Der Schäuble
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Please help me to translate the poem to English for the lightning talk performance.
If there is going to be a "final" version, I would suggest to release it under cc-by or cc-by-sa with something like "25C3 Translation Team" as author name.
[edit] German
Einst, um eine Mittnacht graulich, da ich trübe sann und traulich müde über manchem arg Beschluss, der an den Bürgerrechten zehrt da der Schlaf schon kam gekrochen, scholl auf einmal leis ein Pochen, gleichwie wenn ein Fingerknochen pochte, von dem Rechner her. »'s ist Besuch wohl«, murrt' ich, »was da pocht so knöchern zu mir her – nur im Chat – nichts weiter mehr.« Ah, ich kann's genau bestimmen: Im Dezember war's, dem grimmen, und der Kohlen matt Verglimmen schuf ein Geisterlicht so leer. Brünstig wünscht' ich mir den Morgen; hatt' umsonst versucht zu borgen von den Büchern Trost dem Sorgen, ob Lenor' wohl sicher wär' – ob Lenor', die jüngst geflohen, vor dem Terror sicher wär' – vor dem Terror – hier nicht mehr. Und das seidig triste Drängen in den digitalen Gängen füllt', durchwühlt' mich mit Beengen, wie ich's nie gefühlt vorher; also daß ich den wie tollen Herzensschlag mußt' wiederholen: »'s ist Besuch nur, der auf meinem Rechner mahnt, daß Einlaß er begehr' – nur ein später Wurm, der listig mahnt, welch' Daten er begehr' – ja, nur das – nichts weiter mehr.« Augenblicklich schwand mein Bangen, und so sprach ich unbefangen: »Gleich, mein Wurm – gleich, mein Trojaner - um Vergebung bitt' ich sehr; just das Wochenbackup machte, und Ihr Klopfen klang so sachte, daß ich kaum davon erwachte, sachte von dem Recher her – doch nun tretet ein!« – und damit öffnete den Port ich – leer! Nullbits dort - nichts weiter mehr. Aufs Register späht' ich lange, zweifelnd, wieder seltsam bange, Listings träumend, wie kein sterblich Hirn sie träumte je vorher; doch der Rechner gab kein Zeichen; nur ein Wort ließ hin er streichen durch die Nacht, das mich erbleichen ließ: Das Wort »Lenor'?« so schwer. Selber sprach ich's, und ein Echo murmelte's zurück so schwer – nur »Lenor'!« – nichts weiter mehr. Da ich nun zurück mich wandte und mein Herz wie Feuer brannte, hört' ich abermals ein Pochen, doch vom Rechner kam's nicht her. »Ah, gewiß«, so sprach ich bitter, »liegt's an meinem Fenstergitter; schaden tat ihm das Gewitter jüngst – ja, so ich's mir erklär' – schweig denn still, mein Herze, lass mich nachsehn, daß ich's mir erklär' – 's ist der Wind – nichts weiter mehr!« Auf warf ich das Fenstergatter, als herein mit viel Geknatter rollt' ein stattlich stolzer Schäuble wie aus Sagenzeiten her; Grüßen lag ihm nicht im Sinne; keinen Blick lang hielt er inne; mit hochherrschaftlicher Miene steuerte zur Türe er – rollt' sich zu der Grundrecht-Büste bei dem Türgesims dort – er rollt und stoppt – nichts weiter mehr. Doch dies stasihafte Wesen ließ mein Bangen rasch genesen, ließ mich lächeln ob der Miene, die es macht' so ernst und hehr: »Ward dir auch kein einfach' Amt zur Gabe«, sprach ich, »so doch blind Gehabe, grauslich grimmer alter Staatsmann, Irrender in Juris' Sphär' – sag, welch hohen Namen gab man dir in Juris' edler Sphär'?« Sprach der Schäuble, »Daten her.« Staunend hört' dies rauhe Klingen ich dem Schäuble sich entringen, da die Antwort rechtsstaatfeindlich und unglaublich sehr; denn wir dürfen wohl gestehen, daß es keinem noch geschehen, solch eine Gier bei sich zu sehen, die vom Grundrechtsbruche her – die von einem fanatisch blinden Grundrechtshasse her laut kreische: »Daten her!« Doch der Schäuble zittrig ragte und dies eine Wort nur sagte, gleich als läge all sein Hass auf uns'rer Freiheit sehr; keine Silbe sonst entriß sich seinem wirren Innern, bis ich seufzte: »Mancher Feind verließ mich früher schon ohn' Wiederkehr – morgen wird er mich verlassen, wie mein Glück – ohn' Wiederkehr.