# The Art Of Recitation And Declamation

## GA 281 — 26 November 1915, Stuttgart

### Lienhard Jordan Matinée

Today, we will include a presentation of German poetry in the circle of reflections that we are now cultivating during this time. The first part of this presentation will be dedicated to the poet in whose presence we have the great and intimate satisfaction of seeing him in our midst today: our dear Professor Friedrich Lienhard. And it is in keeping with a deep feeling for the unique life's work of our esteemed friend that I want to express, albeit late, following the feelings that have been expressed to Friedrich Lienhard by the broadest circles of the German people on the occasion of his birthday a few weeks ago. It certainly corresponds to our deepest feelings when I express to him today the complete merging of all our warmth with the festive joys that have surrounded him, which have shown him how much that which he has been able to give to his people from the depths of his gifted nature resonates in the hearts of many.

Certainly, my dear friends, there was a wider circle that is more important for historical development today than our narrower circle, which in a festive mood has approached Friedrich Lienhard in the last few weeks. But with all our hearts we join with our feelings, with our sentiments, with what Friedrich Lienhard was fully entitled to hear in these weeks: the deepest agreement of her innermost feelings with his feelings. Many have spoken to him about it. The highest recognition that science can give to human intellectual endeavor has been bestowed upon Friedrich Lienhard by his, I would say, mother university. This is a source of great joy to us and, I am sure, to all those who are able to feel the deep debt of gratitude that exists towards human intellectual achievement. All those who heard about how Lienhard's mother university awarded the honorary doctorate, the recognition of science for human intellectual achievements, were overcome with the deepest satisfaction and joy. And in the deepest sense, we empathized with everything that has happened around him in the past few days, empathized because what is so infinitely sacred to us, what we cling to with all our love and striving, also seems to permeate his work.

It can be said that more recent human culture has produced much that is significant in the way of poetic art. In many places, what present culture can give to people flourishes in poetic achievements. The future will decide, and the heart of the present can already sense how it will decide, which of these blossoms are so closely linked to the temporality of contemporary culture that they will also fade when that culture, with its sole affiliation to the present, sinks into the past. And what is culture of our time has been brought up from the depths of the human being, that it blossoms, grows and greens towards that which is eternal, which will remain of our culture of the times, as something that carries the seeds of the future and will be a support for the ongoing spiritual culture of humanity. We want to be connected to the eternal in the present, to everything that reaches into the future, with all our hearts. And we hear this in the words of Friedrich Lienhard. When we connect with the wonderful natural moods that sound so uplifting, so enchanting, so delightful, so graceful in Friedrich Lienhard's poetry, then we feel how, behind his work, in his work, the spirits of nature themselves surge and weave. We feel drawn through the word, through the thought, through the feelings, to the creative nature, with which we also want to connect in knowledge through spiritual science. And we feel that these poems arise from what seizes man from the eternal, that they express this eternal in the temporal for the upliftment, the joy, the elevation of the human heart and soul. This makes us intimate with all of Lienhard's poetry. It makes us read and listen to it; it makes us, I would say, live and weave ourselves into it from the very first line, feel connected to its life element, to its creativity, and at the same time feel how the soul's life force, the spirit's air of life, overflows in us when we are allowed to let the impressions of his poetry take effect on us. Then again, when he conjures up the figures of ancient times out of the mysterious fog of existence, in lively activity and lively effectiveness, then we feel that yearning of humanity come to life, which expresses itself in the fact that the human human soul must look beyond everything that takes place historically on the outside, before the eyes and ears and the other senses of humanity, and plays itself up into the mythical, which, as an eternal element, encompasses the historical-temporal. And in this truly mythical element, in this element that connects human hearts with the eternal, we feel the figures that Friedrich Lienhard conjures out of the darkness and yet so full of light of prehistoric times.

