The Elf King

Der Erlkönig is a poem written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe in 1782. Goethe is arguably the most famous poet Germany has ever produced, and is widely renowned as one of the greatest romantic poets. Below is a translated version of Der Erlkönig, The Elf King, as translated by Edwin Zeydel in 1955.

"Who's riding so late where winds blow wild 
It is the father grasping his child; 
He holds the boy embraced in his arm, 
He clasps him snugly, he keeps him warm.

"My son, why cover your face in such fear?" 
"You see the elf-king, father? 
He's near! The king of the elves with crown and train!" 
"My son, the mist is on the plain."

'Sweet lad, o come and join me, do! 
Such pretty games I will play with you; 
On the shore gay flowers their color unfold, 
My mother has many garments of gold.'

"My father, my father, and can you not hear 
The promise the elf-king breathes in my ear?" 
"Be calm, stay calm, my child, lie low: 
In withered leaves the night-winds blow."

'Will you, sweet lad, come along with me? 
My daughters shall care for you tenderly; 
In the night my daughters their revelry keep, 
They'll rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep.'

"My father, my father, o can you not trace 
The elf-king's daughters in that gloomy place?" 
"My son, my son, I see it clear 
How grey the ancient willows appear."

'I love you, your comeliness charms me, my boy! 
And if you're not willing, my force I'll employ.' 
"Now father, now father, he's seizing my arm. 
Elf-king has done me a cruel harm."

The father shudders, his ride is wild, 
In his arms he's holding the groaning child, 
Reaches the court with toil and dread. - 
The child he held in his arms was dead."

Originally I had planned to use this poem as the subject for my explication paper, but a better candidate presented itself. This poem still strikes me on a personal level. Upon first glance, it seems a simple enough horror story or perhaps a metaphor for illness. However, when taken in context with the time it was written, the very early industrial revolution, it can be read as a bastard cousin to an environmental poem, complete with agenda and all. I say it has an estranged relationship to the environmental poem because it is not necessarily calling out for action on a tangible front, rather on a much less tangible front, though one that is just as recognizable today as it was to Goethe upon writing this poem. The statement here is not that mankind is ruining the environment, instead losing touch with it. The child, not having grown old and wise as the father, still sees the mysticism in nature and the world, whereas the father sees only the trees and the fog. Goethe argues that those in power losing sight of the mysticism in nature is dangerous to us all, a statement that many people mirror today. While Goethe's worries stemmed from the very beginning of the industrial revolution and his understanding that intense damage would follow the behaviors that came with such technological progress, the concerns voiced by modern writers stem not from anticipation of that damage, but from seeing it happen. We have watched the deforestation of the Amazon rain forest, and are in the middle of what some scientists are calling a mass extinction event. Though grim, it seems as though Goethe was a prognostic of our fate should we continue to ignore the widening gap between humanity and the natural world.