June 2006
VOL XIV, Issue 6, Number 158
Editor: Klaus J. Gerken
Production Editor: Heather Ferguson
European Editor: Moshe Benarroch
Contributing Editors: Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald Le Winter
Previous Associate Editors: Igal Koshevoy; Pedro Sena
ISSN 1480-6401
INTRODUCTION
Wars and Wars/Human Love
Written by Absolute Sovereign - Ank Justice SteadySpear
CONTENTS
Guido Monte
AHA n.1: Echoes
echo n.1 : vahana (wind)
echo n.2 : aeviternum retournar (nothing new)
echo n.3 : lete (no memory)
echo n.4 : voit (emptyness)
echo n.5 : duònus (good)
Santiago B. Villafania
Sons of Sisyphus
Erolalia
One Without Oneness
Andrew Faulkner
the other
in the cafés
canvas
a.m. klein
The history of motion
Precipitate
Sunday elegy
a mari usque ad mare*
realizing I am at a park on a sunny afternoon
that time we were dancing
can lit.
the current
Kate
Pauk Murphy
John Maynard Keynes in Hell
Karl Marx in Hell or Instruction Manual for Survival in Inhospitable Places
Adam Smith in Hell
VIC COMPHER
LIFE SONGS/LEBENSLIEDER
WORD
WORT
REMEMBERING
ERINNERND
RITUAL
RITUAL
EMBRACE
UMARMUNG
SURPRISE
BERRASCHUNG
BREATH
ATEM
SHADOW
SCHATTEN
TOTALITY
GESAMTHEIT
EACH DAY
JEDEN TAG
SING
SING
SILENT DANCING
STILLES TANZEN
MORNING COFFEE
KAFFEE AM MORGEN
Ernest Williamson III
What of the Cedar Trees
The Importance of Liquid Rainbows
The Jazz of Old Wine
Empty Cup
POST SCRIPTUM
A.Thiagarajan
SILENCE
Wars and Wars
Human Love
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Too much wars in the Middle East people killing each other we want some cease
This World needs more love and peace, too much wars in the Middle East
Making bread you will need some yeast, eating as one will bring some peace
The youths them struggles to find a crease, it's time for peace for wars to cease
Some wearing clothing of pleats with guns they causing humanity to decrease
This World need love to increase humans living in harmony will bring peace
All because of greed men in power still denying she, her children dying like trees
Too much wars I see humans dropping like fleas, others acting like sheep(s)
Eyes wide close many still don't want to see the horrors of humanity
Under the soil many bones cries, blood running for oil civilization in a coil
Oh why just for pride egos causing great crimes some don't like others to shine
While stepping in the lime some creating wars in disguise just for hidden prizes
Life it seems is like a tin foil after it get soiled, many disregarding the child
The future of human kind lies in all being kind laughter is better than a cry
Oh my so much wars in our modern time some still thinks this is fine
For others to kill with a lie or a justify crime, against humanity they lied
It's hard to sleep when the sun doesn't shine, in fear I try to see the light
Love is better than being unkind for us to live right we must share this might
Without slight share your insights and let the blossom of love be bright
Oh can I say I am living right when my society is causing a plight
I see human unable to stand upright suffering is a common sight
Too much wars in the Middle East people killing each other we want it to cease
It's no dream, this World needs more love and peace, too much wars I see
This World need love to increase humans living in harmony will bring peace
I love you, I love u, I love yu, three times daily to stop the wars & bring peace
By adjusting history why can't we see exalting she will help to heal humanity
Her-stories carries the path to be, loving children running free no wars on we
Too much wars in the Middle East people killing each other it's time to cease
Our World need more love for us to live in peace.
Written by Absolute Sovereign - Ank Justice SteadySpear
http://www.iota.tv/
Guido Monte
AHA n.1: Echoes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Qoèlet, Grief, Blake, Leopardi, Baudelaire, Puškin)
notes
The author thanks Laura Costantini and Andrej Arena (for the help with the
translation), Manuela Catarcia, Federica Corona, Marco Ferrante, Alessandro
Pericò, Silvia Spacca (for the researchwork on the echoes).
The Sanskrit term aha embraces all the letters of the alphabet
in her depth, symbolically embracing the whole universe.
works...from the only Book ever composed
Biblia Sacra Vulgata, liber Ecclesiastes (legenda:eccl.)