On the one hand, Lienhard's poetry elevates us from the sensual to the spiritual and creative side of nature, from the present to the past. On the other hand, in his creations, we feel how they carry us into that which can take hold of us from everyday life in a deepening way can take hold of us in a deepening way, enabling us to live in the here and now as a spiritual and living being, how these poems connect us with everything humanly close and humanly lofty, how they develop heart and mind for everything that lives and moves in the world with man. Immersing ourselves in his poetry, we are able to live through its magic with so much that conquers and elevates human hearts in nature and spirit. And so, living with his poetry, we experience the most intimate happiness, the happiness that is the guide to man's true home.

So I ask you, my dear Professor Lienhard, to accept this greeting, which comes from the faithful search for understanding of the impression of your life's work, your life's work that has incorporated so much meaningful and eternal from the development of humanity and entitles us to greet you for all that we now hopefully expect from you in this incarnation. Please accept these words as a promise that we would like to extend to you, not out of passing feelings, but out of a deeper understanding of your life's work to date. Take them as an expression of our desire for all that we may hope for to come from you. Please accept my words as a prelude to every greeting that we wish to extend to you on your future journey through life. May what we strive for be bound to what you strive for. This bond will be sacred to us and we will always view it in such a way that we feel happy and satisfied to see the poet Friedrich Lienhard in our midst. Every moment that we spend in your company will be a moment of heartfelt joy and satisfaction for us.

I wanted to express this to you as a greeting before we now open our hearts to your work again for a short time.

*Recitation by Marie Steiner from 'Poems' by Friedrich Lienhard: Faith; Morning Wind; Forest Greeting; The Creating Light (see page 216 for texts),*

