GATHERING THE WAVES Poems by Klaus J. Gerken 1977 1. This much so far into the future before it was begun this much the power of the mind upon the universe of Kant the integer the single proposition we might have grappled with even as the universe explodes we are feeling the effect of this the influence whatever matters here whatever the flood of tears there is nothing we might be made to look around but there is nothing there is only the principle of an interjection conjunctive intersection it is like to try and to erase it is like the mind's eye it is like the north star shines on us before we see its light a gift of prophesy nature's highlight... 21 July 1977 2. this touching picture does not touch us anymore we have given up the mountain is unassailable we have let the mountain come to us it has come and we have destroyed it now we are the mountain now we wait. 21 July 77 3. The painting comes alive It moves: the eyes Do they look at you They follow you They don't They look away At times: you wonder why You look around Silence astounds The eyes they come She comes alive She touches you Throughout the night And then the dream Comes to an end You look at her Her portrait there She comes alive She moves... her eyes... 21 July 77 4. There's music here An atmosphere The river flows The sky explodes In a fever of Impressions lost Somehow regained The mind is maimed Engraved upon A symphony An atmosphere This music here... 21 July 77 5. When deep at night One wakes with fright Of something there That's quite unknown Then don't despair There's nothing there Except the fear Within your mind Of something you forgot Quite long ago And now return In dreams you try to stop So you wake up And fear the night When quite the opposite You fear yourself. 21 July 77 6. So hot the day I cannot think Well, anyway, I need a drink. 21 July 77 7. Nothing is the same Every atom moves The universe is constant flux Time and space continuum This the way it must react Otherwise there's nothing be Thank god for inequality! 22 July 77 8. With an ideal perception of each and every situation he read the works of Kafka and wrote a letter home explaining that he read the bible of his inner feelings Naturally no one understood so they sent alarming letters back which alarmed him even more So sending worried letters home the situation just became more aggravated Soon they all were in a frenzy The neighbours became alarmed They called the authorities and the authorities in turn had them all committed Now the parents are insane And the son doesn't read Kafka any more. 24 July 1977 9. If we run we might not get too far if we walk who knows if you keep your calm you might not blow it you might just keep going where you're going on the other hand you might be doing nothing even barbarians sometimes wait or never come at all sometimes everyone is disappointed. 30 July 1977 10. suddenly i saw an apparition i saw nothing and through this nothingness the wisdom of the universe this is how i answer everyone out of chaos there is chaos out of nothing simply what is there 30 july 77 11. yesterday i drank a bottle of nicholas montrachet 1962 today a bottle of cheap vin ordinaire and then some chareause and now i'm drunk again yesterday i was feeling good now there's a whole universe to consider 30 july 77 12. i think kafka lied he never felt lonely how could he he never felt the loneliness i feel when being away from this typewriter when i know i have to write something but can't 30 july 77 13. if i write a poem that speaks of loneliness that doesn't mean i'm lonely it means i'm hungry 30 july 77 14. they might cry that the years go by so fast i wonder what they'd do when i tell them how fast they really go... 30 july 77 15. there are enough poems in this world without me writing another one i only write this one to tell you that 30 july 77 16. between the last poem and this there is an infinity too bad we can't find it 30 july 77 17. As good wine throws sediment the older that it gets so do I 30 july 77 18. i wish i had another bottle of wine i'm drunk out of my skull (well not quite) i'm listening to good music i'm alone i'm looking at this wall where there's nothing written i'm looking for inspiration i think i found it in this poem 30 july 77 19. I told myself i was going to write a few poems instead i sat down at the table and drank a beer isn't that just what it should be like isn't that the poet's life i get up in the morning and put dust on my shoes i wrinkle up my clothes i hit myself on the head to get a hangover i read kafka's metamorphosis so that i will know how to act in proper company i look around for a scrap of paper i write something on it i eat it that will be my breakfast then being bored i drink a bottle of pernod (absinthe's illegal now) and sit upon the roof to get a better view of the world situation next i get on the telephone yell into the wrong end of the receiver hang up go back to bed get up again call some women have an orgy when they leave i am alone again i though that something might have remained the same but it is always something else that one never thinks about that changed now if i could just stand in the rain i might just get to know the sun. 31 july 1977 20. in the ghostly realm of anytime the violence is hardly visible if the walls move it is not that we notice their movement it is because it is impossible for us to stand still the cubicle is torn apart and reveals