Andreas Grief, Kirchhofsgedanken, Einsamkeit (legenda: eins.)
William Blake, Poems from the Rossetti Manuscript;
The Songs of Experience (legenda: poems)
Giacomo Leopardi, Canti (legenda: canti)
Charles Baudelaire, Les fleurs du mal (legenda: fleurs)
Aleksandr S. Puškin, Polnoe Sobranie Socineij v destati tomach (legenda: poiesie)
echo n.1 : vahana (wind)
eccl.1, 2; poems ; eins.; canti; poems ;fleurs; poiesie
vanitas vanitatum
omnia vanitas-
You throw the sand against the wind,
And wind blows it back again!
Betracht' ich: wie der Mensch in Eitelkeit vergeh',
amaro e noia la vita, altro mai nulla...
and know not what but care -
Plus tard, un Ange,entr'ouvrant les portes, viendra ranimer,
fidèle et joyeux, les miroirs ternis et les flammes mortes...
i tomit menà toscuiu odnozvucnii gizni schum
[meaningless within meaningless
it's all meaningless...
You throw the sand against the wind,
and wind blows it back again!
I see man turning into something vain,
that's our life: a bitter bore, nothing else ever
and know not what but care -
later an angel, opening the doors,
will quietly come, to shine rusty mirrors
and awake our dead fires...
I suffer the life dull noise]
echo n.2 : aeviternum retournar (nothing new)
eccl.1, 9-10; eins.; fleurs
nihil sub sole novum
nec valet quisquam dicere ecce hoc recens est
iam enim processit in seculis quae fuerunt ante nos
Wie, auf nicht festem Grund all unser Hoffen steh' -
désormais tu n'es plus, ô matière vivante! Qu'un granit entouré
d'une vague épouvante, assoupi dans le fond d'un Sahara brumeux
[nothing new under the sun
no new things
they all existed long before
like hopes on bad grounds -
you living matter yet,
quite astonished rock
asleep amid some obscure Sahara]
echo n.3 : lete (no memory)
eccl. 1, 11; canti; fleurs
non est priorum memoria
un vieux sphinix ignoré du monde insoucieux,
a pensare come tutto al mondo passa
e quasi orma non lascia
[of things past no memory today
sphinx forgotten by cold worlds
while everything is fading away,
quite traceless]
echo n.4 : voit (emptyness)
eccl.2,17; canti; fleurs; poems; poiesie
Et idcirco taeduit me vitae meae
nè di sospiri è degna la terra
Et mon coeur s'effraya d'envier maint pauvre homme
courant avec ferveur à l'abîme béant, et qui...
préférerait en somme la douleur à la mort
et l'enfer au néant -
to seek for new joy I met with scorn...
gisin zacem ti mne dana?
[and I got tired of my life,
in unworthy of sighs land
I was envious with wonder
of infinite upset men, running to the open abyss,
preferring sorrow to death, hell to nothing -
to seek for new joy I met with scorn...
why must I live?]
echo n.5: duònus (good)
eccl. 4, 2-3; poems; eccl.; canti
et laudavi magis mortuos quam viventes
they stumble all night
et feliciorem iudicavi
qui necdum natus est
al gener nostro il fato non donò che il morire
[and I saw the dead,
they stumble all night,
they were better off than the living,
but best of all the never born...though -
one choice left: to die]
Santiago B. Villafania
Sons of Sisyphus
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
there were voices in the field
and ghostly footfalls of farmers
fallen like the yellow blades
on the breast of the earth
they came and poured their sweat
under the seething sun
they lived their lives away
and searched what was to be found
they are mere voices now
mingling with the wind
soothing those who come after them
softening the hardened hearts
of those who waste their adamhood
on the barren ground O
how would they know?
they speak no poetry
but the plaints of daily toil O
why would they care?
they only live for a moment
each night they pause awhile
and push their rock once again
when the sun climbs its ancient hill
Erolalia
~~~~~~~~
i.
tonight
i am Abelard
my Heloise
i will sing
of your lyric lips
the contours of your breast
your thighs
your sweet surprise!
ii.
when into your
nakedness feast
O my heart will
break all pledges!
i too will pound
God's skull and breast
i'll neither mind
death nor ages
iii.
woman i would rather kiss
the slopes of your breasts
and think of the Himalayas
it would be as if i have reached
the highest ground of Everest
when those proud twin-peaks
trapped between my lips
iv.
