{"id":8675,"date":"2022-11-11T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2022-11-11T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.newspaperhistory.com\/?p=8675"},"modified":"2022-11-11T01:00:00","modified_gmt":"2022-11-11T06:00:00","slug":"my-mothers-house","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/my-mothers-house\/","title":{"rendered":"My Mother\u2019s House"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

From The Sun, November 11, 1914<\/a>. By H. H. Ewers, translated by Oscar Mueller.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

My mother is an old lady,Perhaps sixty or even more(She does not like to speak about it)My mother is a German woman,Is only one of so many millions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

My mother\u2019s house overlooks the Rhine,It\u2019s a gay house, it\u2019s a free house,It\u2019s an artist\u2019s house,Resounding from laughing and gayetyDuring fifty years and more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

Now mother converted the gay houseInto a sad house, a hospital.Sixteen beds did she give, and in eachLies a soldier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

My old mother writes:<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

In your libraryAmong all your treasuresThat you gathered in all parts of the world,Among vases from ChinaAnd the heathen gods of the South Sea,Among your BuddhasAnd Shivas and Krishnas,Lies a youthful chapFresh from high school,Eighteen years old.But he cannot see your treasures.They stabbed out his eyesIn Loncin near Li\u00e8ge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

In your Indian RoomLies a sergeant,He was laughing today and jokingly tossedYour little elephants of ivory.He always says: \u201cSoon will I return to the front.\u201dHe is tightly strapped in bandages\u2014The day before yesterday they cut offBoth of his legs,And he does not know it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

In the room decorated with my beloved Dutch,The Teniers and Ostade, the Koekkoek and Verbockhoeven,Lies, his right arm torn to pieces,A lieutenant of dragoons.He does not like the paintings, not knowing them.So I bought him yesterdayA \u201cKaiser\u201d picture and hung it over his bed.You do not believe how glad it made him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

But in the adjoining roomWith your ancestorsLies a captain of the guard.He is as pale as linen,Sleeps all the time,So much blood did he lose;But, if he\u2019s awake, he looks at the picturesAnd says, \u201cHe over there surely foughtAt Sedan in Eighteen-seventy,And he at Grossgoerschen a hundred years ago,And the old one over there with the braid,He fought at Leuthen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

In the terrace room, the one to the left,Lies another lieutenant, he asked that his bedBe placed close to the window.He never speaks, but stares all the timeInto our garden, and the monastery adjoiningWhere the old monks are walking.He has a bride, she was in ParisWhen the war broke out\u2014and she disappearedAnd he heard of her\u2014nothing.Perhaps she is dead, he thinks, perhaps\u2014Perhaps\u2014Then he sighs and groans:\u201cPerhaps.\u201d And he kisses her picture.She was very beautiful,His poor, German bride.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

In the garden room lies a major,He is scolding all day long,Shot through the abdomen, must be very painful,And he does not suffer so much, if he can scoldThe Russ, the Jap and the damned English.So I ask him, \u201cHow do you feel?\u201dHe always says, \u201cThe damned ratsBit a hole into my stomach.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

There is one, in the small guest room,A senior lieutenant of the Eighty-second,He\u2019s shot in the headBut not very dangerous.He said yesterday, \u201cDoctor,I have fifty thousand marks;They are yours if you patch me upSo I can return to the frontIn three weeks.\u201d (That\u2019s what they all think.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

In your bedroom lies a hussar.He has nineteen wounds, all over,From shrapnel fire.They brought him unconscious a fortnight ago.He groans much and yells loud;Never awoke onceIn all that time.But his hot hand clinchesHis Iron Cross.The doctor says, \u201cWe surelyWill save him, if he does not dieFrom starvation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

In the dining room lie three.A pioneer and two of the infantry.Such dear blond chaps,They will be saved,But the pioneerIs doomed.For dumdum woundsAre difficult to heal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

About everything writes my mother,About the uhlans in the breakfast room,The two chasseurs in the parlor,The general,Who lies in the state room\u2014About everything writes old mother,But about herselfShe does not say a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

My mother\u2019s house overlooks the Rhine,Is now a hospital for sixteen,And yet is only one such houseOf many thousands in Germany.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n

My mother is an old lady,Perhaps sixty or even more.My mother is a German woman,And yet only one of so many millions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From The Sun, November 11, 1914. By H. H. Ewers, translated by Oscar Mueller. My mother is an old lady,Perhaps sixty or even more(She does not like to speak about it)My mother is a German woman,Is only one of so many millions. My mother\u2019s house overlooks the Rhine,It\u2019s a gay house, it\u2019s a free house,It\u2019s […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,18],"tags":[149,244],"class_list":["post-8675","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-newspapers","category-the-sun","tag-h-h-ewers","tag-oscar-mueller"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8675","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8675"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8675\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8675"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8675"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/desperaudio.com\/newspaperpoetry\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8675"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}