> Lonely Rock
> A rock beckons me in the golden air,  
> High and alone.  
> Around its summit is the scent of the heath  
> And evening glow.  
> A faithful little bee rings out in the herb  
> Flower bells, pure and calm.  
> Whoever looks out from there over the land  
> The world is his!
> ELFENTANZ
> Raschelgewänder und seidene Schuh',  
> Krone, Korallen und Bänder dazu  
> Rundaradei!  
> Rauschen und schleifen wir, singen dabei,  
> Rauschen und singen wir,  
> we swing our rustling skirts  
> around the ash tree, around into May,  
> Rundaradei, eia, rundaradei!
> Do you want to catch us?  
> You have to dance with us!  
> Do you have feet as silky as ours?  
> Are you as flexible,  
> Are you as cuddly,  
> Are you as fast and as swinging as we are?
> The leaves on the bush,  
> They turn in the breeze  
> The grass-green skirts and flicker in the process!  
> And if from the blue  
> The nights a thaw came,  
> So dances and sparkles in the morning of May!
> Drink the light and dance yourself lively!  
> Drink the light and then up the hill!  
> A pearl from the early grass splashes down on you, Imagine an elf leaping at you! Finches, oh, see how they fly, Little clouds, oh, see how they glide, Everywhere, everywhere, faces of the sun, You alone in the midst of it all, a darkened man!
>
> Do you want to grab us?  
> You have to drag along with us!  
> Do you also have little feet as silky as ours?  
> Are you as flexible,  
> Are you as cuddly,  
> Are you as fast and as nimble as we are?
>
> He stumbles and lurches,  
> The clogs of the shaggy bear!
>
> Nimble, buzz around him,  
> Flirting, confusing him!  
> Whirlwind, caressing wind, teasing wind: there!  
> Tousle him fine,  
> Pluck him fine,  
> Pluck and pluck and pluck him fine!  
> Hey, and so we float airily and free!  
> Down there, you catch me now, catch me, catch me,  
> Tear the train behind me, kiss my cheek, after all,  
> Catch me – catch me – catch me –  
> Gone!
>
> SUMMER NIGHT
>
> Strange night! In the reed and moor,  
> How the dry reed rustles and slurps!  
> It embraces as if it were alive,  
> And sighs as it releases them again.
>
> How sweet the rustling sounds!  
> I have always loved the night wind:  
> It breathes voices and souls into the reeds, the birches, the moonlight  
> It breathes voices and souls into them.
>
> Many ghosts are dancing, the world is loud,  
> The smallest herb stirs and giggles.  
> From the old knight's tower,  
> An owl laughs into the enchanted night...
>
> EVENING RED
>
> I long for a homeland that has no earthly boundaries,  
> I long for an eternal heavenly city out of human need.  
> The evening glow shines brightly and clearly, the spring rustles gently in the Wasgenwald  
> How soon my day on earth will pass, and all my daily work!
>
> Oh, come, thou universal night, which knows no earthly measure,  
> From whose depths star upon star burns upon our tiny star!  
> I am not tired of the day's work, and yet I am tired of the day  
> I long for your vastness, you unlimited heavenly city!
>
> AUTUMN ON ODILIENBERG
>
> 1. Autumn bells
>
> Through red forest and bell singing,  
> Through an autumn day's sparkling dew  
> I seek on anxious heights  
> The stronghold of a holy woman,  
> Seeking sunshine above the clouds!  
> Oh misty walk,  
> Oh rugged slope,  
> I will a proud life long  
> be a pilgrim!
>
> 2. The blue flower
>
> The earth smiles as a garden land  
> On the pilgrim who found the blue flower.
>
> A lily blooms from the deep forest blue:  
> The bright monastery of a holy woman.
>
> And though I search always, always, always,  
> You, silent mountain, are the blue flower.
>
> 3. Autumn Walk
>
> How beautiful you are! You're a web of golden hair,  
> I walk transfigured through a fairy-tale grove.  
> All my soul soars up to God,  
> A smoke that lost itself in the blue of the heights.
>
> Am I the one who walks dreaming in the falling leaves,  
>  
> As this earth is full of colors,  
>  
>
>
> Odilienberg is as beautiful as heaven!  
> In nothing but light, valley and hill dissolve,  
> And bliss was mine, which was so full of sorrow  
> Thank you for everything, you blessed year!
>
> SUNDAY MORNING ON THE ODILIENBERG
>
> What laughter and radiance today in the forest and shimmering meadow?  
> Odilia walks over the mountain and blesses the sunny valleys.
>
> The early bells awaken far and near from weekdays and worries  
> There is a wondrous radiance on this Sunday morning!
>
> From Otrott and from Heiligenstein, from Klingental and further:  
> A holy Jacob's ladder rises from the sound of the bells!
>
> And all the saints who have ever lived in the land of the Alisassen  
> They gather in the “Heidenstadt”, in invisible lanes!
>
> And all the Celts and warriors who long ago converted to the Lord  
> They crowd like a forest of flowers around the one who is highly revered.
>
> Oh sea of spirits, oh sea of sounds, oh radiance in forest and meadow  
> Odilia walks over the mountain and blesses the sunny district!
>
> ST. ODILIA
>
> Patron Saint of Alsace
>
> Her heart was a sun,  
> her eyes were dead and gray!  
> And from the clear forehead  
> of the beautiful woman  
> flowed the golden hair  
> in a rich flood —  
> Oh Holy Woman of Odilia,  
> make me pious and good!
>
> In a mountain spring  
> she washed her white hands  
> and her blind eyes  
> Then she saw her Alsace  
> in pure May blossom  
> standing before her eyes  
> Oh holy woman of Odilia,  
> teach me to see!
>
> In the monastery the bells are ringing,  
> The world is drowning in the fog  
> But see, the stars are shining brightly  
> From the summer night sky,  
> But see, Strasbourg is shining brightly  
> Over to our heights  
> Oh Holy Lady of Odilia,  
> Alsace is beautiful!

We will then connect with what we hear from Friedrich Lienhard's poetry, some of a poet who, like Friedrich Lienhard, shows us that the most Germanic nature finds its way out of its self-conception to the eternal of an ideal world view, who also shows us how the whole intimate empathy with the vibrations of the German being broadens the view to universality, to an all-worldly view, how the German view does not narrow, how it leads out to the great wide plan, where all that is human comes into its own and nothing human is misunderstood.

