Überlegungen zum Nationalbewusstsein

Stelle heute Überlegungen zum Nationalbewusstsein an. Stelle dabei fest: ich stelle mich oft hinten an. Deutschsein, äußerlich schüchtern, ein wenig - innerlich gestärkt und kontrolliert, eine Prise Überheblichkeit, verborgen in zweiter Reihe, hebe die Hand aus Höflichkeit, wenn ich an der Reihe bin, nehme Dinge wichtig, stelle Überlegungen an, grübele hinein, in meine Weltschmerz-Seele, meine Grenzenlosigkeit, und drehe dann alles ins Absurde, belächle mich und unsere festgesteckte Gartenkrämerei, die Wehmut, Verweichlichung, Absicherung, die Sehnsucht (nach Ordnung zum Beispiel oder nach Stille), doch niemals das Dichtergut, die Freiheit oder die gute alte Braue-, Kräme-, Molke- oder sonst noch irgendeine -rei. 

Stadt Land Fluss

Suddenly my voice had this rusty tone

Something overgrown in the back of my mind

I could clearly hear it

We played Stadt Land Fluss without rivers

Dressed up like monsters

We had drawing competitions without winners

On whatsapp, youtube, instagram

Fire burning in the yard

I listened to speeches about death and silence

We watched movies, ate cake and eggs in excess

You invited me for lunch without pork

It kept raining without sun

Suddenly everything was without

I took pictures without camera, posted, kept writing

I couldn’t cause waves, could not become
Someone without your ocean

                 

pushkar

My ship is sailing slow

Back to motherland

My ship is sailing slow

White hands reaching for cold beer

I envelop my heart in a red woolen shawl

Silence and little flower gardens

My ship is sailing slow

O Motherland, kiss my cheeks

My thoughts are lost and low

A little sparrow sings for me

A song  I don't remember or
Maybe do not know

Partings

O rain, wash my eyes and my cheeks

My skin is dried and brittle

The heat of my heart fuels my thirst

O, do not watch me stand here

A flower in a desert of flowers

Falling into ruins, slowly and certain

Quench me with your body of tears

A gift of the moon to the sun to the stars

A church of several thousand partings

I look at its canvas and remember
Something that has been
Parting before

A reflection of shadows

Then we enter the most romantic part of town

Side by side carefully keeping distance

Once we bumped, at the turn

Into a small excuse

I wonder where do they store statues

When facades need a fresh layer

Under us the river painted in rush

Under ancient bricks

Everything a reflection of shadows

I feel obliged to drink

Dirty water makes me think about consistencies

Is there a deeper layer

Poetry?

Let’s not talk, all that needs to be said

Can be said in silence

Comes alive

For I should be wandering and exploring

Moving the curtain, the neighbour’s

House in glaring sun, my eyes

Not used to such intensity

I don’t know who lives in this part of town

Remembering night walks

Bridges and mountains

Ocean sunsets, foreign faces

Melodies behind closed eyes

Painting my inner canvas

Everything comes alive

While I am old and dying

I Was Dead, Then Alive – Rumi

I was dead, then alive.

Weeping, then laughing.

The power of love came into me,

and I became fierce like a lion,

then tender like the evening star.

He said, ‘You’re not mad enough.

You don’t belong in this house.’

I went wild and had to be tied up.

He said, ‘Still not wild enough

to stay with us!’

I broke through another layer

into joyfulness.

He said, ‘Its not enough.’

I died.

He said, ‘You are a clever little man,

full of fantasy and doubting.’

I plucked out my feathers and became a fool.

He said, ‘Now you are the candle

for this assembly.’

But I’m no candle. Look!

I’m scattered smoke

He said, ‘You are the Sheikh, the guide.’

But I’m not a teacher. I have no power.

He said, ‘You already have wings.

I cannot give you wings.’

But I wanted his wings.

I felt like some flightless chicken.

Then new events said to me,

‘Don’t move. A sublime generosity is

coming towards you.’

And old love said, ‘Stay with me.’

I said, ‘I will.’

You are the fountain of the sun’s light.

I am a willow shadow on the ground.

You make my raggedness silky.

The soul at dawn is like darkened water

that slowly begins to say Thank you, thank you.

Then at sunset, again, Venus gradually

Changes into the moon and then the whole nightsky.

This comes of smiling back

at your smile.

The chess master says nothing,

other than moving the silent chess piece.

That I am part of the ploys

of this game makes me

amazingly happy.

