Poetry
Day 667, Communication.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Communication is movement,
dispersed by intention
as light throwing a shadow
and unsharp mask.
Day 666, The mysterious boat.
Day's pictures, Poetry
The mysterious boat
Last night, as everything slept,
The wind sighed with unknowing,
Running through the lane,
I found no rest upon my pillow
It is the moon, still, that gives me
A deep sleep, – a good conscience.
I brushed sleep away from my
Senses and ran to the beach.
Moonlight shone and I met man and boat
Calmly upon the warm sands,
Sleepy both – shepherd and sheep –
Sleepy the boat slips away from land.
One hour, maybe two,
Or, was it a year? – to me
Suddenly sense and thought
Seem to be an eternal sameness,
Amid this abyss without limits,
I do myself upon the past.
– Morning came, a boat stands
In the black depth and rests – rests . . .
What happened? She called – hundreds
Called me: what was it? Blood? – –
Nothing happened? We sleep, sleep
All sleeps – ah, so good! So good!
Der geheimnisvolle Nachen
Gestern nachts, als alles schlief,
Kaum der Wind mit ungewissen
Seufzern durch die Gassen lief,
Gab mir Ruhe nicht das Kissen,
Noch der Mohn, noch, was sonst tief
Schlafen macht, – ein gut Gewissen.
Endlich schlug ich mir den Schlaf
Aus dem Sinn und lief zum Strande.
Mondhell war’s und mild, ich traf
Mann und Kahn auf warmem Sande,
Schläfrig beide, Hirt und Schaf: –
Schläfrig stieß der Kahn vom Lande.
Eine Stunde, leicht auch zwei,
Oder war’s ein Jahr? – da sanken
Plötzlich mir Sinn und Gedanken
In ein ewiges Einerlei,
Und ein Abgrund ohne Schranken
Tat sich auf: – da war’s vorbei!
– Morgen kam: auf schwarzen Tiefen
steht ein Kahn und ruht und ruht . . .
Was geschah? so rief’s, so riefen
Hundert bald: was gab es? Blut? – –
Nichts geschah! Wir schliefen, schliefen
Alle – ach, so gut! so gut!
From:
The Peacockand the Buffalo
The Poetry of Nietzsche
Translated by James Luchte
Day 664.Amsterdam.
., Day's pictures, Poetry
Amsterdam by night, tourist in my own country. It’s known and unknown to me, coming from far with only birds and wind to distract my silence.
Day 659, Frame.
Day's pictures, Poetry
I see reflection and get framed by a gaze
close to myself, but the past still shines true.
I see the darkness when turned around
out of this frame into the next.
To change my surrounding and guilt.
A new canvas and colored palette.
Day 658, Wandering.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Wandering through the world
with my eyes closed.
Seeking inside
for the path
that i am going.
with my stick
as opinion
reaching out.
To feel what is
on my road
that is concealed
but still here.
Day 655, Der geheimnisvolle Nachen
Day's pictures, Poetry
By: Friedrich Nietzsche, songs of prince vogelfrei
The mysterious boat
Last night, as everything slept,
The wind sighed with unknowing,
Running through the lane,
I found no rest upon my pillow
It is the moon, still, that gives me
A deep sleep, – a good conscience.
I brushed sleep away from my
Senses and ran to the beach.
Moonlight shone and I met man and boat
Calmly upon the warm sands,
Sleepy both – shepherd and sheep –
Sleepy the boat slips away from land.
One hour, maybe two,
Or, was it a year? – to me
Suddenly sense and thought
Seem to be an eternal sameness,
Amid this abyss without limits,
I do myself upon the past.
– Morning came, a boat stands
In the black depth and rests – rests . . .
What happened? She called – hundreds
Called me: what was it? Blood? – –
Nothing happened? We sleep, sleep
All sleeps – ah, so good! So good!
Der geheimnisvolle Nachen
Gestern nachts, als alles schlief,
Kaum der Wind mit ungewissen
Seufzern durch die Gassen lief,
Gab mir Ruhe nicht das Kissen,
Noch der Mohn, noch, was sonst tief
Schlafen macht, – ein gut Gewissen.
Endlich schlug ich mir den Schlaf
Aus dem Sinn und lief zum Strande.
Mondhell war’s und mild, ich traf
Mann und Kahn auf warmem Sande,
Schläfrig beide, Hirt und Schaf: –
Schläfrig stieß der Kahn vom Lande.
Eine Stunde, leicht auch zwei,
Oder war’s ein Jahr? – da sanken
Plötzlich mir Sinn und Gedanken
In ein ewiges Einerlei,
Und ein Abgrund ohne Schranken
Tat sich auf: – da war’s vorbei!