Wilhelm Jordan is the other poet, of whom we want to hear the piece of his Nibelung poem, especially where he wants to introduce a mood of the human heart, where the heart opens out of the temporal in order to listen for counsel for the temporal out of the eternal. How the German hero seeks counsel not only in the external world, but also from spiritual beings who speak through nature and through the soul's outer being. How the German hero opens his heart to this counsel in order to repel the threat that comes from the Huns in the east and threatens the burgeoning of German culture. This scene, which is so poignantly connected with the innermost German feeling, but with the feeling of world culture, is then inserted into our present performance.

> From “The Nibelungs” by Wilhelm Jordan. The Saga of Sigfrid, 18th Song.
> Just then spoke to the servants  
> Of the sanctuary in the grove at Holmgart,  
> Now already infirm and very old, the seeress Oda:
> “I thought to rest from the runic office,
The little time that my pilgrimage
On earth still lasts; but highly significant
Is this message from the reeve of Berne;
The noble Ditrich, who has long since been in charge of Ditmar,
Tired of age, of the power. His bravest man and armorer,
Hildebrant, the son of Herbrant,he sent, together with Siegfried's steward,to the mighty mother of men and
his most valiant man and armorer,
> Hildebranten, the son of Herbrant,
> Sandt' he, together with Sigfrid's carer,
> to the mighty mother of men and gods,
> to give account, to seek advice
> and guiding light from the fall of the lots...
> But small is the measure of human wisdom;  
> So let us now pray for revelation  
> From the omniscient spirit of the mighty goddess,  
> Who bears all happenings in her womb,  
> And sees the shadow cast of what is still uncreated.  
> Omnipotent mother of men and gods,  
> Once more in this hour,  
> Strengthen the mouth of the weary. For the last time,  
> Before I die, I will ascend  
> The golden throne on the hollow step  
> And, with incense clouds swirling around my forehead,  
> From the disappointing breath from the eternal depths,  
> boldly gaze into the future. —  
> So now speak, messenger, Ditrich of the Berners:  
> What does he ask of the goddess of the Goth leaders ?“
> Then the offspring of Heribrant spoke:
> ”What will help us to salvation  
> from the Hunnic hordes?  
> What is the goal of the future for a German?"
> Once the question had been asked, she climbed the ladder  
> weakly and with difficulty. With a golden knife  
> she cut the rice, came down slowly,  
> carved the smooth bark with runes,  
> divided the stick into small pieces,  
> And turned away, she drew them  
> On the white carpet... Then she tied on the cloth,  
> Woven from unbidden, black kid  
> Wool, bent down, selected,  
> Reaching blindly, went into the grotto  
> And bade the princes and witnesses follow her.
> Then she mounted the chair. She lined up the rods  
> On the holy table made of the wood of a fir tree,  
> Which the storm blast had once split to the root,  
> And then read the motto according to their position.
> Then she sat lost in deep thought,  
> While the steam in dense clouds  
> Enveloped her head, to which a hundred winters  
> Had bleached the hair to a blinding snow.
> Now at last she beckons. The incense evaporates,  
> eyes roll in holy ecstasy  
> and sparkle with fire, but only into the distance  
> do they gaze, enraptured, perceiving the future.  
> And so the divinely gifted began:
> "In a surging confusion, shadows of princes and peoples and future strugglesappear to me. But in the space of the searching soul,thousands of yearsdeceptivelymove together in view.
> Oh, Ditrich, consider  
> The envy in the neighborhood!  
> Otherwise a relative  
> Will throw you from the throne,  
> And you seek security  
> And help to return home  
> In bitter banishment  
> With the dreaded enemy.
> What threatening urge  
> From east and west!  
> There Hun hordes,  
> Here Merowig's might.  
> Thus languishes the question  