« Doch da sprach er, »Daten her!« Einen Augenblick erblassend ob der Antwort, die so passend, sagt' ich, »Fraglich ist dies alles, was der Kerl gelernt bisher: Er war bei einem Herrn in Lehre, den so tief des Schilys quere Paragraphen trafen, daß all sein Denken gründet sich im Hass so sehr – daß der Horizont der Freiheit sich bei ihm beschränkt so quer auf dieses wirre »Daten her!« Doch was Trübes ich auch dachte, dieser Staatsfeind mich doch lächeln machte, immer noch, und also holt' ich stracks mir ein Gesetzbuch her und ließ die Seiten fliehen, schöpfte Verfassungsenergien verglich mit Karlsruher Theorien: Wie's wohl zu verstehen wär' – wie dies grimme, angsterfüllte Wesen zu verstehen wär', wenn es krächzte »Daten her!« Dieses zu erraten, saß ich wortlos vor dem Kerl, doch fraß sich mir sein Blick ins tiefste Innre nun, als ob er ein Trojaner wär'; brütend über Rechtsstaatstreue, scrollte ich ganz ohne Reue meinen Cursor durch die Ordner, die verschlüsselt auf der Platte – auf der eigentlich privaten Platte, lagen mit den Bildern von Lenor' – den Urlaubsbildern von Lenor'! Da auf einmal füllten Düfte, dünkt' mich, weihrauchgleich die Lüfte, und rousseauscher Schriften Duktus drang aus Büchern zu mir her. »Freiheit«, rief ich, »sieh, man sandte diesen Leugner hier und gab ihm Staatsmacht, worinnen endet nun dein Existieren hier. Doch wir bleiben standhaft und verteidigen dich, wir – Sprach der Schäuble, »Gib die Daten mir!« »Ah, du prophezeist ohn' Zweifel, Höllenbrut! Ob Tier, Ob Teufel – ob dich Otto Schily sandte, ob der BND dich trieb hierher rastlos und ganz ohne Bangen, allen freiheitlichen Belangen, den Prozess zu machen – sag's mir endlich, bitt' dich sehr - lässt du – lässt du meine Freiheit mir?- sag's mir - sag mir, bitt' dich sehr!« Sprach der Schäuble, »Daten her!« »Ah! dann nimm die letzten Rechte, Höllenbrut – ob Tier, ob Teufel! Dann treib doch weiter, deinen Hass in die Verfassung rein! Künd mir: Wird es denn geschehen, daß ich einst in Juris Höhen darf die Rechte wiedersehen, selig in der Freiheitsspähr' – darf die Rechte, die du folterst, haben in der Freiheitsspähr?« Sprach der Schäuble, »Daten her!« »Sei denn dies dein Abschiedszeichen«, schrie ich, »Terror ohnegleichen! Hebe dich hinweg und kehre stracks zurück in Juris Sphär'! Keiner einz'gen Spende Lüge bleibe hier, dem Größenwahnsinn Zeugnis! Laß mit meinen Daten mich allein! – hinweg dich scher! Hack nicht länger meinen Rechner! Pack dich! Fort! Hinweg dich scher!" Sprach der Schäuble, »Daten her!« Doch der Schäuble rührt sich nimmer, spricht noch immer, spricht noch immer von der Sicherheit durch Daten, von dem E-Pass wie vorher; und in seinen Augenhöhlen eines Dämons Träume schwelen, und das Licht wirft seinen scheelen Schatten auf die Wahrheit schwer; und es hebt sich aus dem Schatten aus der Wahrheit dumpf und schwer meine Freiheit – nimmermehr. ~ Ende ~ (Und um den Mächten zu entkommen, die von Geldgier ganz benommen einen jeden jagen, der sich fremder Worte rühmt. Um der Klage zu entkommen, die advokatisch frommen Händen bald entstammen könnte, harr' ich lieber ein hier, ungesühnt. Und erklär noch schnell dir, dass dies alles bloß Satire sei – Kein Diebstahl also, sondern Witzelei.)
[edit] Englisch
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint decision, which is wearing out the civil rights,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my mainframe door
"'Tis some visitor", I muttered, "tapping at my mainframe door —
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow if Lenore was safe —
if Lenor, who just escaped, was safe from Terror all the more
Unsafe here for evermore.
And the digidully urging that goes on in big blues curtains
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my mainframe door —
Some late cyber worm entreating entrance at my mainframe door; —
This it is, and nothing more."
[...]
