Hugo von Hofmannsthal holding a stone beside a garden path

The spark in a roadside stone

Hugo von Hofmannsthal (1874–1929), an Austrian poet and playwright, brings together three things in the first of his two Ghaselen that one might scarcely look at twice. A small violin, a roadside stone and a word worn smooth by use make an unlikely sequence. To follow it one must listen, imagine a movement that has yet to take place and finally pay rather closer attention to one's own speech.

What the stone has yet to do

The stone lies beside the road as if it might stay there for ever. Out of its stillness Hofmannsthal draws a spark. A second image follows at once. One can almost hear the collision whose force the poem evokes, although no hand has yet picked up the stone. In just two lines the reader travels from an object lying quietly on the ground to an extraordinary consequence of its being set in motion.

In the stone beside the road lies the spark that sets the world alight,
Hidden lies the force of the dreadful, lightning-like impact.

– Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Ghaselen, 1979, p. 107.[1]

Violin, stone and word

The recurring final word of the ghazal gives the ear a point to return to as the images change. A violin holds its sound in reserve until somebody plays it. In a familiar word there may be a truth as clear as crystal. Precisely because the word is worn with use, it takes some effort to hear it afresh.

Towards the end, observation gives way to a series of imperatives. The instrument wants a player and the stone a hand prepared to throw it. Reading takes on a practical dimension too. Bringing a hidden power to light requires someone to act, and that person has a share in whatever follows.