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THE IMAGES
OF THE FRAGMENTED LYRICAL SELF
IN THE POETRY OF CHRISTINE LAVANT

BY

Sharon Marie Bailey

A THESIS

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS

Department of Linguistics
and Germanic, Slavic, Asian and African Languages

1994

ABSTRACT
THE IMAGES

OF THE FRAGMENTED LYRICAL SELF
IN THE POETRY OF CHRISTINE LAVANT

by

Sharon Marie Bailey

This thesis explores the nature of the self-identity of
the lyrical self and its struggle to define its religious
faith in the poetry of Christine Lavant. The poetry
represents an exclusively subjective expression of both
faith and doubt in which the lyrical self rejects
traditional definitions of God. The lyrical self of the
poetry perceives a distance between itself and God and
therefore perceives a profound lack of unity in itself.
Based on the analysis of a few representative poems, this
thesis will examine the significance of the fragmentation
and the unique function of the imagery of the antagonist and
of nature as projections of the lyrical self. Each poem
illustrates an aspect of the lyrical self's struggle to
understand itself in spite of its fragmentation and to
define the nature of its faith in God. Lavant is as yet not
well known, especially outside of Austria, and very little
has been written about the dynamics of this struggle of the
lyrical self to establish a relationship between itself and

God.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

Table of Contents

I NTRODUCT I ON C O I O O O O O O O O O O O O O

LAVANT AND THE LITERARY ENVIRONMENT . . . . .

1

4

A. Lavant and German Poetry of the Twentieth Century 4

B. The Poetess . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
C. The Secondary Literature . . . . . . . . .
D. Locating the Lyrical Self . . . . . . . . .

THE LYRICAL SELF IN THE POETRY . . . . . . .

A. The Fragmentation of the Lyrical Self in Lavant's

Poetry . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
1. The Lyrical Antagonist . . . . . . . . .
2. Nature and the World of the Lyrical Self
B. The Lyrical Self in its Relationship to God
C. Images of Joy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
CONCLUSION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

BIBLIOGRAPHY O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O 0

iii

9

14

17

24

24

30

35

42

51

54

56

Part I

OD C IO

The exclusive subject of Christine Lavant’s poetry is
the lyrical self, which struggles with its divergent
feelings, inclinations and expectations as it tries to
understand its role in the world and its relationship to
God. Among the emotions most often expressed in her poetry
are fear, hope, love, disappointment, anger, faith, and
doubt. Isolation and loneliness permeate the poetic world,
and the images through which this lyrical self expresses its
turmoil are often overwhelmingly intense.

The most common themes are the feelings of isolation
and fear in the lyrical self, the lyrical self's need for
independence and self-determination, and its doubt about the
nature of God. In the poetry the lyrical self continually
defines and redefines itself and God in the attempt to
diminish the distance that the lyrical self senses between
itself and God. It is the intention of this thesis to
demonstrate that in spite of the irresolvable struggles that
are the content of the individual poems, and in spite of the
repeated expressions of anger, doubt, fear and
disappointment, the body of poetry as a whole is an

expression of joy, for the poetry is motivated by the

2
freedom of the lyrical self to question God’s nature. The
poetry also results in a reaffirmation of that same freedom
and a reiteration of faith in God’s goodness.

The first part of this thesis will cover background
information. Lavant is virtually unknown outside of the
Austrian literary community, and as yet little has been
written about her. I will begin by attempting to place her
poetry into a historical context and by briefly discussing
Lavant’s life and personality. In a review of the secondary
literature, I will trace the major directions taken and
discuss the approaches espoused by the more compelling
Lavant critics. Finally, because Lavant’s poetry is
exclusively subjective, the lyrical self is the dominant
figure throughout the poetry. Therefore, it will be
necessary to discuss that term and define it for the purpose
of this thesis.

In the second part, I will explore the nature of the
struggle of the lyrical self, which is to define itself and
its faith in God. On the basis of in depth analyses of a
few representative poems, I will first discuss the nature of
the lyrical self and its world and establish that the
lyrical self is fragmented. The fragmentation itself is
indication of the irreconcilable conflicts that define the
existence of the lyrical self. The antagonist, whom the
lyrical self often violently confronts, is also

representative of these struggles, because the antagonist is

3
essentially a result of the aforementioned fragmentation.
Likewise, imagery from the realm of nature serves to
accentuate the struggles of the lyrical self, and therefore
plays a key role in the poetry.

Finally, I will specifically discuss the nature of the
lyrical self’s faith and its constantly changing
relationship with God. The primary issue in the conflicts
of the lyrical self is the struggle to understand what God
expects of the lyrical self and what God promises. Because
the lyrical self is conscious of a chasm between itself and
God, it struggles to define for itself the nature of God,
and it vacillates between faith and doubt in the mercy of
God. However, it will be shown that faith in the existence
of a benevolent, omnipotent God is the necessary premise of
every attack against God. Also, by questioning the nature
of God and repeatedly reformulating its faith, the lyrical
self is acting on its basic freedom to choose or reject God.
Finally, latent in all of the poetry is the knowledge that

God is not absent from the lyrical self at all.

Part II

LAVAEI AND THE LITERARY ENVIRONMENT

A. Lavant and German Poetry of the Twentieth Century

Lavant's poetry resists categorization into any
particular literary tradition, though she does show at least
some similarity to several traditions. There are aspects of
her poetry that display characteristics that are generally
representative of the modern Austrian literary environment,
especially in contrast to the German literary environment.
In particular, some of these aspects are a more passive
stance toward current political or social issues and a very
modern approach to the use of language. Aside from her ties
to the Austrian national literature, she has also been
categorized as a nature poet and as a Christian poet.

In a typically Austrian manner Lavant does not
represent a break with the cultural past of Austria. Like
many of her contemporaries, her poetry shows the influence
of the Austrian Baroque, Impressionistic and Expressionistic
traditions. Generally, at the same time as Germany was
striving to establish a new identity independent of the
identity propagated during the Nazi era, Austria was finding
its identity in its cultural history. Directly after the

war, Austrian literary and intellectual, as well as

5
political, figures began to programmatically reestablish the
Austrian cultural environment at the same point at which it
had been interrupted in 1938 (Amann 56-58). Whereas Germans
were examining their role in the war, Austrians were trying
to strengthen their ties to their pre-war culture.

As a result of this more conservative, historically
grounded self-identity, the Austrians generally took a more
distant, reserved stance of self-criticism very unlike the
German propensity to ceaselessly scrutinize government and
society. This conservative attitude is, for example,
espoused by Ilse Aichinger in the essay "Aufruf zum
MiBtrauen" (1945), in which she calls for skepticism toward
ideological thinking and for critical honesty as much in a
personal and interpersonal context as in the political
(Daviau 8-9). Lavant internalizes this mistrust even
further: the conflicts and criticism in her poetry are
predominately personal. Therefore, in contrast to much of
the post-war poetry in Germany, the issues of war and
political responsibility are never raised in Lavant’s
poetry.

Just as the apolitical tendency in Lavant's poetry is
reflective of the contemporary Austrian environment, her use
of language is also representative of the literary scene of
the twentieth century. A general trend, particularly in
Austria, of growing mistrust in the adequacy of language to

express reality can be traced back to Hofmannsthal’s "Ein

6
Brief,” in which Lord Chandos writes that reality and
experience defy description through words. It is expressed
in the concrete poetry of the 1950's, such as that of the
"Wiener Gruppe" or Jandl, and in the epistemological studies
of the 1960’s, such as in Handke's Kasper in which the
relationship between language and self-awareness is explored
(Daviau 15-17). This mistrust in the adequacy of language
can also be seen in Lavant’s poetry insofar as the language
in her poetry is not symbolic in a traditional sense; it
does not describe a reality independent of the speaker and
loses its traditional referential function to take on unique
meaning relevant only to the world of the poetry. However,
Lavant's is not a conscious experimentation and exploration
of the boundaries of language as in the case of Jandl and
Handke, but rather an unconscious striving by the poetess
against the confining vocabulary that is inadequate for the
expression of her emotions. Whereas Jandl and Handke use
the forum of poetry to explore language ——-whereas language
is the subject and content of the poetry as well as the
medium —— Lavant instinctively reforms language to convey an
internal, personal struggle.

Furthermore, unlike the concrete poets, who tend to
dismantle syntax and depend on the individual word as the
most reliable mode of conveying meaning (Daviau 15), Lavant
uses complex and exemplary grammatical constructions but

sets individual words into metaphorical relationships that

7
draw attention to the linguistic system of word and object.
Common words or phrases are used in new and disconcerting
situations, such as in "Die Stadt ist oben auferbaut"
(Sping§1_im_ugng 94), where the central image is of the
Narrin, who is knitting a wedding dress and burial gown from
her Unglflcksstréhne. One also often finds compound words
composed of contrasting components ——-words such as
Sonnennetz, Schlafbrot, Mondschwert, or Weidenwiege. The
imagery in the poetry of Lavant does not represent an
external reality, but rather it refers only to the internal
world of the poem. The conflicts that arise in the poetry
are internal and specific only to the poetry.

