Learned essays on this or that poetry make little red devils dance in my
brain and my right hand reach for a Japanese sword. They are invariably
inferior to the spirit, and occupy only a small section of the horizon
of their subject. I have translated these three poems because I felt
that they were as good or better than the best things published in this
country, and because so little is known of this kind of German poetry
here. The first is by Julius Berstl and the second two are by Fritz
Schnack. I know of many more, but I am unable to get their work just
now. As you perhaps know, they are engaged at present in a different
direction.