kill me sweetly love
in the dead of night
with your satin dress fallen
before your rose-ankled feet
bury me softly love
bury me O bury me with
all the charms of Eve
on your orient body
v.
i cannot say a word my love
when i see the roses
on your cheeks
and taste the taste of red wine
on your lips
your cheeks
your lips
your breasts
silent little poems
that made these songs
i will sing of them O
i will sing of them sweetly
as if they are the last fruits
flowers from the vanished
orchard of Eden
vi.
i will come to thee love
i will come to thee over thee
yes white as moonlight
sharp as a star
i will take thee love
gently O gently
you will know nothing
nothing O blossom under me
but my brightness above thee
my brightness glistening
mastering thy rosely softness
with white luminous songs
vii.
your breasts are birds
beneath my hands
longing to be free
from their breathlessness
your lips are nameless flowers
groping searching
for the earth where
it shall find its own
beginning
your eyes are distant stars
lost in their own constellation
and though i hold them close
they are too far
and your body
the skies of flesh
with its own darkness
and harmonious spheres -
it breathes fire and life
as i plunge myself
in rhythmic movements
or fall in measured cadence
man-god and thunder
into your mysterious
universe
viii.
O the dark virgin forest
now lies under me under me
i am rubyed
i am purpled
i am steeled
enclose me now O divinest of all lovers
enclose me now with your softness
like a bird enjailed enjailed
in your satin fingers
you will be pierced with songs O
you will be rivered with silver dew
you will learn how to dance under me
and i will be drowned deathlessly deep
into your own universe where i
first came to be
ix.
you have godded me tonight
enclosed me brightly under
you who with your allness
brought my adamhood closely
briefly into paradise
so strong
so swift my body
that i did not hear the song
of agony in your eyes
x.
and we loved and loved
and loved again and again O
it was a wondrous night
of crimson rain
and love songs
One Without Oneness
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
my poems are one without oneness
i have cried them unloudly at night
on my bed with my Parnassian muse
i have been empty and unpure
until they were written
these broken sutras
and snatches of uncouth songs
they've given me sleep
(as if i have drank
a cup of nepenthe)
to face my own darkness
perhaps from them you will learn
what my madness and my poetry can teach
from them will raise the aristos
of my priestliness obscured
by the sins of the many selves
before me
Andrew Faulkner
the other
~~~~~~~~~
the indefinite personal pronoun
you
should not be confused
with anyone in particular
(like, oh say, you)
it is meant as a flexible signifier
pointing to a dynamic relationship
the speaker has with the world,
who's not to be confused with
andrew faulkner
(likes beer, writes poems
about you, and misses
the feel of a baseball
in his hands (referring to andrew, not
the speaker))
so the you (indefinite, not you)
refers to whatever is not-him (speaker, not andrew)
allowing anyone to step into his shoes (the speaker's, and I
suppose andrew's too
if you really want to push the issue)
(but you
can still trace
the outline
of your body (which should not be confused
with anyone in particular)
in the way I break
the lines
in the cafés
~~~~~~~~~~~~
in the cafés the talk is long
and of where things come from
"oui monsieur,
tu l'as déjà dit"
coffee moroccan,
winking at irony
over white ceramic saucers,
and this little trinket
a small nothing from the vendor up the street
"et puis?"
the flowers the girls carry
are bright this year,
translate well
into conversation.
in the evening the windows are left open
ashtrays fill
smoke and humid air meet
while those on the sidewalk
pace effortlessly
through conversations,
parting words
as they glide up the street.
canvas
~~~~~~
tracing the curves of your spine,
my hands draw a new naked
across your back.
a.m. klein
~~~~~~~~~~
this morning I bought
a.m. klein's selected poems.
I've since left it on my bookshelf,
having found no mention of you,
or anything to describe
you asleep in my bed
and me at my desk
writing about a.m. klein.
The history of motion
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I
The first drawings
weren't on the walls of caves;
they were in the dirt
the faint press of sand,
a little scratch,
the triumph of a kill
or signifying
something buried.
For direction, perhaps
a way to spend
idle moments.
They moved to caves
- smearing rough pigment over porous stone,
little archaisms for paleontologists to scrap over
something for school children to dream about -
thought not because
the tiny mounds of dirt
that built up
- pushed aside to make way for a mark or two -
were poor arguments
against the wind,
or that the little scratches
of land would fill again.