Lavant has been labelled a nature poet, however nature
is not the subject of her poetry, as is often the case in
nature poetry. For many poets immediately after the war,
for example Wilhelm Lehmann, nature poetry presented the
possibility of reestablishing a self-identity by eliminating
the human subject of the poem and grounding reality in the
timelessness of nature. This avoidance of the human
subject, according to Hermann Korte, represents an evasion
of the issues of the war (17-44, 82-100). Furthermore,
Korte traces this trend into the mid-1960’s and states that
even when used as a metaphor illustrating the war and the
resulting loss of innocence and identity, natural imagery is
limiting and quickly exhausted, leading the poet eventually

to speechlessness (37). According to this definition,

8
nature poetry at worst neglects to address the situation of
the individual and at best is inadequate to fully express
it.

This is, however, not the case with Lavant's poetry.
Nature is not the subject but rather the source of the
images. Furthermore, the images in the poetry immediately
cease to be images of nature and instead represent aspects
of the struggle of the lyrical self to understand its role
in its internal, lyrical world. Nature as a source of
imagery proves to be as inexhaustible as the existential
doubt of the lyrical self.

Finally, Lavant might best be described as a Christian
poet. The struggle of the lyrical self to identify itself
and understand its world is closely bound to its struggle to
understand the nature of God and its relationship to God.

In the poetry, the images take on theological proportions,
and all suffering becomes analogous to the suffering of
Christ, all abandonment a reflection of the original falling
away from God, all hope ultimately the hope for eternal life
through God’s grace, and all disappointment a foreshadowing
of the failure of God to keep his promise of grace.

In spite of the vicious and even blasphemous attacks
that are led against God and religion in the poetry, faith
remains intact as a necessary postulate. After intense
questioning and denial, the lyrical self of the poetry

returns repeatedly to devout expressions of faith, for the

9
faith of the lyrical self is not based on fear and blind
obedience, on dogma and ritual, but rather on the belief
that God is good and just and on its own inner freedom and

willingness to subordinate itself in spite of its doubts.

B. The Poetess

Lavant (born Thonhauser, married Habernig) took her
pen-name from the valley in which she lived for most of her
life. She was born in 1915 in GroB-Edling near St. Stefan
in Carinthia, Austria, and died in nearby Wolfsberg in 1973.
Scrofula, pneumonia, tuberculosis, and an ear infection, all
before the age of fifteen, left her weak, subject to chronic
pain, almost deaf in one ear, with very poor vision, and
physically unattractive. Poor health forced her to leave
school at age fourteen, and at home she helped support her
family and herself with knitting and later with her poetry.
She never held a regular job and rarely travelled further
than Klagenfurt. Because of the poverty of her family and
her own inability to work, Lavant felt secluded from
society, and her marriage to a previously divorced man
further alienated her from others in her community.

She grew up in a strongly Catholic community prone to
superstition, prejudice and apathy. At the same time that
she clung to her faith, she was also disillusioned by the
failure of the Church and of Christians to act according to

what she believed God expected. Not differentiating between

10
physical and spiritual needs, she believed that personal
wholeness is only possible through charity and sympathy
between humans, as she writes in a letter to Ludwig von
Ficker in July 1955:

Nicht jeder bekommt das tagliche Brot unmittelbar von

Gott. Ich glaube, daB es in den meisten Fallen

innerhalb des Menschlichen von Stufe zu Stufe

hinabgereicht wird. (Kunst wie meine 223)

For her, to show charity and concern to others was a
profoundly religious act, because it reaffirms that humans
are created in the image of God. She believed that the
decay of religion and the growing influence of modern
psychology allows for the objectification of human feelings
and is to blame for the inhuman manner with which people
treat each other. Armin Wigotschnig explains,

Durch den Verlust der Gottesbeziehung der Seele des

Menschen zerfallt auch ihre menschlich-gfittliche

Einheit und verliert damit ihre ursprfingliche

Bedeutung. Sie wird durch moderne psychologische

Interpretation versachlicht in eine Vielzahl "seelen-

kundlicher Begriffe", wie Geffihle, Triebe,

Aggressionen, Depressionen, Schmerzen, Lust und Unlust,

ja Instinkte (Bezug zum Tierischen) aufgelost, und in

der Erkenntnis, die Vielschichtigkeit des menschlichen

Wesens nicht bestimmen zu konnen, zum UnbewuBten,

Undurchschaubaren umfunktioniert. (14)

For Lavant, the element of godliness within humans was the
only element that separated humans from animals.

Lavant was not unaffected by modern concepts of
psychology, and she vacillated between confidence in her
religious beliefs and skepticism inspired by scientific
empiricism. She needed God as an anchor that would prevent

the world from dissolving into chaos and as an eventual

 

11
source of comfort and salvation from the perpetual suffering
of her life, but cynicism toward the institution of religion
undermined this faith (Wigotschnig 12). Lavant looked to
God to provide stability and purpose in the absence of a
nurturing society and religion. Yet the absence of a
nurturing society and religion seemed also to reiterate the
absence of God in her life. This ambiguity is reflected in
the poetry, in which God is sometimes vengeful and cruel,
sometimes apathetic, sometimes righteous and just, and only
occasionally sympathetic. Most often the lyrical self of
the poetry chides God for the distance that he has put
between himself and the world.

Despite her aborted schooling, Lavant was very well
read in literature, philosophy and both Eastern and Western
religion, but Wigotschnig adds,

Christliche mystische Literatur, aber vor allem die

Bibel war das Geisteswerk, das sie beeindruckte; sie

hielt sie ffir Dichtung wie jede andere. Das Alte

Testament mit seiner Gottesvorstellung vom harten,

rachenden und auch vergebenden Gott, die

Lebenswahrheiten darin, die den Menschen in H6hen und

Tiefen seines Wesens schildern, waren maBgeblich fur

ihr frfihes Weltverstandnis, wahrend sie das

Johannesevangelium des Neuen Testaments (nach

personlicher Aussage) als nahezu kitschig empfand. Ihr

war die Vaterfigur des neutestamentlichen Gottes immer

etwas suspekt. (13)

She preferred the strict Old Testament God, who dealt out
punishments and rewards immediately, over the New Testament
God, who only promises rewards and punishments.

Furthermore, she distrusted that tone of familiarity between

God and humanity that is conveyed in the New Testament

 

12
images of God as the Father or Christ as the Bridegroom.
Lavant did not consider herself, as a poetess, to be a
legitimate, productive member of society, and there is a
conspicuous absence of references to the act of writing
literature in her poetry. In the instances that names,
words, letters or writing appear in the poems, they are
usually images for the act of creation or references to the
Word of God. In the poetry, writing is a divine and
mystical activity, while the activities of the lyrical self
are usually more practical and concrete: walking, knitting,
spinning, or gathering herbs. Lavant's feelings toward her
poetry ranged from indifference to embarrassment, as she
writes in a letter to Gerhard Deesen in March 1962,
Uberhaupt ist mir das Dichten so peinlich. Es ist
schamlos [...] ware ich gesund und hatte 6 Kinder, um
fur sie arbeiten zu kannen: das ist Leben! Kunst wie
meine, ist nur verstfimmeltes Leben, eine Sfinde wider
den Geist, unverzeihbar. (guns; wig meine 234)
However, she considered her ill health, poverty and
recurring depression her specific burden for life and thus
considered herself, even as an outcast, a part of God's
ordained order of the world. She continues in her letter to
Deesen,
Das Leben ist so heilig, vielleicht wissen Gesunde das
nicht. Ich weiB es ganz. Deshalb werde ich mich
vermutlich nie umbringen. Ich hab ja auch Zeiten, wo
ich grundlos glucklich bin.
Though she was increasingly unhappy with her own life, she

did not doubt that life was intrinsically good. On the

contrary, the struggle that she describes in her letters was

 

13
to achieve a measure of holiness in her own life.

In her letters Lavant expresses the desire for a normal
life of secure, unquestioning bliss that is the result of
leading a simple, active and healthy life within society.
Because she was not able to work and was plagued by
debilitating fear, depression, sleeplessness and chronic
physical pain, she felt herself cut off from a life in
harmony with God, nature and society. She writes in a
letter to Ludwig von Ficker in July 1955,

Fur Gesch6pfe meiner Art ist es sehr weit bis zum

Herzen Gottes. Deshalb mangelt es ihnen dann so sehr,

so am allermeisten, an der wichtigsten Nahrung das

Gemfites ——-an Ehrfurcht und Vertrauen. Geraten sie in

sin normales Leben, so wird dieser Mangel durch Liebe

und menschliche warme verdeckt oder auch ersetzt, ist
ihnen das aber vorenthalten, dann bricht wider alles

Damonische immer und immer wieder der tragischste und

zugleich naivste Zustand durch, in welchem ein

menschliches Gemfit sich fiberhaupt befinden kann, der

Zustand, wo alle Krafte darauf aus sind, die Entfernung

zu Gott hin zu verringern und das um jeden Preis-——
(und meist mit verfehltesten Mitteln). (Kgn§t_wig

mains 223)

She believed that the link between herself as a social
outcast and God could be restored through human contact and
charity, and yet at the end of her life, cynicism led her to
be suspicious even of demonstrations of sympathy or
friendship (Scrinzi 178).

