censorship stayed with Hansen in the months ahead. It confirmed that even after the political triumph of the Montreal Protocol and the bipartisan support of climate policy, there were still people within the White House who hoped to prevent a debate.
In its public statements, the administration showed no such reluctance: By all appearances, plans for major policy continued to advance rapidly. After the Johnston hearing, Timothy Wirth, a freshman Democratic senator from Colorado on the energy committee, began to plan a comprehensive package of climate-change legislation — a New Deal for global warming.
Wirth asked a legislative assistant, David Harwood, to consult with experts on the issue, beginning with Rafe Pomerance, in the hope of converting the science of climate change into a new national energy policy. Southern Hemisphere ozone cover in as mapped by one satellite. In March , Wirth joined 41 other senators, nearly half of them Republicans, to demand that Reagan call for an international treaty modeled after the ozone agreement.
In May, he signed a joint statement with Mikhail Gorbachev that included a pledge to cooperate on global warming. Hansen was learning to think more strategically — less like a scientist, more like a politician. Despite the efforts of Wirth, there was as yet no serious plan nationally or internationally to address climate change.
Even Al Gore himself had, for the moment, withdrawn his political claim to the issue. In , at the age of 39, Gore announced that he was running for president, in part to bring attention to global warming, but he stopped emphasizing it after the subject failed to captivate New Hampshire primary voters. Hansen told Pomerance that the biggest problem with the Johnston hearing, at least apart from the whole censorship business, had been the month in which it was held: At first he assumed that it was enough to publish studies about global warming and that the government would spring into action. Then he figured that his statements to Congress would do it.
It had seemed, at least momentarily, that industry, understanding what was at stake, might lead. But nothing had worked. He grew pale and unusually thin. When she asked him about his day, Hansen replied with some ambiguity and turned the conversation to sports: But even for him, he was unusually quiet, serious, distracted.
She knew what he was thinking: He was running out of time.