Paul Boldt
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Paul Boldt (1885-1921)was one of the poets of German Expressionism.
Boldt was born in the town of Christefelde an der Weichsel in the countryside of West Prussia, an area which is now a part of Poland. After finishing his secondary education, he studied philology at universities in Munich, Marburg, and Berlin without taking a degree. Once in Berlin, he started associating with the writers and artists who frequented the city's many caf市 and began writing poetry himself.
In 1912, his first published poems appeared in "Die Aktion," a magazine most frequently associated with the Expressionist movement. And two years later, he published his only book, "Junge Pferde! Junge Pferde!" ("Young Horses! Young Horses").
He was drafted into the German Army at the beginning of World War I, but was discharged in 1916 on the grounds that he was psychologically unfit to serve. It was during his time in the military that he stopped writing poetry, and the last of his poems to appear in print during his lifetime came out in 1918.
Boldt died at the age of 35 from an embolism that was a complication of surgery for a hernia. And since his death, he has been largely forgotten, unlike other Expressionist poets writing in German, such as Gottfried Benn, Georg Heym, and Georg Trakl. (There are, in fact, no photographs or likenesses of Boldt known to be in existence.) However, in the last few decades there has been a movement seeking to revive recognition for what many readers and critics believe to be his considerable poetic gifts.
Below is an English translation of Boldt's best-known poem "Junge Pferde" (Young Horses), from 1912.
Young Horses
Those that know the fields in blush, Driven on by inbred forces, Snouts in wind, headlong they rush: Oh, young horses! Oh, young horses!
Over ditch and stubble-grass, By red hawthorn hedges in waves, Trotting skittish herds, they pass: Chestnuts, dapples, whites and grays!
Early summer mornings shed Glistening sun, and then they neighed. Clouds threw thunder, so they fled, Flush with fear, they raced away.
At rare times, they will come near. Gray noses sniff. Heads genuflect. Pupils quiver in the spare Visage of the human sect.
(Translation from ﾒKeeping Order on My Shelf,ﾓ ｩ 2004, by Daniel J. Webster)