All of Lavant’s published poetry was produced within a
span of about 15 years. Her first major volume, gig
nnygllgnggt§_Ligbg (1949), was published at the age of 41.
Though she was generally uninterested in the publication and

reception of her works, she was particularly unhappy with

14
this first volume and spoke very critically of it in later
years (Wigotschnig 22). The following three volumes of
poetry, pie Bettlerschale (1956), Spindel im Mond (1959) and
De: Efiauensghrei (1962), are considered to be her best. She
was awarded the Trakl-Preis in 1954 and 1964, the GroBer
osterreichischer Staatspreis fur Literatur in 1970, and
various other prizes. She also wrote several short stories
and a handful of essays that have not been well received.
She made few public appearances, associated rarely with
other writers, and after the release of Der Pfauensghrei

ceased writing altogether.

c. The Secondary Literature

Little has been written about Lavant, and she remains
virtually unknown outside of Austria. A large portion of
what has been written is intended to introduce Lavant to the
general public and consequently focuses on a broad
discussion of a variety of representative poems that briefly
introduce the central themes of her poetry.

Several biographical sketches have been written about
her. The most comprehensive is by her doctor and personal
friend Otto Scrinzi. His article describes her personality
and her writing habits but does not deal with the poetry in
depth. Armin Wigotschnig, Lavant's nephew, has written a
biographical sketch of the poetess in which he also

discusses some of the common themes in her poetry.

15
Wigotschnig, however, preserves a clear distinction between
the life of the person Lavant and the experiences of the
lyrical self in the poetry. Though Wigotschnig is
conspicuously more concerned with the situation of the
poetess than in drawing conclusions about the poetry, he
worked together with Johann Strutz to compile the important
posthumous volume of poems, short stories and letters: Eggs;
gig mging 1st nu; verstfimmeltes Leben. In addition to this,
Strutz and Wolfgang Nehring have each written several
articles tracing the development of Lavant's writing style
and themes through her four major volumes.

There are admittedly many similarities between the
poetess and the lyrical self of the poetry, and parallels
are easily drawn. Aside from those already mentioned, some
critics have discussed the lyrical self of the poem as
essentially synonymous with the poetess, and they often draw
indiscriminately from the life of Lavant to assist in the
analysis of a poem, or conversely, the poetry is used to
illuminate aspects of the life of the poetess. Often the
term "lyrical self" is used interchangeably with Lavant, and
the poetry is treated as if it were autobiography.

Two of the most prolific critics, Mirko KriZman and
Grete Lubbe-Grothues, focus on Lavant’s unique use of
language, and both have published either full or partial
word indexes. KriZman explores the dramatic metaphors that

are symbolic of a split within the lyrical self. He

16
particularly points to binary contrasts as demonstrated in
the poetry through the words, the images, and the favored
form of the "dialogue" in which the lyrical self engages the
"Du". Lflbbe-Grothues concentrates on the individual words
that appear in the body of Lavant's poetry, the grammar, the

rhyme schemes, and the structural symmetries of individual

'1 4|,

poems. Both critics demonstrate that the internal,
existential crisis in which the lyrical self finds itself is
manifested in the words, grammar and form of the poetry.

Waltraud Mitgutsch draws on the theories of the French

 

feminists and of Adorno, Lacan and Derrida to develop the
argument that Lavant's poetry is an expression of her
alienation, which is caused by her inability to fulfill the
traditional role of a woman as mother and housewife. In
particular, Mitgutsch’s discussion focuses on the language
of Lavant’s poetry as a uniquely feminine language in
opposition to the linguistic system of the patriarchal
social and religious order. Mitgutsch defines the conflict
in the poetry as the attempt of the lyrical self to deal
with an "absence" that is neither the result of the loss of
some prior unity nor reparable. This absence is rather
actually the presence of an inherently feminine "other" that
does not correspond to the expectations or language of
patriarchal society and is therefore indefinable (95-104).
Religion and the relationship between the lyrical self

and God is recognized as a central theme in Lavant's poetry

 

17
and is discussed to a greater or lesser degree by nearly all
of the critics and commentators. Among those who have
concerned themselves specifically with the form that this
conflict takes are Weyma Lfibbe and Wolfgang Wiesmfiller.
Lubbe discusses the distinctive piety that can be seen in
Lavant's poetry. She points out that in some poems the
lyrical self reaffirms its faith in God in aggressive and
seemingly heretical outcries while in other poems it
questions the very nature of God in what appear at first
devout expressions of praise. Wiesmfiller, on the other
hand, examines the tripartite role of the Bible in the
poetry as a source of imagery, as the vehicle by which the
lyrical self criticizes the unjust religious hierarchy and
self-righteous social order, and as the central symbol for
both religion as a source of alienation and for God as the

means of salvation.

D. Locating the Lyrical Self

In much of the secondary literature to Lavant, the term
"lyrisches Ich" is used without having been clearly defined.
Often it is implied or assumed that the emotions of the
lyrical self are the same as Lavant's emotions or that there
is a direct correspondence between events in Lavant's life
and the images in the poetry. However, the very term
"lyrisches Ich" indicates that a differentiation between the

historical poet and the lyrical self in the poem is being

18
made.

The discussion of the lyrical self has rather recent
origins, but its definition has already been developed in
several different directions. The following three theorists
are representative of the basic directions that have been
taken in defining the lyrical self.

In 1910, Margarete Susman introduced the term
"lyrisches Ich" in response to methodologies that set the
self of the poetry equal to the historical self of the poet
(Pestalozzi 343-47). The lyrical self, according to Susman,
is created by the poet, but takes its form from the artwork.
Consequently, as a part of the artwork, it takes on a life
independent of the creating poet. Whereas the historical
self is real, individual, subject to chance, mortal and
empirical, the lyrical self is a reflection of the
historical self that is poetic, universal, causal, and
immortal. It becomes independent of the historical poet and
becomes a mythos or a universal and eternal entirety.

Though the lyrical self is created by the poet, in order
that the poet may transcend mortal and worldly existence,
this lyrical self immediately takes on an existence
independent of the poet and continues to exist within its
own artistic reality.

Eva Lfiders also discusses the lyrical self as a
phenomenon entirely within the poem, but defines it not as a

poetic incarnation of the poet but rather as a vehicle

 

19
through which unity between content and form is established,
a unity that is unique to lyric poetry as opposed to other
literary forms. Her use of the term "Ich-Rede" demonstrates
the emphasis that she places on the function of the lyrical
self as a poetic device. She writes, for example,
Wir sehen, daB das lyrische Ich sich nicht nach der
Perspektive und Erlebnisweise des Dichters richtet,
sondern nach der Beschaffenheit des "poetischen
Einfalls" oder des Motivs, dem es eine maximale
lyrische Wirkung erm6glichen soll. Die Ich-Rede ist
also nicht einfach natfirlich gegeben; sie ist ein
Kunstmittel, das jeweils sachgerecht eingesetzt werden
muB und das wir deshalb auch nur aus dem
Funktionszusammenhang des Gedichts heraus begreifen
kannen. (348)
As a poetic device, the lyrical self is not the perfected
and flawless reflection of the historical poet as Susman
believes, but a technique consciously employed by the poet.
For Lfiders, the lyrical self is a means rather than a poetic
end, and she cites examples of male poets who compose lyric
that employ "Ich-Rede" from a woman's point of view to
demonstrate that the form of the lyrical self is not limited
by the personal experience of the historical poet.
Regardless of the origin or function of the lyrical
self, both Susman and Lfiders locate the lyrical self
entirely within the finished artwork. Thus they are
justified in placing emphasis on the inappropriateness of
consideration of the historical poet to lyrical analysis.
Gottfried Benn, on the other hand, does not locate the
lyrical self in the finished artwork but rather within the

poet, placing the emphasis on the poetic process. In

20
describing the lyrical self, Benn writes,

Dieser Begriff ist die Inkarnation alles dessen, was an

lyrischem Fluidum in dem Gedichte produzierenden Autor

lebt, ihn trennt vom epischen und dramatischen Autor,
ihn befahigt und zwingt, in spezifischer Weise

Eindrficke, innere und fiuBere, zu sammeln und sie in

Lyrik zu verwandeln, er umfaBt die besonderen

Beziehungen des Lyrikers zu den Worten. (Essays 541)
The lyrical self exists, often dormant for long periods of
time, within and as a part of the author, appearing at the
creative moment to express itself in the poem. This lyrical
self is not identical to the poet, even though like the poet
it is historical and finite insofar as the death of the
author means the termination of the poetic process and
therefore the death of the lyrical self (Essays 544).