> Of rights and realms;  
> Obey the hero,  
> That aids to salvation.
> Here, the ruling  
> domestic sovereign  
> binds the envious neighbors  
> to a glorious empire;  
> There lie the corpses,  
> There rise the cities,  
> The Lechfeld illuminates  
> the sun of victory.
> Be strong in the West,  
> Conquer in the East,  
> And take in the North  
> The march to the sea,  
> Only do not seek the concubine  
> In the south of the mountains,  
> For spirits and bodies  
> You poison with your kiss.
> Oh King, do you fail to recognize  
> The meaningful legend  
> Of the future's salvation  
> Through domestic discipline?  
> The fruit tree of the frosty land  
> Becomes sick and crippled,  
> Because, to ennoble it,  
> The palm branch does not fit.
> Woe! scarlet red foam  
> The rivers of blood,  
> The staggering crowd  
> Is discouraged and swears.  
> Then the red beard rages  
> Hidden in the mountains,  
> Until the raven pair, waking up,  
> Calls him to Valhalla.
> Then the proud ones pray  
> And bow their foreheads  
> Like penitents to the dust  
> Before the rising star.  
> What crowns in the manger  
> The infant victor?  
> Three kings come  
> And call him Lord.
> Oh, Master of mercy,  
> The furious, wild  
> And heartless Hilde  
> Banishes thy commandment;  
> Their sword shelters the weak, —  
> Not again awake —  
> To the rage of revenge  
> The envy and the need.
> Gone, forgotten  
> Are gods and heroes,  
> Inaudible fade away  
> Their praise and their song.  
> The fearless fathers  
> Admired wisdom  
> Is cunningly slandered  
> And shamelessly reviled.
> Incomprehensible feud  
> Empties the land,  
> Sending children and old men  
> To fight for a grave.  
> The bearer of the crown,  
> Struck by the crook,  
> There he bends barefoot  
> To the prayer of repentance.
> But the magician trembles;  
> You, little rod, destroy for him  
> The bulwark of his castles;  
> His letter is burnt.
> Dawn is announced  
> By the candles of the children's tree:  
> The time of estrangement  
> Will soon be over.
> Another age of disaster,  
> Full of doubt and discord?  
> Brothers are consumed  
> With an excessive lust for murder.  
> Like greedy vultures  
> The Franks estrange  
> The best of the castles  
> On the rushing Rhine.
> But the flames do not burn for long  
> The shining embers;  
> We overthrow the proud  
> From the defiant throne,  
> And it repents in exile  
> On a lonely island  
> The despot despairing  
> The disruption of the realm.
> Therefore, though the earth  
> Has more warriors than herbs  
> To fight the world war,  
> Be fearless, my people.  
> Full of proud thoughts  
> The German endures  
> The storms with strong patience.
> The day of recovery will come,  
> We will find the leader,  
> Who remembers our fathers  
> My people will win.  
> They will fight the battles,  
> They will adorn themselves with wreaths  
> And forge the crown  
> Of the united power.
> The seeress spoke it; then she sank down  
> And gasped for breath, gasping and groaning,  
> With a broken look, her head on her chest.  
> Now she raises her head again as if listening,  
> With flaming eyes and flying hair.
> “O Sigfrid,” she cries, “look at the sun!  
> It fades, it blackens: the wavering lights,  
> That shimmer through the shadows of the trees, they form  
> Not discs as usual, no, sharp sickles.  
> The toads lament, the owl hoots, So that midday becomes night; the murderous marten Stalks and catches the sleepy birds. As much as you thirst, you dare not drink: For behind you... Help! - wait, Hela! Oh woe - stricken - the world goes to ruin  
> Dreadful scream - terrible night.
> Speech failed her. She leaped up,  
> As, with an arrow through the heart, the stag leaps up in the air  
> Plunged to the ground and was dead.
> When, deeply moved by the words of the seer  
> And shaken, stunned by the horrors of death,  
> Odas' remains surrounded the others,  
> Then disappeared unnoticed from the threshold of the grotto  
> And won the expanse of Sibich, the Welsche.