Creating tomorrow's yesteryears

What I remember most

Is the smile in your eyes

Creating tomorrow’s yesteryears

Who cares about timelines

And paper presentations

When we can go for boat rides

And cave explorations

The world is a giant pond

In the middle of an ocean

Made of dreams and golden temples
We search for shelter

When rain pours into our sleep

From rooftops we watch the morning sun

Rising silhouettes, mountains

We share everything

The blink of an eye

Colourful moments

Remains of a whisper

Hazy memories

Fragile flames

Glass flowers growing from the sky

Fragile flames cooling hot summer nights

A million beads playing one melody

The whispers of a breeze

Wrapped into moonlight’s reflection

A lake of glass echoes memories

Teardrops in a nutshell

I dream of giant ferns

Growing from my muscles

Into the clear dark sky

Connecting my blood sugar beat

And the stars of a winter’s night

You said that they die early here

Nobody knows why

They say paradise lies near

In the moon’s reflection

Of a mountain lake

A king and a crocodile

Fighting in the jungle

A father set out to

Free his only daughter

And died in the arms

Of  Queen Cardamom

I leave the scenery

What remains is memory

Of bamboo, songs and dances

Teardrops in a nutshell

Shy fish dying out

Embers for eternity

sprouting

Sozusagen

Ich arbeite an manchen Tagen

sozusagen, mehr als exzessiv.

Wenn mich dann die Leute fragen,

was sie so zu fragen haben,

schau ich weg und intensiv.

Erdbeermuendchen, komm!

Sind immer Erdbeermaedchen

Mir wird ganz schlecht vom
Roten Lippenstuendchen

Gib mir was Echtes, Sattes

Okay, die macht Collagen

Die verzwiebelt halbe Tauben

Die empfiehlt, was andere weiter-

Zuempfehlen haben, Sex

Exzess, Gewalt, du kennst das ja

Zahlt sich ins Leere, fragt sich

Einer woher Tunnelzuege und wohin

Fragt sich hier ueberhaupt einer

Semmel, Flaggen, Bier - die Schotten

Wollen auch nicht mehr so
Wie frueher, antikulturelle Phaenomene

Vervielfaeltigen sich, Masern sozialer Anti-
Krankheitskoerper -pathie, bleibt nur
Dicht machen, Isolationszustand
Ranschaffen, anschaffen, Intensivstation

Erdbeermuendchen, komm!

Dich lass ich nochmal
Und Jesus liebt auch Dich 

Tod & Teufel

Du bekuemmerst Dich

Um Tod & Teufel

Fragst nicht nach dem Taj

Jeder schreibt ueber Blumen

Du sitzt allein am Fenster, stoisch

Ich folge deinem Blick

Eine Huegellandschaft

Verstopft unsere Sicht

Vielleicht denkst du an

Bauchspeicheldruesenkrebs

Oberschenkelhalsbruch oder

Verschiedene Arten

Enten zu zerschieszen

Moewen und Fischkutter

Ich weisz es nicht, alles

Verwebt sich, ich betrachte 

Stoisch Dein Gesicht

Trippelt weiter

Sie hat seine Vokabeln im Kopf, wird selbst

Dichter, nicht abstellbar, hoert immerfort
fort, fort von ihr, taeglich wieder
allzeit neu die alte Frequenz

frequentiert sich, trifft sich auf alter Spur

tock, tock, sein Gehstock gibt den Takt,

trippelt weiter im Kopf, an die Art etwa,

die Aussprache etwa, die Weise etwa wie er 

alles umfunktioniert, ausformuliert, spricht etwa

sie selbst oder nur nach Zunge, folgt

der Brotkrumenspur ins Unterholz

ab und durch die, da grueszt der Spaete, 

breites Grinsen der Lichtung und dann

Abgang im Mondscheinsonett

gewiss

gedaempft samten gold rote Kehlen

gurren im Fenster

ich lausche der Nacht nach

die Hitze der Stadt verhoehnt

die Stille, der Mantel
ueberhaengt dunkel dein Kleid

der Mond hat sich verstimmt

im Grau morgendlicher Alltagssekunden

heute erwachten wir alle frueh 

traumversaeucht, gemuetsverfroren

niemand winkt zum Abschied

ich bleib in der Einfahrt 

gewiss sind alle am Abend

zurueck

etudes

Silent armies

No doormat WELCOME 

I step outside and watch

Birds in conversation

Mute them

Your hair a nest, a boat

In conversation with waves

The wind, the clouds, rays of sun

Silent armies cutting through the fold

In the distance all sounds disappear

Into buildings or

Buildings into sounds

Swallowing an ocean
Train track whispers

A stack of paper in a leather case

Love letters or old magazines

Invoices maybe claiming neglect

Under a flooded metal bench

A mother breastfeeds

Under creases of her saree

Her breasts a decade

Younger than mine

{I hold onto retaining brackets}

Tighter, sucked out by streams

My hair a nest, your boat, birds

In conversation, I never knew less
Rays of sun
On my chest your silent armies