It is the task and only ambition of the lyrical self to
set in words the existence of the poet and its own eternal,
indestructible nature as the artistic process. It
transforms the internal impressions of the poet into words,
and these words are then the substance of a poetic reality
independent of the poet. Consequently, the lyrical self is
recognizable in the poem to the extent that the historical
poet is not, and thus it is possible to discuss the
appearance of the lyrical self in the poem while still
locating the lyrical self outside of the poem.

Like Susman and Lfiders, Benn does not assert that the
lyrical self is unique to modern lyric poetry, but he only

concerns himself with the modern lyrical self, which

distinguishes itself from that of other periods or literary

21
genre. For the modern lyrical self, the words constitute
the ends, as well as the means, of the creative process.
Benn writes,
Wenn der Romancier Lyrik macht braucht er Vorwande
daffir, Stoffe, Themen, das Wort als solches genfigt ihm
nicht, er sucht Motive. Das Wort nimmt nicht die
unmittelbare Bewegung seiner Existenz auf, er
beschreibt mit dem Wort. Das Wort des Lyrikers
vertritt keine Idee, vertritt keinen Gedanken und kein
Ideal, es ist Existenz an sich, Ausdruck, Miene, Hauch.
Es ist eine Art Realisierung aus animalischer Natur;
auf ihrer Schattenseite steht ihre Seltenheit und ein
selbst bei hohen Leistungen vielfach zu beobachtender
Hangel an Umfassung. (Samtliche Werke 356)
In Benn's conception, the lyrical self is the creative part
of the historical lyrical poet who synthesizes the
experiences of the poet into a poetic world that is above
all verbal, and in contrast to other literary genre, this
poetic world is an entirely subjective reflection of the
author. The function of the lyrical self is to transform
the emotions and experiences of the poet into a poetic
world. Thus, while in Susman's and Lfiders’ conception, the
lyrical self exists entirely in the artwork, for Benn it
forms a bridge between the historical poet and the poem.
Consequently, the poem gains relevance from the existential
struggles of the poet, and the poet is able to anchor
herself against general nihilism (Essays 500).
Benn’s conception of the lyrical self helps to overcome
a problem that other theories, which place the lyrical self

entirely within the artwork, do not solve. The lyrical self

is a concept that was intended to eliminate the historic

22
author from the discussion of the poem. However, if the
lyrical self is a device or an incarnation of the poet
within the artwork, it is not capable of expressing the
images that are the substance of the poem, but it can only
be part of them. Assuming that the poem is an expression of
something, the author is necessary as the source of the
expression and is necessarily a central figure in the
understanding of a poem. Lyric poetry is not the expression
of a fictive figure within the poem, for a poem can not
write itself, nor can it be read as if it had written
itself. By placing the lyrical self outside of the poetry
and defining it instead as the poetic process, Benn makes it
possible to discuss the expression in a poem of an
independent creative entity. By also separating the lyrical
self from the historical person of the poet, the lyrical
self can be recognized as a personification of the creative
drive of the poet and therefore transcendent of the
historical person.

Lyric poetry is not simply the construction of a
lyrical self, but it is a personal reflection of the lyrical
self who originally existed outside of the poem. In this
thesis, the lyrical self has two very closely related forms.
In the first place, the lyrical self is an embodiment of the
creative process. The lyrical self, as opposed to the
historical person, is the creative entity, and it is the

lyrical self that expresses its various emotions. Secondly,

23
because the poetry issues directly from the emotions of the
lyrical self and because of the exclusively personal nature
of the poetry, the lyrical self also exists within the poem
as an image or a reflection of the original creative act.
The lyrical self of Lavant’s poetry expresses the
existential distress of the poetess, makes Lavant's distress
its own, and creates a poetic world in which it develops and

works through its fears and hopes.

Part III

THE LYRICAL SELF IN THE POETR!

A. The Fragmentation of the Lyrical Self in Lavant’s Poetry

The lyrical self of Lavant's poetry does not describe
an external reality, but rather it creates a new, internal
poetic reality that embodies the conflicts felt within
itself. Because of these conflicts, the lyrical self is not
unified, but rather it is often split into the various parts
of both the body and spirit, each part representing
different desires and fears. By splitting into several
figures, the lyrical self expresses different emotions,
ranging from anger, fear, despair and disappointment to joy,
hope and humility. An example of the divided lyrical self
can be seen in the following poem:

Auf allen Stufen meines Leibes haust

ein Schmerz ffir sich und mochte heilig werden,

ich bin dem Kloster lfingst schon spinnefeind

und ware lieber ein Zigeunerlager.

Der Abt ist irr, er trommelt immerfort,

statt sich zu sammeln, 6den Abendsegen

und schlaft nie ein, halt auch die andern wach,

weil alle Stufen unentwegt erzittern.

Sooft mein Widerstand lebendig wird,

treibt ihn der Tauscher durch die Klostergrfinde,

dort wo die Wirklichkeit ganz kornig ist

und Brot hervorbringt ffir die Hungerleider.

So bin ich Haus und Hof und Brotgerfist

und manchmal auch ein ganz geheimer Hflgel,

wo meine Feindsal dunkle Trauben tragt,

24

25

damit die Heiligen Zigeuner werden. (Spindel im Mond
64)

The lyrical self struggles in this poem to establish its own
identity by naming and evaluating the emotions and
inclinations it recognizes within itself. The lyrical self
perceives its body to be a cloister, but wishes instead to
be a gypsy camp, and the images of the subsequent three
stanzas record a transformation that would ideally
ultimately result in the fulfillment of that wish.
Corresponding to this struggle to understand its identity,
the lyrical self struggles to establish a relationship with
God, as expressed with the image of Pain, that wishes to be
holy. However, it becomes clear that the lyrical self
refuses to accept the traditional definition of holiness and
searches for an alternative means of approaching God.

The lyrical self laments that its body is occupied by
various figures. The first to appear is Pain, who, like a
novice in a cloister, wishes to become holy. The reference
to the cloister that immediately follows is, however,
odious: the lyrical self hates it intensely and would rather
be a gypsy camp. In the second stanza, the deranged Abbot
who maliciously keeps his charges awake by drumming tedious
blessings is an image of the heart. This image reinforces
the already established negative image of the body as a
cloister. Resistance appears in the third stanza as a
positive figure. However, it is not described as

productive, rather it is chased through the cloister grounds

26
by the Deceiver. Nevertheless, since the cloister grounds
is one step away from the interior of the cloister and
toward the gypsy camp, this is a positive development for
the lyrical self. Furthermore, Reality is here producing
bread for the Hungry, who can not hope to receive anything
from the Abbot. In the final stanza, Hostility is
introduced. This figure, like Resistance, promises to help
transform the cloister into a gypsy camp. The figures
demonstrate a marked intensification through the poem,
culminating in this last figure. The image of Pain is
repeated more intensely in the image of the Hungry, the
Abbot has a double in the figure of the Deceiver, and
Resistance intensifies to Hostility.

Throughout the poem images of wholesomeness are
contrasted with images of malignancy. In the second stanza,
the Abbot does not bring peace to his charges, but rather
his incessant blessing causes the entire body to tremble
restlessly. On the other hand, the Hungry receive bread
from Reality outside of the cloister in the courtyard. As a
Christian symbol for the body of Christ and consequently a
means of communion with God, it is expected that bread would
be administered by a representative of the spiritual realm,
yet it is not. Likewise, in the final stanza, dark grapes,
again a symbol for the blood of Christ and a means of
approaching God, are carried by Hostility. The word tragen

is a pivotal word in the poem, for if understood as a

27
parallel to the preceding stanza, tragen is a synonym of
bringen, and thus the Enemy carries grapes that would be
offered to alleviate hunger. However, it also means to
wear, as clothing, and most significantly, to produce out of
oneself, as a grapevine bears grapes. Hostility is offering
a part of himself, just as Christ offered itself, so that
the Holy may become Gypsies.

The means of salvation for the lyrical self in the poem
is bread and wine, corresponding to the Christian symbolic
ritual of achieving salvation. However, the concrete
function of bread and wine as a source of nourishment and a
basic, bodily necessity overshadows the abstract spiritual,
symbolic function of the Sacrament. It is this concrete
nourishment that the Hungry of the third stanza need, and
not the life draining blessings offered by the Abbot. The
images in the second and third stanza are of sleeplessness
and hunger, basic physical needs. The Abbot of the second
stanza offers only blessings to alleviate the needs of the
body, but Reality and Hostility offer substantial
nourishment.

While the images of holiness are insubstantial and
unsatisfying, wholeness can be found away from the church.
In German, as in English, the words for holy, whole and
healthy are etymologically the same. In German, these words
still contain the root heil-, and these multiple meanings

create irony throughout the poem. The Abbot is holy but

28
harms the health of his charges, and Reality is by
definition not holy but ministers to the health of the
Hungry. Finally, framing the poem, the Pain wishes to be
holy but is instead offered wholeness by Hostility. The
lyrical self uses a traditional Christian symbol to reject
the stagnated and meaningless rituals of the church and to
seek a more sincere means of approaching God independent of
the church.

