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Gert W. Knop Poem
Die Scherben des Lebens lassen sich nicht kitten. (German)
The shards of the life cannot be cemented. (English)
Los fragmentos de la vida no se puede enmasillar. (Spanish)
Les éclats de vie ne peu pas être à nouveau ensemble. (French)
I frammenti di vita non può essere di nuovo insieme . (Italian)
Die skerwe van die lewe kan nie weer saam wees. (Afrikaans)
Ang mga tipak ng buhay ay hindi maaaring simentuhin. (Tagalog)
Cioburile vietii nu pot fi cimentat. (Romanian)
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010
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Gert W. Knop Poem
Tage verlieren sich
Im Nichts der vergehenden Zeit
Wie einsames Herbstlaub
Days vanish in oblivion
In nowhere of the passing time
Like solitary autumn foliage
Días se caen en olvido
En la nada del tiempo pasando
Como hojas solitarias de otoño
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010
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Gert W. Knop Poem
Atacama, Eden of winds,
flower of abandoned rocks and of sapleter,
homestead of flamingoes and geysers,
and above all ,
below an azure sky,
mountains are carrying on their tops
ice of the past.
Old villages tell us their stories,
Toconce, Toconao, Chiu-Chiu,
carry in their canons
life,
water from deep below
let flowers and vegetables grow.
Chiu-Chiu, oasis of the desert,
a green spot,
surrounded by fragments of history
with the colour of orange, red and brown,
embedded in fragile foam of salt and hope,
the history of the Atacama.
Still alive in their churches.
Fragments of an ancient culture
reflecting on the surface of Río Loa.
Like ants – far away,
dispersed in vibrant light
some Vicuñas are looking
for tranquility and forage.
The geysers of El Tatio
send their hot water into the cold and pure air.
How pacient the Atacama is with us,
slaves of modern times
with the desire for paradise
with the dual face of history and hope.
Salar de Atacama, show me your
cracked and wounded face,
your wrinkles of solitude.
Far in the distance the chain of volcanoes,
with towering Lincancabur,
and its shouldered knapsack of crystals and ice,
holding its splendour towards the sky
with the colours of lapis lazuli and light agate.
Toconao, the ruins of Quitor greet you,
dormant since ages
they narrate the history of the Inca,
of their last refuge and their last battle with
Pedro de Valdivia,
who came with his men
to break the bravery of Inca soldiers
with thunder and destruction.
The waterfalls of the hot spings of Puritama
shoot their water into the air with the colours of rainbows,
drawing delicate faces of life
on dry sand and charming stones.
The wind from the mountains carries songs,
flute music, ancient tunes,
stories of salt, gypsum and clay
to the Valle de la Luna,
to let it remain calm and unchanged
with its eyes filled with dust and stones
in the eternal canto of earth.
Atacama, heart of the North,
plant of wind
in the song of history,
you make the day sound
and rock to sleep the nights,
lonely between the arms of the mountains
and the Altiplano.
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2009
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Gert W. Knop Poem
My room has changed
Empty walls are now with life
With my own pictures
My memories returning
Moments in colour and ink
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010
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Gert W. Knop Poem
Helga Deen (1925-1943) (Sentanka)
Mit achtzehn ermordet
Helga Deen im KZ Sobibór
Nur Tagebuch und Briefe
War alles was von ihr blieb
Ihr Andenken aber bleibt
Murdered at eighteen
Helga Deen at Sobibór
Only letters and diary
Was all that remained of her
But her memory remains
Helga Deen en Sobibor
Asesinado a dieciocho años
Sólo cartas y un diario
Fue todo lo que quedaba
Pero su memoria sigue siendo
Note: Helga Deen, born in 1925 in Stettin moved with her parents in 1933 to Tilburg in the
Netherlands. She was a talented young woman not only in writing but also in drawing. Her
mother was a German Jewish doctor and her father-Willy Deen- a Dutch chemist. Helga Denn
had a brother -Klaus- and both visited school in Tilburg. The family had to move from
their house and Helga an her brother had to leave school together with other ten Jewish
pupils. In July 1943 all were deported to the Vugh concentration camp. From there they
were transpoted to Westerbork concentration camp and from there on July 13th to Sobibór
(Poland) concentration camp. She died from gas there on July 16th 1943.
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2011
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Gert W. Knop Poem
Auf stillem Wasser
So im sanften Mondlicht
Der Ruf der Unken
On quiet water
There in the gentle moonlight
The call of the toads
De agua tranquilo
En suave luz de la luna
Los gritod de sapos
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2011
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Gert W. Knop Poem
Auf dunklem Wasser
Das Säuseln des Abendwinds
Mit kleinen Wellen
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On dark water
Murmur of evening winds
With tiny waves
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Sobre agua oscura
El susurro del viento
Con pequeñas olas
Note: To follow Haiku-rules, the Spanish version is different
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010
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Gert W. Knop Poem
Der Wind aus Osten
Treibt schon Schnee über das Land
Am späten Herbsttag
The wind from the east
Drifts already snow across the land
At late autumn day
El viento del este
Ya flota nieve a través de la tierra
En un día de otoño
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2010
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Gert W. Knop Poem
Lotusblüte / Lotos Blossom / Flor de loto
Einsam erstrahlend
Über dunkelstem Wasser
die Lotusblüte
Solitary shine
Atop the darkest water
The lotus blossom
Solitaria brilla
Encima del agua más oscura
La flor de loto
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2011
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Gert W. Knop Poem
Dreams like light-waves,
in my memory.
Birds of loneliness,
night-songs,
flowering days,
gone.
Tides,
waves of silence
forced
into daydreams.
The horizon,
verges – dissolving
like far desires.
In the hours of silence,
falls remembrance
like autumn leaves
in an uncertain future.
Dreams remain
like light-waves
in my thoughts.
Copyright © Gert W. Knop | Year Posted 2009
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