another cubicle just as when the onion skin universe is pealed away revealing one more universe it is not others who do violence to us it is ourselves believing we can never change 21 jul 77 21. It's not so hard to walk on nails you just refuse to believe in anything even yourself It's not so hard just think how better you will fell when it is over 3 August 77 22. A poet will only write one poem all the others are preparatory note the real poem that he writes will be the one no one else can read the real poem a poet writes is the poem he never writes but only hopes to write 3 august 77 23. If something's there beyond the walls Let me see it now before they fall. 3 august 77 24. The time for writing great poems is over there's only a need for what is needed the present offers only what is here the word prosperity is like a curse we leave the present for the future - and when the future comes the past was just a hollow ground that we have trod upon so this is why I write this poem not that future generation can be inspired by these words but for the present need like when a man is hungry that is when he eats. 3 august 77 25. I eat when I'm hungry drink when I'm thirsty I don't let anyone tell me what to do I write when I want to write and write what I want and if it bothers them that's not my problem I eat when I'm hungry and drink when I'm dry and if my table manners aren't any good at least I'm not starving. 5 august 1977 26. An act of defiance is an act of the will this is all that now matters or at least ever will. 5 august 1977 27. Not to mean anything while writing this a total loss of innocence through innocence perhaps through hell a total loss of hell i really don't know if i did it would be much too simple like the voice that speaks the truth by telling only that one lie everybody thinks is true but everybody knows is not it is one thing to know nothing quite another thinking it when the wind upon this globe will touch and cool the sun the need for knowledge and the knowledge will be one. 6 August 1977 28. They say that wine is the blood of God If we then drink it does that make us cannibals? 6 Aug. 77 29. there is a soft wind leaves like monkeys swing from trees i drink my wine and take it in she who is beside me laughs she says we take this world too serious There she pulls me down into the tall grass when after love we gather up our things we assault the bleak black city air it is like it never happened the skyscrapers whip the wind into a harsh reality the trees are dying encased in cement the wine is much too young or stale from over storage and she who once so sweetly laughed i've never seen again i should have cause to hate this world but know to hate is just a fool's emotion so i keep on looking at reality thinking how much better dreams were once to me. 6 August 1977 30. i really know at times i drink too much i know how much i try to forget but no matter how hard i try it always seems to come back to me so i drink even more besides it's not drink that makes me forget it's the reality i see when i'm sober. 6 aug 77 31. There is music that no one hears those that do cannot be understood we lock them up we think they are deranged if the others could only hear this music they would never think this they would get down on their knees and sob but they don't they don't want to know they think that anyone who 'perverts' their 'rules' is not worth having on "their" earth there is music that they'll never hear if they did they'd die from it. 6 aug 77 32. if this is the last poem that i would write they might understand would they believe me? 6 aug 1977 33. these four walls expatiate me but i don't leave them i settle down and try to understand the sensation that envelopes me if i didn't would i still want to be a poet would i still want to understand the working of the universe the cruelty of god? 6 aug 1966 (sic) 34. if i didn't write this poem i'd write another one this is it this is the poem i was going to write but didn't if i had i wouldn't have written this one now you know what zeugma means. 6 aug 77 35. Van Goth knew Gaugin knew too so did Modigliani and Soutine and what did they know? only that the art they practiced was a drug like life's a drug but more powerful than anything that's in this universe because art is searching for that "other" you would otherwise not be searching for that which you wouldn't want to know the great primordial moments when man merges with god and god merges with nothing and nothing reveals the truth Van Goth knew Gaugin too so did Modigliani and Soutine and it killed them. 6 aug 77 36. let me have another drink let me listen to this music that makes my mind collapse into the pit of closed reality otherwise as the point of loneliness actually i'm not exactly lonely i'm really very bored why? damned if i know i guess if i knew i'd do something about it like what you might ask? why have another drink of course a very logical answer to a very illogical question. 6 aug 77 37. there's more thought involved in writing now than there ever was before i find myself not letting flow the thoughts that come to me i try to get beyond them now to find why they are there and if i find a meaning there that wasn't there before i won't have any excuses to write in tones so personal few will know the meaning it's not the way i do it now these poems are a search an investigation into life and how i comprehend the universe and realities beyond. 