Corresponding to this progression away from the
malicious holiness of the church toward wholeness apart from
the church is a physical dislocation. In the first stanza,
the lyrical self calls its body a cloister and wishes that
it were instead a gypsy camp. In the course of the poem
there is in fact a progression from the enclosed space of
the cloister church, where the Abbot offers disquieting
blessings, to the freedom of an open camp. In the third
stanza, the reader is no longer in the church, but in the
courtyard, where the Hungry, who can expect no appeasement
from within the church, are fed by Reality. The final
stanza sums up this progression: "So bin ich Haus und Hof
und Brotgerflst," and the lyrical self takes a final step
away from the confinement of the cloister. The secret and
mystical hill evokes the image of Calvary where Christ was
crucified, and which lies outside of the gates of Jerusalem.
Likewise, outside the city gates ——-as well as outside the

social order and established church-—— is where one would

 

29
expect to find a gypsy camp. Thus, coinciding with the
progression from the malicious images of the Abbot’s
disquieting blessings to the wholesome images of the bread
and wine is a progression from within the confines of the
church, through the courtyard, and beyond the walls of the
cloister to freedom of the camp.

As the lyrical self struggles to approach God and
become holy it simultaneously rejects traditional
definitions of holiness. The rejection of the cloister by
the lyrical self is not, however, a gesture against God. On
the contrary, the lyrical self is searching for a means of
approaching God independent of the stagnated, laborious
rituals of religion. It struggles to find an expression of
faith that is free from dogma associated with the church and
that is individual to itself.

In this poem, the lyrical self recognizes and expresses
its feelings of fragmentation and makes an attempt to
approach God. It is not, however, successful, for though it
can move from one stage to another, the various stages of
cloister, courtyard and hill always remain part of the body.
The ambiguities are not resolved and the parts of the
lyrical self are never unified. The ironic coupling of
wholesome and malicious imagery, as well as the
juxtaposition of traditionally positive Christian symbols
with negative images of hunger or sleeplessness, further

epitomizes the lack of wholeness of the lyrical self.

30
Nehring writes,
Der Widerspruch zwischen Frammigkeit und Auflehnung,
zwischen Demut und Zorn ist strukturmaBig tief im Ich
verankert; denn das Ich der Gedichte Christine Lavants
ist keine Einheit, sondern es besteht aus zahlreichen
Seelenkraften. Die Auflasung der Person in Herz und
Willen, Sinne und Hirn, Angst und Mut . . . ja, in
einzelne Kérperteile, die isoliert angesprochen werden,
ist Ausdruck der inneren Verstfirung. ("Lavant" 127)
The lyrical self is the center of a world that is populated
solely by parts of its own body and spirit, each part
personifying a different emotion. Thus a microcosm is
created in which the lyrical self can express contradictory
feelings of anger, doubt, and disappointment as well as hope

and joy without having to, or even being able to, resolve

them.

1. The Lyrical Antagonist. Because the emotions that the
lyrical self expresses in this poetry are often aggressively
angry, indignant, demanding or submissive, it usually
addresses a second personification in an active
confrontation. Almost without exception there is in the
poetry an antagonist, who receives the brunt of its attack.
However, this second figure takes various forms: sometimes
the lyrical self speaks to its lover, to God, to Death, to a
guardian angel, to parts of its own self, or to human
society.

It is of interest to note that the antagonist is almost
exclusively male, and it has been speculated that the

antagonist represents an early lover of the poetess who left

31
her to become a priest.1 More plausible is the more
abstract explanation by Nehring,

Vor allem aber werden angesprochen das Du des geliebten

Menschen, den das Ich verloren hat, sowie der Gott, zu

dem es hinaufhofft und mit dem es rechnet. ("Lavant"

125)

The antagonist is not a specific man. Rather it is a
representative of humanity in which the lyrical self placed
its trust and was betrayed, leaving the lyrical self
abandoned, empty and indignant. In most of the poems, the
antagonist ultimately becomes a metaphor for God.

The antagonist personifies a specific aspect or aspects
of the lyrical self. It is then the recipient of the
questions, accusations or supplications of the lyrical self,
yet the confrontation remains internal, and the antagonist
is defined by the lyrical self and is part of the lyrical
self. In short, the unresolvable tension within the lyrical
self itself is projected as a conflict between the lyrical
self and the antagonist. In the following poem the
antagonist is, at least at first, the lover.

Morgen hangst du im Sonnennetz;

sie geht fur mich fischen,

sie tut fur mich alles

und legt dich gebraten oder gekocht,
wenn ich will, in mein Fenster.

 

lOtto Knérrich, for example, writes, "Die privaten
Widerfahrungen am Grunde dieses Elends liegen . . . eingermaBen
offen zutage: die nie verwundene Zurfickweisung einer Liebe, die
unendlich nach ihrer konkreten Erffillung verlangte, der ’barocke'
Widerspruch zwischen Menschen- und Gottesliebe, der aus der
Tatsache resultiert, daB der Geliebte Priester wird, und der mit
seinen leidvoll erfahrenen Glaubensimplikationen zum religidsen
Kern ihrer Lyrik wird" (138).

32
Morgen kommst du dem Wind ins Garn;
er legt ffir mich Schlingen,
er tut fur mich alles
und wirft dich ganz oder aufgebrdselt
als Staub und Asche vor meine Tfir.
Morgen wird dich der Regen erwischen;
er kann dich ertranken,
er tut fur mich alles
und wascht mich noch rein vor dem lieben Gott,
wenn ich will, daB ich dir immer gleiche.
Morgen lfisch ich die Sonne aus,
morgen stoB ich den Wind in die Grube

und schfitte den Regen ins Meer hinein,
denn ich will, daB du gern zu mir kommst. (Die

Whale 98)

The violent intensity of the images is only the first
indication that this is more than a simple love poem. In
the first three stanzas, the lyrical self wants not just to
possess its lover, it wants the lover to be offered up to
it, for it is in the manner of a burnt offering that it has
the sun and the wind lay the captured lover before the house
of the lyrical self. The lyrical self decides instead,
though, to use its power to overthrow nature and to allow
the lover to offer himself at his own free will. As such,
this is not a poem about the love between two people, but
rather a poem about the essential nature of love, and even
more, about the nature of the love between the lyrical self
and God. By putting God into the role of the lover, the
lyrical self is able to explore its relationship to God, and
ultimately even to explore the very nature of God.
Throughout most of the poem, the lyrical self casts

itself in the role of God and attributes to itself the

33
appropriate omnipotence. In this role, there is no question
of why the lyrical self deserves the love it demands; there
is only the question of how that love will be won. Almost
imperceptibly, however, the lyrical self reverses roles and
casts itself as the "Du" whose love is sought. The first
sign of this role reversal is in the third stanza, in which
the lyrical self admits its own lack of purity and expresses
a wish to be equal to the antagonist. Here the lyrical self
subordinates itself to God, and it takes over the role of
the antagonist who hopes for mercy. With the hint of this
new constellation, in which the lyrical self is not godlike
but rather stands before God, the last line of the poem
becomes ironically ambiguous. The lyrical self seems not so
much to wish that the antagonist comes freely to it, but to
say rather "ich will, daB du willst, daB ich gern zu dir
komme." With this role reversal, the lyrical self reveals
not the nature of its own love, but its desire and hope
concerning the nature of God’s love.

Yet the lyrical self explores more than just the nature
of God's love, it also explores God's nature. In the first
three stanzas the lyrical self plays the role of the Old
Testament God of the Law, who clearly states his
expectations and exactly prescribes sacrificial ritual. In
the final stanza the lyrical self describes the merciful God
of the New Testament, who asks only for people's uncompelled

love. At this point the tone seems merciful and apparently

34
attests to the goodness of God. However, at the same time
as the lyrical self explores the nature of God’s love, it
also expresses doubt in God’s promise to demonstrate this
love. Each of the four stanzas portrays the lyrical self
promising to commit an act that would affect the devotion of
the other. These unusually imaginative acts demonstrate
this love to be conscious and active. However, each stanza
also begins with the word Morgen. The lyrical self claims
that it will ensnare the antagonist, but it modifies its
claim by deferring action until a later date, just as in the
New Testament, promises of the return of Christ and the
Final Judgement are always coupled with the word soon.
Although the time of action is imminent, it, like the Second
Coming of Christ, may be perpetually imminent and never
immediate. This perpetual deferment of action allows the
lyrical self to entertain the hope that God will be merciful
as promised, and it also delays the possible revelation that
God is not merciful.

Expressed in the procrastination in this poem is hope,
but also fear of disappointment and a deep-seated suspicion
that God will never deliver the promised salvation. It is
as much a declaration of love for another as it is an
attempt to vindicate God. The lyrical self develops a model
of God's promised mercy and emphasizes that this promise is
possibly empty, that it has not yet been, and may never be,
fulfilled.

