Ich warte
auf eine Frau
mit rotem Haar
auf einem weißen Pferd
Ich rieche das Salz
vom fernen Meer,
das Gras im Regen
und die frische Erde
Ich stehe am Wald,
der Wind dreht die Flügel
einer weißen Mühle,
gelb leuchtet der Raps
Der Himmel ist bleigrau
und die Wolken sind tief.
Aus Rissen in der blauen Wand
grell und weiß der Kalk.
Ich höre die Autobahn,
die Amseln und Finken,
Libellen im Wind
und mein pochendes Blut
Die Erde dreht sich
und
ich warte
auf eine Frau mit rotem Haar
auf einem weißen Pferd
Showing posts with label 1991. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1991. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 9, 2016
Nacht, 1991
Bitte
komm ganz
und bleibe
Bitte
ich bin durstig
mach mich still
Bitte
ich brenne
deck mich zu
Bitte
ich sterbe
halt mich fest
Bitte
komm ganz
bleib hier
komm ganz
und bleibe
Bitte
ich bin durstig
mach mich still
Bitte
ich brenne
deck mich zu
Bitte
ich sterbe
halt mich fest
Bitte
komm ganz
bleib hier
UGANDA, 1991
Her black skin
rides my blood
Her wild mind
tickles my brain
I fumble with ashes,
angry and vain,
fragments of this smell,
they burnt the grass again
I see the sound of light
coming with the rain
Now it is a fetal green
coming violently bright
My heart touches here,
termites eat my memory,
wasps settle in my mouth,
I am a spirit there
Lonely priests at night
ask my advice,
the dogs bark
and children cry
Millet beer,
they beat the drums,
mosquitoes dance
I watch
But I cannot answer
I am a dream
My love is lost
rides my blood
Her wild mind
tickles my brain
I fumble with ashes,
angry and vain,
fragments of this smell,
they burnt the grass again
I see the sound of light
coming with the rain
Now it is a fetal green
coming violently bright
My heart touches here,
termites eat my memory,
wasps settle in my mouth,
I am a spirit there
Lonely priests at night
ask my advice,
the dogs bark
and children cry
Millet beer,
they beat the drums,
mosquitoes dance
I watch
But I cannot answer
I am a dream
My love is lost
MID-AGE, 1991
About what
can a middle-aged man
meditate and write
if not about love
Or must it be
about fight and endurance
ferocity or tenacity
pain and rotting away
melancholy?
About the past
or presence
or future
when each second counts?
Your children are two:
who counts your men,
husbands, canaries,
your lovers, relatives,
Who needs your toys and dolls,
who wants to know,
blind men only
naked with desire
Who counts your wounds
and caresses your scars?
You love my eyes
and I love you
When the night comes
to talk
each of us withdraws
watching the flies above
Tears hover around corners
none too far away
wild animals lurk
in our dark
We share our helplessness
naked
and
cold
And then
we show each other
how to walk out
for a swim
Cleansed through water
we watch a full moon:
We shall never sleep again
can a middle-aged man
meditate and write
if not about love
Or must it be
about fight and endurance
ferocity or tenacity
pain and rotting away
melancholy?
About the past
or presence
or future
when each second counts?
Your children are two:
who counts your men,
husbands, canaries,
your lovers, relatives,
Who needs your toys and dolls,
who wants to know,
blind men only
naked with desire
Who counts your wounds
and caresses your scars?
You love my eyes
and I love you
When the night comes
to talk
each of us withdraws
watching the flies above
Tears hover around corners
none too far away
wild animals lurk
in our dark
We share our helplessness
naked
and
cold
And then
we show each other
how to walk out
for a swim
Cleansed through water
we watch a full moon:
We shall never sleep again
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