And the Schäuble, never flitting, keeps on talking and on talking,
about the safety throughout data, about the E-passport and more
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws the truth upon the floor;
And my freedom from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -- nevermore
[edit] Englisch translation with wrong rhythm and cadences
Once upon a dreadful midnight I both sadly and gloomily wandered tired of some heavy decision, which is wearing out the civil rights, sleep already came upon me when a silent knock was heard as if a knucklebone was pounding from my computer. “Might be a visitor”, I muttered, “who is pounding so bonily in my ears- I’m just chatting- nothing more.” Oh, I can define it exactly: In grim December it happened and the coal dying out created a dim light of ghosts. Fervently I longed for the morning; in vain had I tried to lend solace from the books for my sorrows, wondering if Lenor was safe, if Lenor, recently escaped, was safe from the terror- safe from the terror- here no longer. And the silky dull yearning on digital gaits fills me and rummages through me with a confinement I’ve never felt before, so that I had to repeat the words like a heart beating like crazy: “It’s just a visitor, who’s admonishing me on my computer to be let in- just a late worm, which is reminding me cunningly which data he yearns for, well, only that – not more.” At a sudden ally anxiety was gone and I spoke freely: “Hold on, my worm- hold on, my Trojan- I beg you pardon: I just did my weekly update while you were knocking so cautiously that I hardly woke up from the gentle sounds of my computer- but now come in!- and I opened my port- it was empty! zero bits there- nothing more. For a long time I peeked to the register doubtfully, again strangely frightened, dreaming of listings no-one ever had dreamed of before, but the computer didn’t react; just a single word it uttered through the night which made me turn pale: “Lenor” – so grave. I spoke it myself and the echo whispered back so arduously- just “Lenor!”- nothing more. Since now I turned back and my heart burned like fire, again I heard a knick but this time not from the computer. “Surely”, I said bitterly, “it’s because of my window grille, damaged by the last thunderstorm – well, that was my explanation- so be silent then, heart of mine let me look for an explanation, it must have been the wind- nothing more!” I opened the window grille, when in rolled with a lot of roaring a stout and proud Schaeuble, legend-like; he was far from saying hello and didn’t waste a gaze, very grandly he headed for the door – rolled to the bust of the Constitution near the sill of the door- he kept on rolling and then stopped- nothing more. But that stasi-like nature healed my anxiety in a rush and made me smile because of its facial expression- so sublime and serious: “Even though your office isn’t an easy one”, I said, “your behaviour is pretentious, you scary grim old statesman, straying in the depths of law, tell me which name you were given by law’s noble spheres?” Schaeuble just replied: “Let me have your data!” In amazement I heard how Schaeuble let those words escape from his lips, since the answer is so against a state under the rule of law and even more unbelievable because we might well confess that it never occurred to anyone else to see such a miserliness in oneself which due to a breaking of the Constitution was screeched loudly by a fanatic and blind hater of the Constitution: “Let me have your data!” But Schaeuble shakily loomed and said just one single word, as if all his hatred was directed against our freedom: No syllable escaped his confused inner self until I moaned: “Some enemy left me early on without coming back; tomorrow he will leave me just like my fortune without coming back. Then he said: “Let me have your data!” For a while I turned pale because of his answer, which was so suitable, and I said: “I question everything that bloke has ever learned; he had a master of apprentice who was hit by Schily’s queer paragraphs so deeply- that freedom’s horizon is so strangely restricted for him to that confused sentence: “Let me have your data!” However, gloomily as I have thought, this enemy of the state made me smile, still he did and so I straightly took my statute book and let the pages flow, summoned up energies from our Constitution compared to Karlsruhe’s theories: how could it be interpreted- How could this grim and frightened person be understood when it was screeching: “Let me have your data!” In order to guess that I speechless sat in front of that dude, but my gaze ate its way into my soul, as if it was a Trojan: pondering over my loyalty to the state under rule of law, I regretlessly scrolled my cursor through the files which were decoded on my board- on a board which was actually private and contained pictures of Lenor- holiday pictures of Lenor! Suddenly scents, I reckoned, filled the air like incense and the style of Rousseau’s works out of those books approached me. “Freedom”, I yelled, “look, that man of denial was sent here and was given authority by the state- right here you shall cease to exist. But we stand strong and defend you, WE- Schaeuble just said: “Let me have your data!” “Argh, you foresay fiendish mob, without a doubt! Be it an animal, be it the devil, Be it that Otto Schily sent you, be it that the BND brought you here, restlessly and fearless, to take legal proceeding against every cause of freedom- tell me now, I beg you please, will you-will you leave me my freedom- tell me, tell me now, I urge you!” Schaeuble just said: “Let me have your data.” “Bugger!” Take my last rights, you son of Lucifer- be it an animal or the devil, Go on and cover the constitution with your hatred! Tell me: Will it ever happen, that I in law’s sphere once will see the rights again, Wandering happily in freedom’s sphere, Allowed to have the rights you tortured in freedom’s sphere?” And Schaeuble just said: “Let me have your data!” “May that be your sign of farewell”, I shouted, “unparalleled terror! Raise and return to the spheres of law! Don’t bother to stay because you lied about the donations you received-it only proves your megalomania! Leave me alone with my data- scram! Don’t hack my computer any longer- beat it! Off you go! Scram! Schaeuble just said: “Let me have your data!” But Schaeuble doesn’t move and keeps on talking and talking about the safety through data, about the the E-passport like he used to: and in his eye sockets you can see swell the dreams of a demon and light casts its envious shadow on truth so heavily, and out of the shadow of truth my freedom rises dully and gravely- my freedom-never more. -THE END- To escape the powers which, totally dazed by avarice, haunt everybody, who boasts about other words. To escape the lawsuit which could soon be provoked by the solemn hands of a barrister, I’d rather stop here, quite unexpiated. But let me just explain to you that all that is just satire- No theft thus, but just teasing.
[edit] Poe's Version
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor", I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the door; —
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never — nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting —
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!