 

35

The struggle of the lyrical self in the poetry as a
whole is to understand its own identity and to determine the
nature of God. Since the lyrical self clearly does not have
access directly to God, its understanding of the nature of
God must be worked out personally. In the poetry the
lyrical self personifies its faith as an antagonist and then
challenge that personification. In this process, the
lyrical self explores and often rejects traditional defining
attributes of God, such as his sincerity is this poem.
However, while God is often defamed, the lyrical self's
faith in God is affirmed.

By introducing a second figure-—— the antagonist-——-the
lyrical self expresses these abstract emotions of faith,
doubt, and fear using tangible images. The antagonist is
not a figure independent of the lyrical self but rather is
an extension or fragment of the lyrical self that serves to
help the lyrical self define its role in its poetic world

and its relationship to God.

2. Nature and the World of the Lyrical Self. The lyrical
self, as the incarnation of the poetic process, creates the
world of the lyric poem. Within this malleable environment
the lyrical self is able to explore its emotions, play out
its feelings and express in tangible terms its intuitions.
Even in the few poems in which the lyrical self does not

explicitly appear, it is still present. Such is the case in

36
the following poem:
Erst beim dritten nachtschwarzen WindstoB
lieB sie sich willig verwandeln
in ein Ding ohne Oben und Unten
im Seil ohne Anfang und Ende
um die Mitte der Todesangst.
Am Morgen verstellten zwei Sterne
die einzige Stelle am Erdenrand,
wo der Himmel leicht anfing.
fiberdies rollten viel Menschenaugen
in Igelbalgen fiber den Weg,
der zur Erde zurfickffihrt.

Wirklich, es blieb der Verzauberten nichts
als das Seil und die Schneide des Mondes. (Der

Pfauenschrei 8)

This poem describes the early dawn (die Dammerung) when the
earth and sky are still indistinguishable, but the stars are
beginning to fade before the rising sun, and yet it is more
than a nature poem. The images in the first three lines-——
images of transformation, of a thing without top or bottom,
and of a cord without beginning or end ——-are images of
eternity, and in the center of these images is the fear of
death. Though the lyrical self is not explicitly present in
this poem, awareness of one's own mortality is a uniquely
human trait; in the middle of this universe stands humanity,
represented in the lyrical self. In the third stanza human
eyes roll away toward earth, an allusion to death and a
variation of the Biblical prophecy in Genesis 3.19:
In the sweat of your face
you shall eat bread
till you return to the ground,
for out of it you were taken;

you are dust,
and to dust you shall return.

37
These stars, that are personified as human eyes and
described as rolling towards their own death, are a
terrifying image of the inevitability of death.

Furthermore, there is throughout the poem an air of
reluctance. Although the dawn is willingly transformed into
a thing without top or bottom, it is ironically only after
the third push from the wind and only passively: it let
itself be transformed. At morning two stars ——-anticipating
the image of human eyes in the next stanza-——-block the way
of the rising sun. The coming of the day represents the
death of night and creates another image of human mortality.

While the lyrical self clearly identifies with the
condemned stars, it also identifies with the immortal dawn.
Death is not the only fear of the lyrical self, it also
fears the abandonment that is expressed in the final stanza.
The horizon is as reluctant to see the coming of the day as
the stars, exactly because the dawn will survive and be
alone.

The fragmentation of the lyrical self facilitates the
expression of its often conflicting emotions. In this poem,
two aspects of the lyrical self are developed as images of
nature, so that in spite of the fact that the lyrical self
does not appear in this poem, its fears are expressed.
Nehring writes,

Christine Lavants Gedichte sind reine Ich—Lyrik, auch

in den wenigen Beispielen, in denen nicht "Ich" gesagt

wird. Die scheinbar unpersdnlichen Naturbilder atmen
die gleiche Angst und die gleiche Schwermut, die sonst

38

dem Ich zugehdrt. ("Zur Wandlung" 20)

This poetic world is more than just a world occupied by the
lyrical self, it is the world of the lyrical self. The
fears, anger, hopes and disappointment of the lyrical self
permeate the world so that every element becomes an image
reflecting its emotions.

Just as the various parts of the body and spirit have
separate wills and yet remain parts of the lyrical self,
nature is in the poetry also a projection of the fragmented
lyrical self. However, in other poems, the essence of
nature as a part of the fragmented lyrical self is not as
apparent. In the following poem, nature appears to lend the
lyrical self security by offering it strength and dominion
over its environment and its fate. As such, it seems that
nature is primarily a backdrop for the poem rather than a
central figure in the discussion:

Nie kommt das Schlafbrot bei mir an,
der Traumkelch geht an mir vorbei,
mit seinem kfimmerlichsten Schrei
verkfindet taglich mir der Hahn

den Anbruch trfiber Stunden.

Hast du nicht mehr erfunden,

o Herr, um streng mit mir zu sein?
Dies alles macht dich weder klein
noch groB in meinen Augen.

Ich gehe Honig saugen

aus tauben Nesseln, wildem Klee,

ich schreibe Namen in den Schnee,
die alle dich nicht meinen.

Ich rede mit den Steinen,

warme ihre Schattenseiten an

und lasse gerne Hund und Hahn

durch meinen Schatten gehen.

Auf meinen nackten Zehen

glfinzt oft die Sonne gelb wie Stroh,
das Mondschwert macht nicht wund, nur froh

39

und biegt sich sanft zur Wiege.

Wenn ich so horchend liege,

daB ich schon fast gehorchsam bin,

dann fiberkommmt mich oft ein Sinn

und brennt auf meinem Scheitel.

Dann wird dein Strengsein eitel

und fallt herab als heiBer Sand,

im Teller meiner linken Hand

laB ich ihn kfihler werden.

Dann bist du sehr auf Erden,

gehst quer durch alles Mein und Dein,

gibst allem deinen Namen

und sammelst mein Gehorchsamsein

als Klee- und Nesselsamen. (Spigdel im nong 108-09)
The lament of the lyrical self in the first lines is that it
is cut off from God as an insomniac is cut off from sleep,
but in the course of the poem, the lyrical self approaches
God through nature. In the two words, Schlafbrot and
Traumkelch, are merged two images, one of basic bodily need
for sleep and another of the spiritual need for access to
God. Because these needs are not met, the lyrical self is
isolated and defiant, so it turns to nature where it can
suck honey from nettle and clover as a substitute for the
religious ritual of Holy Communion. In nature, the lyrical
self also writes names, a symbolic act of creation, for it
is with words alone that God created the world in Genesis,
and to spite God and assert its own independence, the
lyrical self writes only names that exclude God. Nature
provides the lyrical self with the opportunity to have
influence over its fate, and within the realm of nature, the
lyrical self is able to act out a role of a powerful force,

essentially the role of God. Finally, by providing for the

needs of the lyrical self, nature is able to mollify the

40
lyrical self and to subdue it into an obedient state. It is
finally the Mondschwert that lulls the lyrical self and thus
fulfills its need for sleep. Not religion, but rather
nature provides for the needs of the lyrical self and allows
it to open itself to God.

Despite all that the lyrical self does in nature-——
gathering honey, writing names and speaking with stones-——
it is far from omnipotent, and God has the potency that the
lyrical self lacks. In nature the lyrical self imitates God
but without God's effectiveness. Though the lyrical self
imitates God by writing names, God has the power to give his
own names to all objects, even those that the lyrical self
had made its own. God then also gathers, not clover and
nettle, but the obedience of the lyrical self as if it were
clover and nettle. The only act that God can not perform is
the act of creating devotion in the lyrical self.

God’s inefficaciousness in this realm is especially
apparent in the lines in which the lyrical self addresses
God directly. At the beginning of the poem, the lyrical
self is helpless and is forced to wait until the relief of
sleep is brought to it. In this state of physical and
spiritual impoverishment, the lyrical self chides God for
not demanding more from it. It also recognizes, though,
that God’s expectations, regardless of the degree, have no
influence in its life and can not force devotion from it.

Therefore the lyrical self turns away from God to reign over

41
nature. After it becomes obedient, however, God's rigorous
demands are still without influence. The lyrical self is
already open to God and does not need God to force himself
into its world. Though the lyrical self is essentially
impotent, it is capable of accepting or not accepting God
into its world. The lyrical self has free will and may
choose to accept or not accept God.