It's that, stepping back,
the lines would bend
into a single horizon,
- that is to say, nothing.
II
The first music was recorded in dust too
in the stomps, the accidental scrapes of feet,
flinging a body against the hard earth
until something gives.
floorboards
~~~~~~~~~~~
splinters from the floor
line the bottom of my feet
while the rough wooden boards
leave me
in the bumps I've smoothed over
you can no longer see
Precipitate
~~~~~~~~~~~
A surgical incision across the sky
dividing dark from darkness visible,
grounded in the middle of a small lake
and a forecast of one to five inches of rain.
Two hours from the city and
several hundred meters from
the main highway north,
lightning ripples the water
and is gone.
As if God, like a stubborn child,
upset at the rumours of his own death
steps a moment into an empty smithy,
denying his non-existence
with a hammer on a cold anvil,
killing a few small fish, frightening the dog,
giving the night a new kind of shadow.
Sunday elegy
~~~~~~~~~~~~
How do I say that your voice was like the cup of coffee I didn't have a chance
to drink this morning, rushing to catch the bus, the change I stole from your
purse warming in my hand?
I meant to tell you that your voice sounded like Sunday morning, but my eyes
too easily slipped shut, swaying in the lull of your words.
a mari usque ad mare*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
one nation in a coffee pot,
the definitive variations
of a disposable
paper cup.
alike in complaints
of the plastic tab
not folding back right,
spilling coffee
on the walk/drive
to work, home, etc.
* "from sea to sea", the official motto of Canada
realizing I am at a park on a sunny afternoon
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
O
glor e
ous
day!
the objects of the world
are arrayed just for me!
all the things there are to see
(while the ducks nibble bread
reticent as always
that time we were dancing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
that time we were
dancing
and every song
the same
our hips rolled and bobbed,
the same tide buoying,
your dress
brushing against
my leg.
you saw nothing outside
my arms
and I moved with
your look.
and after,
when my legs tired
and I sat down
my arm draped over the chair,
fabric swishing at your feet,
you danced
without me,
except for a look over your shoulder.
can lit.
~~~~~~~
every poem
looks like half
of a pine tree
(are there birds in it
yet?)
the current
~~~~~~~~~~~
amid
cracked,
peeling
paint
the
light
in
the
hall
flickers,
the
current
still
alive.
Kate
~~~~
Larger than vision, any
attempt to describe her lacks.
One can say brown hair, slender
fingers or those eyes;
Like saying a flash
of lightning is bright,
something misses.
And who can say no
to a woman
who brings beer
with a look that fills
the gaps between words.
P.S. May 11, 2005. Your eyes, yes,
but that friend of yours,
she just so curves.
Pauk Murphy
Play 1
John Maynard Keynes in Hell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
JM - I've just seen the whole of my life flash past. I got it wrong, you know:
men don't love one another. My economic theories can't work.
1st Demon - Submit it to a Post-Structuralist analysis. The Devil says this
works: but only on Mondays, his day for counter-factuals.
2nd Demon - So. Day and night, man and woman, white and black....
1st Demon - Dichotomies, all diamond bright and arrayed like shiny white pearls,
like little sins - dichotomies.
JM - I'm worried. My left molar is bitten through. In Hell I just can't get
a good dentist. Demon 1 said he could manage all the medical problems that
came along - we're all dead after all - but eating all that soot and ashes is
so - well, its irritating and boring but also painful. Smithian supply and
demand economics, they're just not suited to Hell. Only living people can
say they renounce love. But we have renounced - not just love - but coal,
oil, clothes, food. Frankly, I'm sick of Hell. It's not the dystopia I once
thought it. I think a Maoist Republic might be preferable. Maybe the
half-living people of Beijing, maybe they occasionally find some human warmth,
even if it is miserable, freezing, suffering and very, very small.
2nd Demon - You're a sentimentalist, John! At Versailles, you thought that
Germany should not be punished in such a vindictive way. That would have
made it even more difficult to defeat it the 2nd time around. The Devil
thinks you don't pull your weight, even when it comes to eating
soot. Your not cut out for Hell, John. You might even ask yourself, why
was I sent here?
JM - Why?
