Prometheus by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Analysis
"Prometheus" is a poem by Goethe that speaks about the author's hatred towards Zeus while making accusations and defiance. Although this poem is set to classical times, the wording allows us to believe Goethe is, perhaps, talking about himself and addressing the Judeo-Christian God.
"Prometheus" consists of seven stanzas with varying lengths. The poem totals 63 lines. It does not rhyme.
Poem
Prometheus Cover your heaven, Zeus, With foggy clouds, And try yourselve, like a boy Who beheads thistles, On oak-trees and mountain-tops; You still must leave my Earth to me, And my hut, which you did not build, And my stove, Whose glow You envy me. I know no poorer creatures Under the sun, than you, Gods! You barely sustain yourself From sacrificial offerings And exhalated prayers Your Majesty And would wither, were Not children and beggars Hopeful fools. When I was a child, And did not know where from or to, I turned my seeking eye toward The sun, as if beyond there was An ear to hear my complaint, A heart like mine, To have mercy with the embattled one. Who helped me Against the Titans' might? Who saved me from Death, From Slavery? Did you not accomplish it all yourself, Holy glowing Heart? And glowed, young and good, Deceived, thanks for salvation To the sleeping one up there? Shall I honour you? What for? Have you softened the pains, Ever, of a burdened one? Have you silenced the tears, Ever, of an anguished one? Was I not forged into a Man By almighty Time And eternal Fate, My masters and yours? Do you imagine I should hate life, Flee to the desert, Because not every Flowering dream bloomed? Here I sit, forming humans In my image; A people to be like me, To suffer, to weep, To enjoy and to delight themselves, And to not attend to you – As I.
Below is the second version of the poem in German.
Prometheus
Bedecke deinen Himmel, Zeus,
Mit Wolkendunst
Und übe, dem Knaben gleich,
Der Disteln köpft,
An Eichen dich und Bergeshöhn;
Mußt mir meine Erde
Doch lassen stehn
Und meine Hütte, die du nicht gebaut,
Und meinen Herd,
Um dessen Glut
Du mich beneidest.
Ich kenne nichts Ärmeres
Unter der Sonn als euch, Götter!
Ihr nähret kümmerlich
Von Opfersteuern
Und Gebetshauch
Eure Majestät
Und darbtet, wären
Nicht Kinder und Bettler
Hoffnungsvolle Toren.
Da ich ein Kind war,
Nicht wußte, wo aus noch ein,
Kehrt ich mein verirrtes Auge
Zur Sonne, als wenn drüber wär
Ein Ohr, zu hören meine Klage,
Ein Herz wie meins,
Sich des Bedrängten zu erbarmen.
Wer half mir
Wider der Titanen Übermut?
Wer rettete vom Tode mich,
Von Sklaverei?
Hast du nicht alles selbst vollendet,
Heilig glühend Herz?
Und glühtest jung und gut,
Betrogen, Rettungsdank
Dem Schlafenden da droben?
Ich dich ehren? Wofür?
Hast du die Schmerzen gelindert
Je des Beladenen?
Hast du die Tränen gestillet
Je des Geängsteten?
Hat nicht mich zum Manne geschmiedet
Die allmächtige Zeit
Und das ewige Schicksal,
Meine Herrn und deine?
Wähntest du etwa,
Ich sollte das Leben hassen,
In Wüsten fliehen,
Weil nicht alle
Blütenträume reiften?
Hier sitz ich, forme Menschen
Nach meinem Bilde,
Ein Geschlecht, das mir gleich sei,
Zu leiden, zu weinen,
Zu genießen und zu freuen sich,
Und dein nich zu achten,
Wie ich!
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Next: Proximity of the Beloved One
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Find out more information about this poem and read others like it.
Nationality
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Literary Movement
Weimar Classicism, 18th Century
Subjects
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Find out more information about this poem and read others like it.
Nationality
German
Literary Movement
Weimar Classicism, 18th Century
Subjects
God