Nature plays the role of mediator that is normally
filled by religion. This can also be seen in the image of
the dish of the left hand, an image that juxtaposes natural
and religious imagery. The dish heralds back to the name
and the directing motif of the earlier volume of poetry, Dig
Bettlggsghalg; the beggar’s bowl is the focal point of
reoccurring images of spiritual destitution, not only in
that volume but throughout Lavant’s works. In this poem,
the left hand is similarly held out empty in a gesture of
begging. The fact that the left hand is held out can be
interpreted in many ways. The left side is often
characterized as unclean and as the side away from God,
i.e., Jesus sits on the right hand of God, and it is the
right hand that one extends in greeting, with which one
crosses himself, or with which one blesses another.
However, in the vernacular the left side is the side that is
closest to the heart, as is expressed in the saying, "Die
linke Hand geht von Herzen." This paradox again shows the

affinity between the lyrical self and nature, especially in

42
opposition to the church. Although the left hand might be
unclean from the religious and social perspective, it is
naturally more sincere and less capable of hypocrisy, and
therefore the side that the lyrical self extends more
naturally to God.

Just as the lyrical self projects the antagonist as a
recipient of its attack, it also projects from itself the
world in which this attack is possible. The lyrical self is
able to manipulate the conditions under which it has its own
needs fulfilled. In the same manner that the lyrical self
is able to objectify its fear of death as stars and its fear
of abandonment as the dawn, its willingness to open itself
to God is a part of the fragmented lyrical self that is
projected as an image of nature. The lyrical self of the
poem does not exist in an independent reality, but rather it
creates a poetic reality out of the poetess' experiences and

emotions.

B. The Lyrical Self in its Relationship to God

The poetic world of Lavant’s lyrical self is internal,
created to allow the lyrical self to deal with its struggle
to identify itself in a relationship with God. "Nie kommt
das Schlafbrot bei mir an" begins with accusations against
God, but ends in a mood of self-sacrificing devotion.
Although it is not uncommon for the lyrical self to

surrender fully to God in this manner, the lyrical self is

43

never blindly devoted to God. The relationship between the
lyrical self and God is in a constant state of flux as the
lyrical self incessantly reexamines its role in the world,
God’s expectations, and God’s promises. The attitude of the
lyrical self is aggressive; it makes demands, commands,
insinuations, accusations, convictions and acquittals using
potent, often shocking or even blasphemous imagery. Such is
the case in the following poem:

Zieh den Mondkork endlich aus der Nacht!

Viel zu lange lebt der Geist im Glase

und das Elend bildet eine Blase,

wer hat uns in diesen Krug gebracht?

Wem zum Heiltrunk sind wir angesetzt?

Wilde Krauter, keines ganz geheuer,

soviel Gift verbraucht nur ein Bereuer-——

Vater-unser, ich bin ganz entsetzt.

Bist du der, der solche Garung braucht,

meinst du wirklich, dieser Trunk wird munden?

Du-——-ich ffirchte ——-deine Leidensstunden

finden uns am Ende ausgeraucht.

Zieh den Mondkork frfiher aus der Nacht!
Vom Verlangen wird der Saft zu bitter.
Ach! ——-nur Sprfinge hat jetzt das Gewitter
in die walbung unsres Krugs gebracht.

Gelbe Sprfinge, die von oben sich

rasch verschlieBen.-——-Stieg in deine Nase

eine Ahnung von der Pest im Glase?

Gelt, du ffirchtest-——-wir vergiften dich! (Spinggl im
112111.146)

The first half of the poem shows the lyrical self bewildered
at the unhappiness in the world and it questions God about
how the world came to be so full of pain. Each of the first
three stanzas contains a question, each progressively more

intensely critical. The first stanza sets up the image of

44
the world in a bottle that is corked by the moon, and it is
phrased as a plea to God to finally uncork the bottle, for
its contents are fermenting and turning sour. In a tone of
bewilderment the lyrical self asks who it is that put the
world into a bottle and started the suffering. The second
stanza further develops the image of the bottle by
describing the contents as sinister herbs that were intended
to be a medicine. The lyrical self remarks that so much
poison could only be used by a Penitent. The word Bereuer
is then followed directly by Vater-unser, but the reference
to Our Father is not intended to be an allusion to the
confession of the Penitent. Rather it is the prelude to the
confession of the lyrical self, and the lyrical self is
obviously not the same Penitent as in the preceding line.
Even though the Penitent and Our Father belong to separate
grammatical clauses, their close proximity to each other,
and the fact that the Penitent is not a reference to the
confessing self, foreshadows a more direct accusation of
God. Vater-unser might in this sense be read as a
revelation of the name of the Bereuer of the preceeding
line. Indeed a direct accusation comes in the first line of
the third stanza. The lyrical self asks God bluntly whether
it is he who needs the mixture, but the lyrical self also
modifies its accusation by assuming that God is unaware that
the mixture is turning sour, and the lyrical self warns God

that this world in the bottle may be useless as a medicinal

45
remedy when he needs it in his hour of suffering. In the
first three stanzas the lyrical self asks three times who
has prepared the mixture, each time insinuating more
directly that it might be God, but each time not fully
implicating him. Three times the lyrical self warns that
what was intended to be a healing potion is working
dangerously, and yet the lyrical self has faith that the
imprisonment is unintentional and that if God knew, he would
pull the cork.

In the fourth stanza the tone changes. The lyrical
self repeats its plea, but pleads not that the cork be
pulled "at last", as in the first line, but rather that it
be pulled "sooner". The time for God to act has already
passed, and the lyrical self is accusing God of negligence.
The lyrical self also states that the demands of God have
made the mixture too bitter, thus placing the blame directly
on God for the evil in the bottle. The images of the final
six lines show an intensification in the fermentation, i.e.,
a storm which causes cracks in the glass. These cracks are
closed immediately from above, and the lyrical self accuses
God of both knowing and also being afraid of the contents of
the bottle. Whereas in the first stanza God is the one who
would hopefully rescue the world, and in the third stanza
God is at fault for inadvertently causing the problem, in
the final two stanzas God is no longer just neglectful, but

maliciously mischievous and unable to control the

46
progression of his own prank.

While the question in the first stanza is rhetorical
and has a bewildered tone, the questions of the second and
third stanzas do not have this same rhetorical tone, but are
more serious and probing. The lyrical self is no longer
commenting on the predicament of its world, but is demanding
to know who is responsible for it. In the final stanza, the
tone of the question has again changed; this time the
lyrical self is not pleading with God but taunting him. The
same change in tone is also reflected in the change from the
expression ich fflrchte in the third stanza to du ffirchtest
in the final stanza. Through the poem, the lyrical self
becomes more boldly critical of God.

Ultimately, the lyrical self calls into question all of
the four traditional defining attributes of God: his
omnipresence, omniscience, omnipotence and goodness. First
of all, in that God is placed outside of the bottle, he is
not omnipresent. Furthermore, in the first three stanzas
the lyrical self reproaches God for not being aware of the
pest in the bottle and accuses him of only becoming aware of
it when cracks form. Thus the lyrical self insinuates that
God is not omniscient. Because God is not able to stop the
fermentation and save the world, he can not be omnipotent,
and images of evil, poison, suffering and bitterness belie
God's goodness.

However, a benevolent and all-powerful God is an

47
indispensable prerequisite to such a poem as this. Lfibbe
writes concerning this poem,

Die Situation, aus der das Gedicht als Ganzes entsteht,

ist nicht durch die Bitte um Sinn in existenzieller Not

gekennzeichnet, sondern sie spottet der g6ttlichen

Sinngebungsmdglichkeit. Immerhin: wenn, im Erleben der

Dichterin, Gott nicht doch oben stfinde, lieBe sich

keine auch noch so transitorisches Kraftgeffihl daraus

ziehen, ihn in dieser Weise herabzuholen. (94)

The existence of God, according to Lfibbe, is the premise
from which the lyrical self proceeds in its attack against
God. The freedom of the lyrical self allows it to brutally
attack God as a means of making sense of its own faith, but
the faith in God's existence is not questioned. Further,
the lyrical self's faith in God’s benevolence and
omnipotence is also indispensable, because it is this faith
that is attacked.

At issue is the faith of the lyrical self. Each poem
is a statement by the lyrical self of what it believes about
God and a scrupulous examination of those beliefs.
Consequently, the poetry is an exclusively personal
expression of faith in which the lyrical self is not bound
by the dogma of established religion or the confining
expectation of society.

Because of the distance that the lyrical self perceives
between itself and God, and because of the fragmentation of
the lyrical self that is a result of that distance, the

lyrical self is repeatedly prevented from placing its

unwavering faith in God. In spite of this, however, the

48

lyrical self is never able to disavow God. The existence of
God is the one, single belief that the lyrical self does not
question. It is only the nature of God and God's
relationship to the lyrical self that is the subject of
reiterated questioning, challenges and probings. And
ultimately, anger at God is always accompanied with hope
that God will forgive.

In the following poem is again a reflection of the
distance that has come between the lyrical self and God.

Unter verdorrenden Apfelbaumen

reden die Seelen der Bettler

von Brot, das nie ausgeht,

und von der verheiBenen Wohnung

im Hause des Vaters.

Heilig singen die Unheilbaren

die hohe lebendige Blume an,

und taubstumme Kinder erlernen

die Sprache von Wurzel und Steinen.

