Mittwoch, 12. Dezember 2012

Montag, 24. September 2012

solstice




Les arbres du soir jettent à nouveau
de longues ombres.
La lumière intense de l’été
Est douce maintenant et dorée.

Les blés sont moissonnés
et dans les haies et les jardins
les fruits, les baies mûrissent
vers leur récolte.

Combien de temps encore?

Il est passé, le temps de nos passions.
Nous aimons désormais avec tendresse et compassion.
car nos seins sont un peu flétris,
à force d’avoir nourri,
et nos chairs déjà un peu fatigués.

Combien de temps encore?

Déjà les hirondelles se rassemblent.
Les jeunes volent de leurs propres ailes,
et quittent les nids
et les maisons.
Quand ils retourneront,
comment sera le monde?

Combien de temps encore?

Mais quand les feuilles tomberont,
regardez bien:
Ils poussent déjà sur les branches,
les bourgeons du demain.

Dienstag, 4. September 2012

Freitag, 17. August 2012

Dienstag, 7. August 2012

hope

soul healing silence 
summer grass and morning dew
soft under bare feet 

Brombeerzeit

Und ist denn schon wieder Brombeerzeit?
Liegt Sehnsucht auf Stoppelfeldern?
Der Sommer, der gar keiner war,
schon vorüber?

Verregnete Blumen, fruchtlose Gärten,
und Tränengeschmack auf dem Seewind:
schon Herbstes Ruh?


Wie gerne möcht ich sorglos einmal noch
in süße Früchte beissen,
im Sonnenschein!

Montag, 30. Juli 2012

Montag, 23. Juli 2012

Sonntag, 15. Juli 2012

fort la latte

 entre ciel et mer
suspendu dans le vent bleu
pierres et château fort 
pierres entre ciel et mer
vent bleu sans cesse vert sans cesse 
coupole convergence

Dienstag, 3. Juli 2012

a dragon tail


Once upon a time, in a country beyond nowhere and neverland, there was a village where lived a dragon. Every year, the villagers had to give him a young boy or girl so he wouldn’t come flying over their fields, burning their crops with his breath.
Knights from all over the world had come to the village to slay the dragon and have their name and their fame sung by the minstrels. They were encamped in the forest near the dragon’s layer, with their banners and tents and their armour and swords.
Every once in a while, one of them would sneak up on the dragon, when he lay in his cave, and try and take him by surprise. But the dragon always awoke too early, and sent out a hiss of hot breath, cooking the knight in his armour, and later, when he was a bit cooled off, he would have him for dinner.
After a while, none of the knights dared go into the cave anymore and they just sat there, staring at each other, wondering if they should draw lots about who was to go next, each one hoping his neighbour would volunteer to go himself.

One evening, a shepherd, a slender boy with deep sea green eyes and long black hair, got fed up with this business. He crept into the cave in the darkest hour of a dark and moonless night, when the dragon was fastest asleep. He sat down near the dragon’s head and began softly to sing. His voice was so soft and so dark that the dragon never woke up. He sang of deep seas and fishes strange and of islands far away. He sang on until morning. Then the dragon woke from his dreams. He had forgotten about cooking knights in their armour, forgotten about village children, all he wanted was to fly high over the deep green sea, to find the enchanted islands and the fish and the mermaids. He got out of his cave, stretched his wings and flew away. A dragon dropping fell smelly amidst the knights’ camp, and then he was gone.  He flew far and high over the green seas, until he came to the islands. There, he folded his wings and sat on the water like some giant gull. The fish and the mermaids were playing around his scaly feet and gradually he felt his fire go out. He sank and was content to live in the sea, and eventually married a lobster princess.

When the villagers realized that the dragon was gone, they were very happy. They gave a garden of mandarin trees to the young shepherd, and he lived happily ever after, singing songs and tending his mandarin trees.

The knights went home alone, and no-one ever sung their name and fame. 

Freitag, 22. Juni 2012

Donnerstag, 14. Juni 2012

ride the storm


Oh, let me ride the storm to the rainbow land
Where life is waiting for me,
With poppies and cherries
And roses and berries,
With laughter and kisses and smiles.

With nights fresh and blue,
Of freedom and dreams
Of white knights and firesides,
And islands white in the deep blue sea.