2nd Demon - You were sent here as an observer. Hell has no objective existence
except in your mind. Wish it away or regard it as a play. If you'd been truly
objective, then you might have become Tsar of Outer Mongolia or some other
trans-Siberian depot. Instead you invented the Arts Council! (screaming)
Play 2
Karl Marx in Hell or Instruction Manual for Survival in Inhospitable Places
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
`The dreariest of sciences.' - Malthus
KM : The proof of my theories is the fact that I'm being talked about at all!
I said 'a spectre is haunting Europe' but, really, a spectre isn't haunting
Europe. A child, maybe, lost, frozen, half-dead....
Demon 1: (whirling past) Hurry up!
KM: I can't go any faster: you told me the ball must be rolled to the top of
the hill. I roll it up, it falls down again. Over and over again.
(exhausted)
Demon 2: You said - and I refer you to the application form that you filled
in personally at the start of your visit - you said, Hell in a
Neo-Classical manner:-
KM: Yes...
Demon 2: Not Baroque Hell or Romantic Hell but Hell in the manner of your own
Phd thesis on Greek Philosophy. Am I right? (yelling)
Demon 1: Hurry up now! You can't kick against the pricks! You asked for Hell
after Sisyphus. You could have had Hell after Judas Escariot or the Hell of
a minor Roman Pope.
KM: I changed my mind. Everything would have been settled, but Trotsky chose
to end Krondstadt by comparing it to the last day of the Paris Commune. It
was the exact anniversary. The point is this: I supported the Commune.
I can't continue with a Christian Heresy by choosing a Christian damnation,
can I?
Demon 1: You can't change to a Plan B Hell. Its too late. Any decision
relating to such a matter would have to be made by the Guvnor.
KM: The Guvnor?
Demon 1: Lucifer, Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, Satan, in Persian
Zarathustra. The Devil!!!!
KM: (rattling on) How can you have morality in Hell? And truth! In Hell
neither exists at all. As I said at the start: I am important because you
still talk about me and looked forward to my company. What I actually said
is a matter of no importance. Even the fact that you ceased to be an
audience: but you stormed off and xy and z saw it. They realised that you
had no refutation of my arguments.
Demon 2: (whirling past, yelling distantly) You can't kick against the pricks...
Play 3
Adam Smith in Hell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Demon 1: The Guvnor wants a word with you!
AS: I've only just got here...
Demon 2: (interjecting) You've been here five years.
Demon 1: For the purposes of sniffing. You know the cardinal rule of Hell:
no private soot piles. Remember, the Guvnor placed a 10 million year lease
against his own rehabilitation. No private soot piles, and definitely not
for use as a personal snuff box. Come on!
Darkness - glimmer of infernal fires
Devil: (booming voice) Well I never! Adam Smith! Can you explain to me why
your private abundances should scorch my misery. Hell is built on greed. My
infinite greed, my selfishness, my hatred. You cannot replace my private
greed with your own. You'd privatise Hell and sell off slim percentages to
the damned. (whispering) What was the percentage, I mean the percentage of
net profit you made on the sale? Can you tell me? What investments can you
advise?
AS: You mean monopoly...
Devil: Monopoly, monopoly... (whispering) yes, I'll talk to you later.
Please, it's very helpful, I hope to re-mortgage the place in five years time.
(in an official, booming voice) I will not tolerate your arrogance any longer.
On the other hand, there's no where else for you to go. This is the lowest
circle of Hell. (whispering) Couldn't you just disappear for a while, take a
flight to the North Pole, be seen photographing...polar bears...with Japanese
tourists, then come back. I'd make you into a minor Demon. Beelzebub, well,
there's a problem with Beelzebub. He doesn't inspire terror, yes terror, but
something more. At first he inspired terror, sure, but then there were many
hiccups. Many regrettable things happened. My plan to change the North Sea
into an oil slick: the adventures in Iraq and Afghanistan. They didn't go
(harrowed and anguished) according to plan.
AS: Why? You are the Devil after all, with limitless foresight and insight.
What happened?
Devil: The overall plan was fine, but we've had difficulty accounting for
several things. The effect of terror and horror, yes of course there was
lots of very effective terror and horror but I lost Beelzebub (moaning, utter
gloom). He fell off the balcony of a hotel in Baghdad. We haven't seen him
since. He was disguised as a Channel 4 reporter. O, the expense of his
suits and rings (moaning). This ensured a catalogue of incidents.
In short, things simply haven't gone according to plan.
AS: What do you think I can do?