Unfruchtbare berflhren sich zart,

sagen einander: Du, sei gegrfiBt

und glorreich sei dein verlassenes Herz

in der Angst deiner Jahre.

Unter verdorrenden Apfelbaumen

schutten die Ausgesonderten alle
ihr Heimweh bis zu den Quellen hinab

und ernahren die Erde. (Qig_§§;t1§;§§halg 132)

The images are intensely diametric on several levels. On a
spacial level, the reader's attention is repeatedly directed
from physically high images to low ones. In the first two
lines, attention is directed from the apple trees to the
beggars sitting under them, in the second stanza from the
high living flower to the roots and stones, and in the final

stanza again from the trees to the wellsprings of the Earth.

 

 

49
In addition to contrasting images of high and low are the
images of death and life, seen in the withering apple trees
and the living flower.

Just as the images of nature are offset by their
opposites, the activities of the outcasts are tempered by
the ironic incongruities between what they need and what
they have. The beggars, who already have food and shelter
from the trees, speak of bread and shelter furnished by God.
The unhealable, according to their name, can never be whole,
yet their singing is described as holy, and the children are
deaf and mute, but they learn to speak. Repeatedly there is
a contrast between presence and absence, but it is the same
things that are both present and absent.

Although the outcasts seem to have what they long for,
what is absent throughout the poem is the absolute, eternal
quality of God’s grace. The outcasts provide for each
other's needs that, since the Fall away from God, are no
longer fulfilled by God. However, they are incapable of
alleviating their own suffering, and are only reminded of
their distance form God. In the last stanza, the outcasts
have only the memory of God with which to nourish the
withering trees, and they are unable to restore the trees'
health. As in "Nie kommt das Schlafbrot bei mir an," the
outcasts imitate the acts of creation but are essentially
impotent. Just as the apple trees are decaying reflections

of the Tree of Life in Paradise, the outcasts are flawed and

 

50
wasting reflections of the original humans before the Fall
away from God.

The tone of this poem, however, is drastically
different from that of "Zieh den Mondkork endlich aus der
Nacht," in which the lyrical self does not remember a time
when it was close to God and seems to have lost faith that a
union will ever be possible. In "Unter verdorrenden
Apfelbaumen" the outcasts remember Paradise, as indicated
with the word Heimweh in the last stanza, and look forward
to the reunion with God, as shown in the first stanza. In
this poem, God also remembers the lost relationship and has
not forgotten his promise of a reunion. Whereas in "Morgen
hangst du im Sonnennetz" and "Zieh den Mondkork endlich aus
der Nacht" God's apparent absence causes the lyrical self to
doubt the sincerity of God's promise, the living flower
attests to God's presence and good will. The contrast of
the growing and productive flower to the withering apple
trees suggests the same relationship as is seen between
prophecy and fulfillment that is represented in the figures
of Adam and Christ. In this poem the lyrical self
identifies with the whole of humanity as fallen and
dependent on God to restore wholeness.

The ambiguities that arise in this poem from the
contrasting images of high and low, of absence and presence,
and of loneliness and satisfaction are not resolved. While

hope for a reunion with God is present and strong, it does

 

.- u
r- I u

51
not take place, and the lyrical self is suspended in a state
of anticipation in which hope is still paired with the
possibility of disappointment. In each individual poem as
well as the whole body of poetry, the lyrical self
successively restates and redevelops the conflict between
its divergent emotions. The lack of finality can be seen as
an indication of the unresolvable tension within the lyrical
self that is only held in balance by constantly shifting

forces.

C. Images of Joy

The struggle of the lyrical self is to reconcile the
various conflicting emotions, and it recognizes that the
fragmentation is the result of the distance between God and
itself ——-the loss of wholeness that was the result of the
Fall. However, the lyrical self is not without faith in
God. Its repeated questioning of God both presupposes its
faith in the existence of God and also reaffirms its hope
for an eventual reunion with God.

Latent in all of the poetry is the knowledge that God
is not completely absent from the lyrical self. Both
Spingg1_im_ugng and De; Efauenschrei end with nearly
identical poems in which the essential goodness of God and
his closeness to the lyrical self is proclaimed:

Frflher war ich nie freudig genug.

Erst beim Verscharren der goldenen Wurzel

heute, wfihrend die Augen weinten,
stieg eine stahlerne Freude herab,

52

um mein Herz zu durchbohren.

Mutig schnitt sie die Stelle an,

wo der versunkene Anteil Gottes

silbern unter der Schwermut lag

wie ein Wald aus Oliven.

Und der Himmel gab eine Halfte her

und die Erde hob eine Halfte hoch

fflr das Obdach am Rand aller Sinne.

Jemand nahm meine Augen zu sich,

jemand belauscht mich mit meinem Gehor,

aber mein Herz ——-voll von stahlerner Freude-——

geht jetzt quer durch das deine. (Spindel im Mong 158)
The lyrical self does not claim that the earlier pain,
doubt, and anger were mistaken; those emotions are all
undeniable parts of the fragmented lyrical self. On the
contrary, the lyrical self states now that joy is also
present to an extent that it was not aware of earlier. In
the midst of pain, the joy reveals itself, and it shows the
lyrical self a place within its own heart where God, peace,
and contentment is in fact present. The joy is described as
steel, an image of coldness and inflexibility but also of
durability and perseverance. This joy is as aggressive and
relentless here as the anger in "Zieh den Mondkork endlich
aus der Nacht" or the defiance in "Nie kommt das Schlafbrot
bei mir an." The joy is not alien to the lyrical self, but
rather as much a part of the lyrical self as its anger and
defiance.

The revelation that God, who was thought to be absent,
is in fact present and even a part of the lyrical self makes

possible a recognition of joy. This does not unify the

parts of the lyrical self, but it brings peace to the

53
lyrical self. A union with God would achieve a true
reconciliation between the fragments of the lyrical self and
would restore wholeness, but for the lack of that, the
presence of a part of God within the lyrical self allows it
to maintain the hope for the eventual reunion.

Whereas in much of the poetry the lyrical self's faith
in the goodness of God can only be indirectly inferred to be
a premise, in this poem this faith is stated explicitly.

The joy, like the God represented in the seventh line, is an
integral part of the lyrical self that it admits to be
present, even when it is not obvious. The freedom that
allows the lyrical self to lash out against God in other
poems is also present in this poem and allows the lyrical

self to accept its faith completely.

Part IV

CONCLUSION

Lavant’s poetry does not cover a broad range of
subjects. On the contrary, it has only one subject, the
endeavor of the lyrical self to define itself and understand
its emotions. Inextricably bound with this endeavor is the
endeavor to define and understand God. Because the lyrical
self perceives itself to be cut off from God, the struggle
either to approach God or to dismiss him occupies the
lyrical self repeatedly throughout the body of the poetry.

The fragmentation of the lyrical self is an indication
of this conflict. In many poems, the fragmentation
manifests itself as different parts of the body and spirit
striving to exert their separate wills. In other poems the
fragmentation of the lyrical self can be seen in the figure
of the antagonist. The presence of the antagonist allows
the lyrical self to formulate its emotions as an aggressive
monologue. However, whether the poem is peopled by several
personified parts of the lyrical self's body, or whether the
poem is a confrontation between the lyrical self and the
antagonist alone, the poems are the private expression of
the lyrical self. This is even the case in the nature

poems, in which the lyrical self is apparently absent.

54

55

Of all the emotions expressed in the poetry-—— fear,
anger, defiance, disappointment, devotion, love, etc. -—-the
conflict ultimately culminates in a conflict between faith
in God's goodness and doubt. There is finality neither in
the individual poems nor in the whole body of poetry. Each
poem represents a provisional solution to the doubts of the
lyrical self -- a temporarily achieved respite in the
conflict between the parts of the lyrical self. The lyrical
self, feeling that it has been abandoned by God, is
repeatedly prevented from placing its unwavering faith in
God.

In spite of the inconclusiveness of the struggle, the
lyrical self's faith in the existence of God is an
unshakable premise. The freedom of the lyrical self is
expressed in its repeated attacks against the nature of God
and against the dogma of religion. The strength of the
lyrical self lies in the fact that it can retain its faith
in God's goodness in spite of his apparent distance. The
doubt ultimately strengthens the faith, because the faith is
based on this inner freedom of the lyrical self to accept or

reject God.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BIBLIOGRAPH!

Primary Literature
Lavant, Christine. Die gnvollendete Liebe. Stuttgart:

Brentanoverlag, 1949.

. Q1§_fig§;l§;§ghalg. Salzburg: Muller, 1956.

. S de i o . Salzburg: Mfiller, 1959.

. De; Efgugnschrei. Salzburg: Muller, 1962.

. Kunst wie meine ist gur verstfimmeltes Leben,

- 1°‘_oS“n‘ q ’_‘t_‘ . er}- ‘1 ‘ ‘2 9
EIQ§§‘_§I1§£§. Comp. and Ed. Armin Wigotschnig and

Johann Strutz. Salzburg: Maller, 1978.

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[F

 

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