An entire zoo could have been filled with all the animals that have been sung about in poetry over the course of the more than three thousand years of European poetry history.

Although it would only consist of paper, it would still be filled with the most diverse colors and shapes, movements and voices.

In addition, it would have the advantage that none of the animals in it would suffer from inappropriate housing or the curiosity of visitors.

What's more, once admitted to the lyrical zoo, each animal species would be permanently protected from extinction.

We do not know exactly when this poem about the cicada was written.

It comes from the "Carmina Anacreontea", the "Anacreontic Songs", a collection of sixty poems by various unknown authors from a period ranging from the second to the sixth century AD.

Because they were in his style, these poems have long been attributed to Anacreon of Teos, one of the nine canonical Greek lyric poets of the sixth century BC.

Very little is known about him, which is why, in keeping with the themes of his poems, people preferred to imagine him as an old man devoted to love and wine.

He was said to have a love affair with the poet Sappho, and a grape seed is said to have cost him his life.

The perfect creature

Whoever wrote it, we owe him—or her—one of the most enchanting contributions to the insect poem genre, a comparatively unpopular but not to be underestimated subgenus of animal poetry.

In addition to poetic talent, the author seems to have had zoological or entomological knowledge, because relevant knowledge has been incorporated into the text in several places, such as the thesis - also supported by Aristotle in his "Tierkunde" - that the cicada feeds itself only of dew (this is what is meant by the "little drink" in the third verse).

Scientifically, this has long been outdated, but such details have retained their poetic appeal to this day.

Perhaps it was precisely this that prompted Goethe to translate the poem into German in 1781, essentially following the original but also taking poetic liberties.

So he made the "summer messenger" of the original - probably to emphasize the associated new beginning - the "sweet messenger" of "sweet spring", and he refined the "bright voice" of the cicada to the "silver voice".

Above all, however, he introduced the beautiful word "poet's friend", which suggests an intimate, almost identificatory relationship between the translator and the cicada.

Significantly, unlike in the original, she is not addressed by her name in the first verse, but as "dear little one".

Overall, the tone of Goethe's translation is strikingly tender,

The meter, which is used with great musicality, also contributes to this (a trochaic quadruple, which is modeled on the ancient meter).

One could get the impression that after Phoibos Apollon and the Muses, Goethe also fell in love with the cicada.

But what made this insect so appealing to him?

It was probably not just about his famous singing, which some found obtrusive, but also about the other attributes attributed to him: "like a king", but also living in harmony with the peasants, being revered, but also To bring joy, to be connected to the earth but also at home in the trees, to be rich but frugal and, above all, to be "wise" and above all "free of suffering".

With all these qualities, the cicada must have appeared to Goethe as an almost perfect creature, which may not be on a par with the gods, but was far superior to humans in all their limitations and imperfections.

Another thing that may have attracted Goethe is the idea that the cicada is immune to old age – an idea based on the assumption that the insect molts once a year and then lives on rejuvenated.

This principle of constant transformation and further development also formed the basis of Goethe's conception of his own life and poetry.

Still in old age and remarkably again with reference to an animal – this time, however, a reptile – he formulated this programmatically: “They tug at the snake skin / which I recently shed.

/ And when the next one is ripe enough, / I'll take it off immediately / And walk with new life and young / In the fresh realm of the gods."