Devil: Nothing. It's too late now. Events have left my grasp, things are
out of control. Without my representative there I can't control the flow-
the flow of propaganda and misinformation. (whispering) 5%, was it 5%, for
the soot pile? How do you create these financial schemes? Can you ring up
the Dow Jones or the Dax for me, now, place some bids. Please? I'll give
you my...I'll give you my ducky for Friday night bath time. I'll give you my
ducky. Duck, duck ducky...(sobbing) Nothing like this ever happened before...
VIC COMPHER
LIFE SONGS/LEBENSLIEDER
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1.
WORD
~~~~
your Word
like a drop of honey
on my tongue
lips
fingers
stomach
tingling
from your single Word
love
WORT
~~~~
dein Wort
wie ein Tropfen Honig
auf meiner Zunge
Lippen
Fingern
Bauch
zitternd
von deinem einzelnen Wort
Liebe
2.
REMEMBERING
~~~~~~~~~~~
sail with open heart
widening your wings
breathing peace deeply
into your soul
your tongue
with spicy gifts and sweet
tasting
nourishing life
remembering each day
with love
ERINNERND
~~~~~~~~~
segele mit offenem Herzen
breite deine Flügel aus
atme Frieden tief
in deine Seele hinein
deine Zunge
mit würzigen und süssen Geschenken schmeckt
und fördert das Leben
erinnert sich an jeden Tag
mit Liebe
3.
RITUAL
~~~~~~
the intimate ritual
each night
stirs my heart
the easy sliding off of clothes
the gift
of smooth and tender skin
freed of all weight
unencumbered
form
the lightness of being
RITUAL
~~~~~~
das intime Ritual
rührt jede Nacht
mein Herz
das leise Ausziehen
das Geschenk
der sanften, zarten Haut
von allem Gewicht befreit
unbelastete
Form
die Leichtigkeit des Daseins
4.
EMBRACE
~~~~~~~
I have embraced her
with my racing love
traced the soft and deep
lines of her form
touched
the inner recesses
the peaks and valleys
of her being
I have been wounded on her paths
she has held my pain
it is my time
and no one else's
to hold within me
this sacred mountain
UMARMUNG
~~~~~~~~
ich hab sie
mit meiner rasenden Liebe umarmt
verfolgt die sanften und tiefen
Linien ihrer Form
berührte
die inneren Höhlen
die Spitzen und Tälern
ihres Daseins
ich wurde auf ihren Pfaden verwundet
sie nimmt meinen Schmerz an
es ist meine Zeit
und niemand anderes'
sie in mir zu halten
diese heiligen Gebirge
5.
SURPRISE
~~~~~~~~
following the reach of our souls
the union of our hearts
surprise me
with the unexpected touch
of your hand
breathe into my lungs
the sweet oxygen
of your truth
passing from your lips through mine
hold me in your strong and tender embrace
that I may be your lover
in passion
and compassion
talk with me
and let your gentle words
fall like feathers
on my breathing chest
surprise me
with the unexpected touch
of your hand
BERRASCHUNG
~~~~~~~~~~~
dem Greifen unserer Seelen
und der Einigung unserer Herzen
nachfolgend
überrasche mich
mit der unerwarten Berührung
deiner Hand
atme den süssen Sauerstoff
deiner Wahrheit
von deinen Lippen durch meine
halte mich in deiner starken
und zärtlichen Umarmung
dass ich dein Geliebter
in Leidenschaft
und in Mitleid werde
sprich mit mir
und lass deine leisen Worte
wie Federn
auf meine Brust hinunterfallen
überrasch mich
mit der unerwarteten Berührung
deiner Hand
6.
BREATH
~~~~~~
all with open heart
I have told you
you know me now
and I am not afraid
innocence surrounds us
an aura
the peace of a million light years
the universe within us
we are the thankful feast of living
the dawn and sunset of being
how will we ever know
the full exuberance of the song of life
the myriad shades of morning light
we sing
the quiver, the passion
that is only a breath away
ATEM
~~~~
alles mit offenem Herzen
hab ich dir gesagt
du kennst mich jetzt
und ich fürchte nicht
Unschuld umkreist uns
eine Aura
des Friedens von Millionen Lichtjahren
des Weltalls in uns
wir sind das dankbare
Festmahl des Lebens
die Dämmerung des Daseins
die Lebendigkeit der Lebenslieder
die vielfältigen Schattierungen
des Morgenlichts
wir singen die zitternde Leidenschaft
die nur einen Atem von uns weg ist
7.