Oh let me ride the storm to the rainbow land,
Away from smoke and destruction
From sorrow and pain and from fear.
Let me ride, let me ride,
Oh let me away,
Let me ride the storm to the rainbow land,
Let me just ride away from here.

Freitag, 8. Juni 2012

Montag, 4. Juni 2012

Für Florian, den wir am 5. Juni 2009 begraben haben


Ich suchte ihn Nachts
und rief ihn bei Tage,
und wanderte lang einsame Wege.
Folgte einer Hoffnung hin und wieder:
Dann war’s ein Irrlicht.

Und kam immer wieder zum selben
grauen Felsgestade,
und sah die schwarzen Wellen
ans Ufer schlagen so kalt,
da wusste ich:
Dort ist er hinab,
dort ist er verschwunden, versunken,
ins bittere schwarze Nimmermehr. 




Freitag, 25. Mai 2012

Donnerstag, 3. Mai 2012

renaissance clouds




Palaces, bridges, towers and bells,
The river is muddy from rain.
No light is in these narrow streets,
No poppies, no cherries,
No smiles and no sunbeams,
No laughing lips nor kisses.

I cannot understand the song
The wind is singing.

These palace walls
Are prison walls:
The hangman walked by here. 

Sonntag, 29. April 2012

Montag, 2. April 2012

to be back...


But oh for the mild glow
Of mellow old brick walls
Peeping through all shades of green
Of scented hills and valleys,
Ringing with blackbird-song.

And for the bright specks of red by the roadside
Of poppies that swing in the breeze,
Ripe kisses awaiting the harvest.

And for the sky so blue and deep
And humming with the everlasting
Music of the universe.

But oh for the ringing and singing of church bells
Swinging in steeples and towers of stone,
Singing of faith and of angels,
Of bloodshed and war and of fear,
Filling the air and the hearts
With their song.

Oh to be back…

Sonntag, 5. Februar 2012

Samstag, 4. Februar 2012

for my friends

The evil eastern wind 
that cut through flesh and bone
and hurt my soul 
with light so bright 
and merciless
and shadows deep and sharp - 
no room was in those days
for dreams and hope -
the evil wind died down.

warm sun is on my face 
and birds are singing
of love and light
and better days to come
they warm my heart 
and by my loving thoughts 
may they warm yours! 

Mittwoch, 1. Februar 2012

winter day


This winter morning
Silent, cold and bright
So blue grey white the sky:

Is it expecting snows and storms,
Or sudden raging bursts
of passion by the fireside?

Will sunshine come,
And birdsong,
Or silent clouds of snow?

Will peace be with us,
Or strife and struggle clamour
Through the world?

This winter day
So cold and bright
Has come and gone.

The stars are shining,
And Mars a fiery dot
So far, so far away. 

Montag, 30. Januar 2012

série des animaux


Série des animaux plus ou moins rares


Une plume de dragon,
Deux plumes de goélands,
Trois plumes d’anges :
Pour écrire des lettres de feu,
Pour écrire des récits de voyage,
Pour écrire des berceuses.


Quatre poils de lion,
Cinq écailles de sirène,
Six pommes de pin :
Font rugir
Font frémir,
Font plaisir.

Sept cils de licorne,
Huit feuilles de laurier,
Neuf dents de dinosaure :
Un rêve tout en blanc,
Une soupe odorante,
Un grand mal de dents.

Dix coquelicots,
Onze cornes de brume,
Douze plumes de pégase :
Rouge dans les rêves,
Perdue dans les possibles,
Je prends mon envol. 

Donnerstag, 12. Januar 2012

dragon sky

a dragon feather 
pierced the moon last night
and liquid silver 
is flowing over the sky 


beware of dragon feathers
they write fiery letters 
and they might pierce
a heart 



Mittwoch, 11. Januar 2012

printemps bleu clair


Gris argenté, un peu grisé,
De doux nuages reflètent
Le bleu de l’univers.

Timide et indécis,
De doux oiseaux gazouillent
Dans les bois sans feuilles.

Indécis, presque invisible, 
Le soleil se montre seulement parfois
En bordure des nuages.

Timide et indécis,
Le printemps compte les bourgeons,
En respirant le doux parfum des mimosas.

Quand l’hiver reviendra,
Il lui dira, un peu hautain :
Mais oui, mon p’tit monsieur, ‘y a  p’us d’saisons !