Copenhagen came into view
over looking the industry findings
of Heidelberg sinking shores
I'd mustered enough nerve to escape
his fist his open hand again twisting
my arm I still held the stone he threw
at my back busting my shoulder blade
the woman at the dinner assures me
I would be fine never the less panic fills
my chest I pray my suffering ends soon
perhaps he'd find something that interests
him as much as attacking me I'm hopeful
in my absence he will surely move on
to a new hobby either way Copenhagen
is wonderful this time of year.
Written by Mrs. Yolanda Joy Nicholsen
A printer's apprentice is my youth was
My canvas a 4 colour Heidelberg press no less
A 1000 + tons of solid steel industrial ingenuity
That changed and formed the landscape we know today
Cyan,
Magenta,
Yellow,
Black
Through paper cuts from shuffling paper
And cleaning ink it would bleed into
every crevice and cut in my hands
That to the untrained eye it looked as if i never washed
The ink what in which my hands lay
I printed black on white instructions you would find inside medicine boxes
And glossy catalogues to business card's
So through the power of printed ink
Reminiscing back
Somewhere out there to this day
Come what may
I may not have been Leonardo or Banksy
But hopefully I somehow left my mark
However insignificant
So i reap my own graffiti
Like the soldiers of the red army did on the Reichstag wall's
Before the rise and fall
Of Nazi and Communism
In this world this feeling of being secluded and alone
with only a cadre of youth that represents innocence and
the wilderness
In this whole wide world, the conch, the rule to speak
some democracy,
you can run fast, or you are easily upset, or you can take
charge just so you can control,
I guess the first order of business is to suss all this stuff out.
Maybe later, years later on Simon's son becomes more like Jack.
You know the avenue Piggy ventured from the start,
just what might just become like Roger
a purely sadistic sort.
An allegory
Like Franz Boas searching for ice cream
The University of Heidelberg
1386
He became fascinated by the Baffin Island Inuit.
Where a learned man such as himself could never
survive because he was not equipped with the
knowledge
back in those days
that was a revolutionary thought
In many ways it still seems to be this way,
I think just now.
Peace!
If I a bare fisted foot that a layered leaf once left undisturbed but amongst the rising becomes a glow and fortress is a finger roll and rolling is a non adventurous activity in a nine metre road. But no roadworks. They are mainly dependent upon corrosive erosive sealant. And many a glance or glare from a twisted turtle head could almost be forgiven for a sub consciousness riot is often a forefront in a non moving pawn game. Stagnant are those who watch am eclipse upside down. I am a Heidelberg Heifetz herlump but maybe a justification of heuristic heiferlump. I am unsure as to which prison I am currently visiting but working us waiting and waiting is a turbulent torrent of a torrid display. Merely an astronaut could fly this path. Really? Really? An opulent society is a dug grave waiting. No ha to that. But a bursting angle is an angled angel angling. Ha to that. Now spin. Yes. Spin. Horticultural herrod bar. Hum...hmmm.
Limerick: Once Lucy met Heidelberg Man
for Nelson Mandela
Once Lucy met Heidelberg Man
Then Neanderthal and Peking Man
Tortoise said to the Turtle:
“Where’s your doggone girdle!”
“What a disgrace to my race,” said Bushman!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
for Gertrud Widmayer, my landlady at Heidelberg
Why in pensive ticking, silent thoughts
You wile your time away
When all around huge swelling bells
Toll the days away!
Every hour that announced may go
Your silent hands take hold
And though the ages chimed in ears
Yours they never behold.
If all the clocks the world had known
Had struck one strong big note,
They would never still your plodding tone
Nor the working hearth you alert.
Do you wonder, wonder, little clock
What makes the grandfather tick!
Or his aching belly in the depth of sorrow
Cries to the world it's sick!
Thirty million years and Pleistocene dark,
They are one split second short!
And whimpering suns that rise and flop
Have scarce stolen your tick or thought!
So, my little clock, my faithful clock
When I hear the tall town bell,
I'll shrug my shoulders, one tiny moment
And know that all is well.
© T. Wignesan, 1957 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
for Gertrud Widmayer
I am a coal-truck
Carrying gold dust.
Someone threw some
Coal-dust upon
My gold-dust.
I am a coal-truck
In a gold mine.
Someone struck a coal vein
And piled me full in vain.
I am a coal-truck
Covered in subterranean dust.
Someone shovelled my soil
And found an ancient bone
All coiled.