SHADOW
~~~~~~
a shadow cold of distant past
casts its dark pale
over purest joy
threatens from towers of shaky security
denies the embers and sparks
of attraction
fears distraction
yet more passion
believes the ancient falsehoods
that Eros is only selfish
judges through lens of early hurts
the innocence of the lusty heart
oh weary night of doubt and grief
you cannot though for long restrain
the breaking light of dawn
for peace shines brighter
and excitement still
SCHATTEN
~~~~~~~~
ein Schatten kalt
und von entfernter Vergangenheit
schlägt sich dunkel über echteste Freude
bedroht vom Turm zitternder Sicherheit
leugnet die Glut und Funken
der Zuneigung
fürchtet sich vor Ablenkung
doch mehr als vor Leidenschaft
glaubt an die uralte Unwahrheit
dass die Erotik nur egoistisch sei
schätzt durch Linsen früheren Schmerzes
die Unschuld des begierenden Herzens
müde Nacht von Zweifel und Trauer
du kannst nicht lang zurückhalten
den Durchbruch der Morgendämmerung
denn der Frieden scheint heller
und doch die Aufregung
8.
TOTALITY
~~~~~~~~
what elixir
tastes of the divine
unites presence with presence
peace with peace
between us
sparkles
travels across all time
to this eternal now?
for such discreet moments
of connection
are all moments
equally sacred
in the totality
within and beyond
time
GESAMTHEIT
~~~~~~~~~~
welches Elixir
schmeckt von dem Heiligen
einigt Anwesenheit mit Anwesenheit
Frieden mit Frieden
zwischen uns
funkelt
reist über alle Zeit
zu dieser ewigen Gegenwart?
denn solche besonderen Augenblicke
der Verbindung
sind doch alle Momente
und alle sind gleich würdig
in der Gesamtheit
in und jenseits
der Zeit
9.
EACH DAY
~~~~~~~~
each day
waking up
more and more
alertness growing
clearer and clearer
emerging
through deepest rest
through full trust
always observing
the unfolding of a process
whole and complete
in its compassion and tenderness
standing then
out of the way
for all
in its time and way
is being
fulfilled
JEDEN TAG
~~~~~~~~~
jeden Tag
immer mehr
aufzuwachen
Aufmerksamkeit zunehmend
immer klarer
durch tiefste Ruhe
und volles Vertrauen
auftauchend
das sich entfaltende Verfahren
völlig und fertig
in seinem Mitleid und Zärtlichkeit
zu beobachten
warte dann
an der Seite
denn alles
im Lauf der Zeit
auf eigenem Weg
erfüllt sich
10.
SING
~~~~
sing to what may never be
but is
in the beauty of all
forms
an exquisite possibility
take bravely a leap of greatness
of faith
sing tears of sorrow
and hope
forgetting not
that which is to be built
upon nothing
and is
for all
SING
~~~~
sing zu dem was vielleicht nie besteht
aber doch ist
in der Schönheit von allen
Formen
eine köstliche Möglichkeit
spring kühn in die Grösse
in den Glauben
sing mit Tränen der Trauer
und der Hoffnung
nicht vergessend
was aus gar nichts
aufgebaut werden könnte
und ist
für alle
SILENT DANCING
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
silently
to the festive song
heard only by herself
she dances gracefully
on her skates
kicks boldly into the air
to her right side
stoops gently
then
rises again quickly
shaking out all tension
in rhythmic shoulder shivers
along the parkway
her admirers are captivated
she seems unaware
mesmerized in the music
of her accompanying walkman
STILLES TANZEN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
still
mit dem feierlichen Gesang
den nur sie allein hört
tanzt sie anmutig
auf ihren Rollschuhen
stösst keck mit einem Fuss
in die Luft zur Rechten
beugt sich leicht
springt schnell wieder auf
alle Spannung in den Schultern
rhythmisch weg schüttelnd
am Gehweg des Parkes
schauen ihre Bewunderer sie vertieft an
sie scheint sich aber ihnen
nicht bewusst zu sein
indem sie berauscht
mit ihrem begleitenden "Walkman" tanzt
MORNING COFFEE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
have a cup of coffee
with yourself
sometime
soon
in a sidewalk café
notice across the way
the shaded stucco beige row house
with overflowing flowerboxes
the perfect placement
beside the doorway
of a tall, trimmed yew bush
enjoy the energy
of the young woman
on the corner
waiting for the bus
her green sneakers with yellow stripes
her bold African T-shirt
with vertical patches
of yellow, red, and dark green
drink a second cup
let your hot, tired brain
become cool
breathe in deeply
the morning
KAFFEE AM MORGEN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
manchmal
doch bald
trink eine Tasse Kaffee
mit dir selbst
allein
deinem Cafe gegenüber
bemerk
das beschattete beigefarbene Reihenhaus