16 aug 77 38. why should i still sing the old songs they hold nothing for me it is of now that i should sing now that is the crucible of everything. 19 aug 77 39. if in dreams we truly dream and do not live then what is life? 19 aug 77 40. slowly we accept reality knowing full well that it might not be this but that that is 19 aug 77 41. it was 3 a.m. they were both drunk they were talking of philosophy they both thought they were arguing but they were too drunk to even notice they were talking about the exact same thing. 19 aug 77 42. philosophy begins with questions science with the answer 20 aug 77 43. answer with a question then you'll find the truth question with an answer deception's all you'll prove. 20 aug 77 44. i walk through certain doors and when i look about see nothing i wonder why i came i turn to go back but find the doors locked in fact there were no doors i had been there all the time trying to escape. 21 aug 77 45. a poem takes control of me it draws me to its essence i am forced to become that poem in reality i have always been the next poem that i write the present one is never me 21 aug 77 46. i force myself to write when i cannot write at other times the poem forces me 21 aug 77 47. on these torn and crumpled scraps of paper i write my poems poems that infuse themselves with life and make this poet wonder how through this mental poverty that i am in such a thing can happen when all the best pieces of paper have nothing written on them at all 21 aug 77 48. it is late at night just like any other night the radio is on with songs that span a memory of times gone past so fleetingly the strong light of the desk lamp illuminates a small corner of this room in which i write it is a night like any other night and it's not listen it is a night of history as unique as it's monotonous unique in its monotony unique as either you or me 21 aug 77 49. gathering up the waves the universe collides between these shockwaves and the exit where we fall we exist in an accidental symmetry and whatever exists between the storm and calm our mind's reality is born separated from the entity the true and perfect destiny of all creation free in all the realm's infinity that might be god and yet might not the only perfect ministry forgot. 22 aug 77 50. a cryptic explanation of a cryptic universe is all that can be done by anyone who calls himself philosopher 22 aug 77 51. it's late at night the plaidais out a silent streak across the sky the light's snuffed out a fallen rack from outer space how old were you the mind cannot conceive at all it's late at night i go back in into my cell to find myself alone again and free from damned infinity that makes one feel so insignificant to find again security between four walls shut out the world and all the truth and the reality of life we do not want to comprehend. 22 aug 77 52. those who know the truth will always be mad with such a secret no one else can comprehend 22 aug 77 53. we are sitting at an outdoor cafe at the corner of an unknown street and watch the tourists pass with eyes that are afraid in this forgotten land the sky is dark and moody thunder rumbles in the distance the beer is cold but slightly stale a car limps down the cobbled street a symphony to modern age we turn another page we tear this one in half we think how difficult it is for us to laugh with tears of helium while holding on or letting go or thinking that we really know this unknown age the modern past the wind explodes "It cannot last it will not last" and quite by accident a shattered glass... 24 aug 77 54. I could write a perfect poem at any time of day but if I wrote that poem I'd have nothing left to say. 27 aug 77 55. A few words meaning little a few words to bring back a remembrance the wine we drank that night the music played the meanings all this held for us the symbolism that we built around it all the memories we now hold the meeting of the eyes the touching and the love thinking back with these few words I wonder why it didn't last I wonder how we could have lost each other in the excitement of our meeting knowing full well what it held for us knowing full well that the memory would outweigh the dream knowing full well reality is never what it seems... 2 Sep 77 -- for Marion Todd 56. There are dreams we call but dreams and then there are others we might just call reality the ones we find in sleep the other when we wake the one a fleeting sense of loss the other sticks around both are what is real and both are an experience 2 sep 77 57. NON T'AMO PIU It is tonight listening to these old gramophone records of Caruso singing which were made so long before I was born so long before even my parents were born to listen then to this voice so clear that there seems nothing closer to perfection it is only now while listening to this voice that one as Dumas said could contemplate the world in a divine light through a glass of Chambertin and then one knows (and not before) what true perfection really is. 2 sep 77 58. Sometimes the greatest things in this world are the least noticed sometimes we see but do not see sometimes it is in this way we come to realize that the greatest things need not always be recognized because they live by themselves and for themselves and never for the multitude which wouldn't understand anyway could they even try. 2 Sep 1977 All poems Copyright (c) 1977 Klaus J. Gerken Published by Ygdrasil Press