– Morgen kam: auf schwarzen Tiefen
steht ein Kahn und ruht und ruht . . .
Was geschah? so rief’s, so riefen
Hundert bald: was gab es? Blut? – –
Nichts geschah! Wir schliefen, schliefen
Alle – ach, so gut! so gut!
From:
The Peacock and the Buffalo
The Poetry of Nietzsche
Translated by James Luchte
ISBN: HB: 978-1-4411-1860-8
Old friends as memories
Poetry
I close my eyes and see descriptions.
Partially finished disappeared in time.
Gone, but alive.
Left behind ways.
Worn down paradise from many days
with each other, of what went before.If I could look
through the door back
join in again.
Perfume and imprint
the hours will
halt, and stand silent still.I open my eyes, time travels on.
Now, today, I will refine
the memories for later
my friends, the smell, what I inhale
of now I shall take
forwards in time something to long.
To the paradise before that I have nowI close my eyes, for one more time
For you, my friends
From now and before.
The original Dutch version I made before.
Why’er
pictures, PoetryYou bend
Round
what is straight
Down
You’re cold
Steel
It is plain
Flat
You don’t
Weight
What is the same
Depressed
You’re mine
Gold
It is simple
Grounded
Stars
Poetry
Stars
The stars are glowing their distance into my imagination.
O could I… O could I go there, please fall.
Fall down to me o distance, you star.
Your incentive of unlimited fantasy, you star.
Please fall down to me, I cannot fall to you.
Please come to me and let me wish.
Let me wish to be there, be you.
Let me glow and be distance.
Let my falling down give hope.
Let me shine amongst billions and shine my lite to millions.
Let me reach out to other worlds.
Where they look up and wonder why.
Why is that star, that star over there, glowing so bright.
So fulfilled in this night here down under the stars.
Gedanken über die Dauer des Exils
pictures, PoetryBertolt Brecht:
Gedanken über die Dauer des Exils
1
Schlage keinen Nagel in die Wand
Wirf den Rock auf den Stuhl.
Warum vorsorgen für vier Tage?
Du kehrst morgen zurück.
Lass den kleinen Baum ohne Wasser.
Wozu noch einen Baum pflanzen?
Bevor er so hoch wie eine Stufe ist
Gehst du fort von hier.
Zieh die Mütze ins Gesicht, wenn Leute vorbeigehn!
Wozu in fremden Grammatiken blättern?
Die Nachricht, die dich heimruft
Ist in bekannter Sprache geschrieben.
So wie der Kalk vom Gebälk blättert
(Tue nichts dagegen!)
Wird der Zaun der Gewalt zermorschen
Der an der Grenze aufgerichtet ist
Gegen die Gerechtigkeit.
2
Sieh den Nagel in der Wand, den du eingeschlagen hast:
Wann, glaubst du, wirst du zurückkehren?
Willst du wissen, was du im Innersten glaubst?
Tag um Tag
Arbeitest du an der Befreiung
Sitzend in der Kammer schreibst du.
Willst du wissen, was du von deiner Arbeit hältst?
Sieh den kleinen Kastanienbaum im Eck des Hofes
Zu dem du die Kanne voll Wasser schlepptest!
Thoughts concerning the duration of exile
1
Don’t drive a nail into the wall,
Throw your coat on a chair!
Why bother about four days?
Tomorrow you’ll go back
Let the little tree go unwatered!
Why plant a tree at all?
Before it’s as high as a stair tread
You’ll be happily leaving this place.
Pull your cap over your eyes when you pass people!
Why turn the pages of a strange grammar?
The news that calls your home
Is written I a familiar language.
As the calcimine peels from the roofbeam
(do nothing to stop it)
So the fence of force will crumble
That has been reared up on the border
Against justice.
2
See the nail in the wall, the nail you hammered into it!
When do you think you’ll be going back?
Do you want to know what you really believe in your heart?
Day after day
You work for the liberation,
Sitting in your room writing.
Do you want to know what you really think of your work?
Look at the little chestnut tree in the corner of the courtyard
That you carry your canful of water to.
L
Learning this languish
Poetry
In the beginning there was emptiness
Poetry
Accusing we do
Poetry
As it is
Poetry
What is the meaning of life?
Poetry
Since we can look ourselves in the eyes we wonder why.
But, without reflection there is no why.
A rock, a tree, a donkey don’t ask why.
They live their life’s, it’s us who ask why.
But there is no reason for this why.
There is no answer to the why.
We are just here and that’s a why.
The meaning of life, is… to ask why.
Nochrisis 