Wir kommen
Wir wandern
Und wir gehen
Das ist alles was wir wissen.
Wir kommen auf die Erde
Wir streifen umher, wir surfen
Und wir gehen mit nichts
Kein Geld, keine Dollars und keine Wertsachen.
Wir sagen guten Morgen
Wir plaudern, lachen und singen
Und wir schlüpfen mit nichts davon
Kein Geschwister, Grundstücke und Aktien.
P.S. Übersetzung von „And We Depart With Nothing“
Aus dem Englischen.
Copyright © April 2022, Hébert Logerie, Alle Rechte vorbehalten
Hébert Logerie ist Autor mehrerer Gedichtbände.
Id
fierce, intense
raging, urging, demanding
savage, instinct, moral, probity
loving, caring, giving
civil, gentle
ego
Danke Bitte und Mehr
David J Walker
It was a land of foreign thought
And I was the denizen drifter
In uniform that hid my ignorance
and poverty
In an OD Green costume that was
Barely me
Rarely me on weekends
One who could pass for a different class
Of vagabond wandering across
the borders alone
So far from home
That I was thoughtless
And homeless
Eager to be accepted even if it was as
Young and clueless
If not mysterious in my ways
The heady days of youth
Learning truth in a different language
Beginning with three words
Danke Bitte, Und Mehr,
Which opened the door for
Life-changing opportunities
Danke, Bitte, Mehr
Seemed to be the key that
Could open a locked door
Or
A locked heart
For a young man willing to
Accept the path into
Migrants quarters
On the distant borders of
An expatriate's temporary bivouac
Finally
Leaving was leaving a home again
Wondering if I would ever belong again
In my native land
with my adopted tongue
Thick with memories that would
Follow me forever to my grave
Darkness of Sturm und Drang
Darkness of Sturm und Drang
When you gotta fight with your own fated yarn
Dark persuades your shadow
Sheds your mortal mass
And gore inscribes the merciless nights
Sins like gems carved in my chest
Crucify me
I'll resurrect; soon, sooner!
Darkness of Sturm und Drang
Erupts like the lava
Gushed out to reach the penniless heart
Wide on those paddy fields
And lunar eclipse ornate the ether
Sprog witnesses the colleen in greyed
On branches she keeps swinging
Haunting the critters at bay
He sincerely heeds to her yarn each night
And nap in her lap!
Come now, people - we've all heard this before:
Barbarians at our gates, enemies without the door.
Their shapes the image of our own,
Their shadows like as well; though some be lesser known.
Sound loud the alarms, deafen the ears
Harden our hearts, feed on our fears -
Divide the Volk, call them Unified
Against a foe who has ever tried
To gain just this - a national suicide
Of what was once collective reason,
Confounding balanced thought with treason.
Take up the broadest brush and paint
That He That Stands Within a Saint,
And He That Waits Without a Devil -
Those who doubt judged twice and treble
To be vile, accursed knaves
Who serve the enemy as slaves.
Attend the tune of Sturm und Drang!
Forgetful of that one who sang
The selfsame tune not so long ago
Leading to a peoples' eternal shame and woe.
Let our better Angels, while yet they may,
Draw us back to the light of a better day -
A day not defined by confused fears of the Other,
A day those shades may be possible brothers.
(ohne jegliche vorbereitung)
für jede träne
müsste es irgendwo dort
ein lächeln geben
für jeden ruf
eine antwort
am ende jeden traumes
eine erfüllung
mit offenen armen zu warten
bereit die realität
zu umarmen
für jedes ich
soll dort irgendwo
ein du existieren
nur meins
Translator: Renate Müller 03.06.2013
into the spotlight
high summer enters stage left-
son et lumiere
Inspired by Raul's Summer tempest photo
"Wasch und Fun"
No need to translate for me for an hour and a half.
You left me to wash undies at the Wasch und Fun
while you shopped for lox and wine.
I found the soap and the wasch; but the Fun eludes.
Every patron,
even the suspect simultaneously wearing four pairs of pants,
switched out of Deutsch, enjoying the random and unexpected
dusting off of their Englisch.
We were united in our cluelessness
of the washing machines mannerisms and the
strange dichotomy on the open door with the sign that said “geschlossen”.
We washed in defiance of the sign, desperate for clean clothes on Christmas,
urgently willing the machines to finish drying before the sign proved true.
You blended into your town again; repatriated anonymity.
An American disguised as a local, shopping on Christmas eve in Freiburg,
while your new husband washed undies,
happily oblivious to almost every word anyone uttered.
Ninety minutes without a translator. Clean clothes and
Wine for Christmas in Deutschland.
Bitte.
- - -
JDZoller Copyright (c) December 2009
As death creeps out of the darkness,
A mother becomes the rope in a (Tug of war.)
A child reaches to help its’ mother in her weakness,
And stares death in the eye with abhor.
The rope falls limp in sure defeat,
Yet the child pulls on the strength of heart.
Against the evilness and deceit,
Fighting with the will to not be apart.
The hooks of death on weary knees,
Shackling the arms, exposing vulnerability.
Screaming and crying the words of “please”
The mother rests with peace and tranquility.
A child left to battle life’s groans,
Preparing for the encounter and all its’ lour.
For one day she will meet Mr. Bones,
And she’ll be the rope in her child’s (Tug of war.)
__________________________________________________________
Inspired by Brian’s Picture Poem’s Contest
Käthe Kollwitz, Death and the Woman (Tod und Frau), lithograph, 1910.
http://www.mmoca.org/mmocacollects/artwork_page.php?id=31
say what?
this guy a nut?
dann right,
his brain took a flight,
but left him here,
for us to deal with,
dann poems,
loads a' bull
get him
on da next flight
outta here!!
I don't care
if it's on a pidgeon....
all's I wanna see,
is his butt pass'in
oer' the horizon