I am a coal-truck
Waiting for the rain.
The sun is my rail
The night my shed.
I am a coal-truck
Rumbling all the way.
Wash me in the rain-storm
And fill me full of coke
Until I choke.
© T. Wignesan, 1957 - Pub. in "Forum Academicum", Heidelberg University, 1957 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
For Ananga
On that day when all is dark
When I wake on that blackened day
Though I wake to find no day
I will burn a flower on my tiny finger
And cipher the heart of the yelp
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 1957 (from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in "Forum Academicum", University of Heidelberg, 1957)
Unheeded in the spread of his name, quaking
Through the knit brow cuddling the sombre eye
Twice buckled into the couch of his yearning
The mouldy cast of unsculptured hands, moulting
In the surging sweaty cries' unexpected sigh
Sooner lost than won with unrenewed longing
Every day, every night in chastened haste, calling
That one face, one hand trembling on bosomy thigh
Through all the twigs of his knotty brooding
Mighty log in the dismembered chips, raking
In uneasy orgasms of a protracted lie
The woman clasped in the memory revolting
Fleshy hair to press, hovering nostrils, drinking
In the incensing vapours, and that face a wry
Screaming in the rubbing spasm, a bloody cursing
All, all and more, and the biting shame, clawing
Now at the name, silently growing, that shy
Child of old hopefully shared and lingered moaning
© T. Wignesan, 1960, first pub. in "Forum Academicum", University of Heidelberg, 1957 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
for J.C. Alldridge
Flagellant!
Flexor of the Temple's
Flexuous moulded walls
The high reliefs sallying through your
Flaunting fingers
Wrap the holy-comer with your
Invocatory maul
While word of Vedic prayer
Seeps from some steepening Brahmin wall
O stretched bowel of your potted paunch
In perspiration's puffing piped paean
Rivet the eyes of man and god
Outside the walls of priestly palaver
Monotonic bell and OM
OM and monotonic bell
OM
OMM
OM
©: T. Wignesan - Paris, 1957 (from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in "Forum Academicum", University of Heidelberg, 1957)
Chin cupped
on the ancient bone
of his elbow
he spread five fingers to the world:
and like a cat on zither strings
the hoarse voice of his fathers
issues from his forgotten children:
now he picks one tick
from the back of that suckling cow:
his failing fingers
find not the strength to crush
Not a single eyelash twitters
pass him by
pass him
'Wake not a man asleep
And tell him he has
Nothing to eat.'
©: T. Wignesan - Paris, 1957 (from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in "Forum Academicum", University of Heidelberg, 1957)
For J. C. Alldridge
Piccolo and been-throated pibroch
Dilating dimpled hood
Spreading photometric darkroom eyes
Waxing waxing matching
Venomous lip to music's piping lip
O Queen of stung dragon-mouthed Po
Dancing girl of nuanceless ancient reliefs
The apotheosis Brahman curling on the neck
Must you now sink sink
Dread watched
Spineless
Into the winding womb wickerwork
Watching watching pipe-eyed watching
Until you slip
Over the sill of the pipe and the lip
Anathema!
Amorphous piteous anathema!
Amulet of Siva!
Licking the boneless air companionless
Then slithering to lie on the trodden path
Must you have this one last lick
A lick that
Stills the
Unheeding
Child astray
Or ripple tailless
In the reedy gust
To the squat charmer's
Hypnotical pibroch
©: T. Wignesan - Paris, 1957 (from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in "Forum Academicum", University of Heidelberg, 1957)
for J.C. Alldridge
Full pummelling fisticuffs
Stitch over stitch
In and out
Imperceptibly kaleidoscopic
Swirling from ear to ear
Sporadic
Thrumming mystical notes
Notes of whisper
Whisper in the ear
Now a bothered swish of clawing
Cleaving slipping fingers
Immalleable rolling universal ball
Microcosmic needle into
Macrocosmic wool all
Silently thudding kneading pulling
Sealing a sin all opened unforgiven
Eternally whispering to a few
And never really heard
Pummelling sewing the invisible centre
Round and round the darkless sun
Only the end that began
Only a scratch and a bother
What bother to scratch
For scratching bothers
Bothers a scratch
Scratch and not to bother
Scratch Scratch Scratch
©: From: T. Wignesan - Paris, 1957 (from Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961; first pub. in "Forum Academicum", University of Heidelberg, 1957)
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