The poetry of Sigismund Schimmelpoth makes no compromises. Not with his readers, not with society at large and perceived “good taste”, not even with language itself. This is what earned him the admiration of his fellow poets, so eloquently expressed in Balthasar Grünspan’s “Hommage to Sigi S.”. This is also, on the other hand, what made him an outsider in the narrow-minded lyrical scene of present day Germany. This is also, moreover, what has stood in the way of an adequate appreciation of Schimmelpoth’s verse outside the confines of a small, appreciative German-speaking audience mainly in his native Ruhr District.
In Schimmelpoth’s poetry, language is in a permanent state of tension. His verse is literally at breaking point. His ingeniously non-conformist approach to grammar and his provocative way with words make it almost impossible to translate his poems.
Almost? In fact, the new translations offered by controversial anthologist Hans Martin Enzensberger in his recent book “Poet Tables – The Poets of the Ruhr Valley” (Wombat Press, Canberra 2003) only re-inforce doubts. That Enzensberger’s incompetent “translations” found a publisher at all is a scandal. Worse, these incoherent ramblings are now presenting a hopelessly distorted picture of Schimmelpoth’s poetry to those who are not fortunate enough to be able to appreciate it in the original. This poet, much maligned at home by a reactionary establishment of vicious literary critics, must now, thanks to Enzensberger’s bungling, appear a complete imbecile even to open minded readers being presented with lines like “is not not completely beautifully unpleasant that”. This is no way to carry over Schimmelpoth’s daring linguistic experiments into English. Enzensberger has done untold damage to Schimmelpoth’s future reputation in the English-speaking world. That is a shame.
Or, as Enzensberger might have put it: “Pain o pain which is for shit!”