mit seinen überlaufenden Blumenkästen
die perfekte Stellung
neben dem Eingang
des hohen gepflegten Eibenstrauches
geniess die Tatkraft
der jungen Frau an der Ecke
auf einen Bus wartend
ihre grünen Leinenschuhe
mit gelben Streifen
ihr afrikanisches T-shirt
mit senkrechten Flecken
von Gelb, Rot, und dunklem Grün
trink eine zweite Tasse
laß dir dein heißes, müdes Gehirn
kühl werden
atme tief
den Morgen ein
Ernest Williamson III
What of the Cedar Trees
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
there was no lament in the dour Cedar trees
in the corner I was upright like the lives in
Katrina's droning leveling flesh but mystified by the
spirit of resplendent hands holding on to future bonds
with no regard for stocks in residual condonement
but back to the Cedar trees
these two worn 200 year old bodies
showing with no regard for shame its stains
its diaries of exposition for men and women to ignore
and explore
though I see the trees as few may see them
I am no child and wonderment evades the man who evades
the spores of initiation
that high pitched blooming eye loving the trees
but yet not knowing them
at least as I say to know them
The Importance of Liquid Rainbows
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mother used cedar-wood window sills
to hang my clothes in Mr. Landall's mansion
2 miles south of Granny's Market
Mr. Rogers and Mr. Milton
would stand on descending concrete steps
singin'
YANKEE DOODLE DANDY
for my brother and me
and though they were pink and old
I never saw any association of discontent in their
words I am a black person
or African American you may say
yet my friends
back then like the smell of sun dried clothes
on the cedar-wood window sills in my room
were mostly of a nice touch
a good smell in my nostrils
a silent smile
fans of universality
and to my surprise
hidden
from the common disdain
of the incivility of 1965.
The Jazz of Old Wine
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
life is a disposition dipped in mirth divided by two
annulled in blithe and despair
like our first kiss
in the middle of yesterday's November rain
with fresh pine biting with congealed blue notes while
hissing
in the residue of phony lightning storms
I'd love to hold your story
from tears to triumph in my sheet music
as I wait here on the corner of Hope Street
singing a change gone come
for twenty minutes
inside of twenty long years
and though I long for your utterance
I can still stand here
branded by these watery rainbows
near my shoes
these worn leather brown shoes.
Empty Cup
~~~~~~~~~
we met in Grothel's vineyard
she, as wet wheat in the burrow below the sky
left of the cabbage patches,
loved me without words
I've sustained millions of diluted wounds
in heart and mind
flown from flight to ideas of levity
with wishes coated in real feelings unfelt
a kiss in mind
but lips dry with truth
and yet in Grothel's vineyard
wine gravitated away from my tongue
as if I were a thief of the green
with nothing to grasp, feign, or drink.
A.Thiagarajan
SILENCE
~~~~~~~
I come to my head office after thirty years-
taking over as CEO-
Pattabhi is still there in the
executive mess
serving coffee and lunch
for all above GM
in the penthouse-
he was there when I joined as a trainee,
saw him when the then CEO
gave us all trainees
a luncheon speech
exhorting us to work and work-
he never stepped out of the penthouse
except to take the lift
going home-
his manners still the same
and continue
to somehow remind you
of the club-house employees
serving the british
in the colonial days-
impeccable well starched dress
well paced walk
firm greetings
a smile on his moustache-
solicitude when he bends to listen-
I have never heard
anyone complaining
of his carrying tales
overhearing the bosses
at the lunch tables-
he should have never
once violated
the sacred silence
of the corporate governance-
never breathed a word
that I am his daughter
though with a christian name
on account of my conversion
on marriage.
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is
prohibited.
YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993 - 2006 by
Klaus J. Gerken.
The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's
World-Wide Web site http://users.synapse.net/~kgerken. No other
version shall be deemed "authorized" unless downloaded from there.
Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.
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