Poems

Les longs jours éternels ...

Ces deux flammes s'entrelaçant,
comme ils valsaient dans le ciel,
immergé dans leurs étincelles,
même envié par la lune de miel,
l'ardeur ne calme pas leur soif,
se seulement brûlant finalement,
Mais bien qu'ils s'volaient tout le bois,
Pourra la braise s'éteindre une fois?


Par milliers de kilomètres si séparés …

… ces deux flammes brûlent si faiblement,
en craignant qu’elles soient exctinctées.
Je jette cette lettre dans l’ardeur couvant,
Pour qu’elles jaillent comme des langues de feus,
Paraîtrant un à l’autre la nuit au firmament.


レンガ

灼々な薔薇は
真っ暗な天(あま)で
燃えて温めようが
枯れる


俳句

霜焼けが
又なくなるか
枯尾花


天使とは

欲もなし
真に自由
哀れなき
人生の上
翼を広げ
漂うの、
天使とは

が、あなたが
この堆肥では
すすり泣き
さ迷っている
のは何故か

焼餅は
まさか翼を
焼いたかな


七夕

笹の葉と
鳴り響いても
恋上り
風に靡くが
天の川
仰ぎ見ながら
涙ぐみ
悔病んで悩む
今年夏
織姫様は
牛飼いを
会いたくないと
思うんだから。


Die siebente Nacht

Wo doch die Karpfen im Winde schwimmen
und Bambus raschelt, in Kinderstimmen,
alle und jeder festlich gewandet,
lachend, frohlockend durch Strassen wandelt,
spiegeln sich Sterne in meinen Augen,
die tränenbenetzt zum Himmel schauen.
Die dunkle Nacht nährt den Jammer und Schmerz,
die Brust sticht noch mehr, ganz klamm wird’s ums Herz.
Denn die Prinzessin webt an ihrem Kleid,
kümmert sich wenig um des Hirten Leid,
Schnuppe ist ihr sein Sternenregen,
ihn will sie nicht mehr zu sehen pflegen.


(Dedication)

Chimeras - born to dreamers' phantasy,
that is usually what they're said to be,
both science and savvy may lay proof,
that magic just lies beyond any truth.
But ...
Thinking of how much I'm under your spell,
confounded, bemused, imperiused? - Well,
can't help but to tell that you seem to me
as charming as only a witch can be.


To that little honey bee

Since we’ve met there was one thing I miss:
That you’ve never given me the muse’s kiss.
By chatting with and thinking of you,
Song of songs were not to be due.
Sure, fun and comfort were guaranteed,
But sometimes there was also another need:
Some idea, some hint, that plea, that flint
To light that sublime inspiration,
To forge that rhyme of admiration,
A door to my creativity,
To set all my talents free.
But now, I’ve realized finally,
You’re more than a mere Aoide,
A simple statue of yearning and desire,
That soon enough will expire,
But Ulysses’ Athena, strong and right,
Who helps me in my steady fight.
That one true comrade in arms,
Who – backstabbed – not further harms.
A goddess born out of brain not shell,
And a crazy Calypso, of course, as well.


Buono natale

May that silver driver dry, up there in the sky, for that light might not be mere glint on its waves in the night.


Wissen schafft nur neuen Glauben.

Das Leben hat Darwin evolutioniert,
Kraft Newton fällt der Apfel runter,
Locke lockt mit Naturverträgen,
Smith schmiedet an Wirtschaftsplänen,
mit Chaostheorie wird's dann doch bunter,
und Einstein hat irgendwie alles relativiert.

Lesen heisst noch lang nicht Wissen,
Wissen lässt oft Verständnis missen,
Verstehen lässt noch nicht Erkennen,
Erkenntnis nicht zu Erfahrung reifen,
Erfahrung ist noch kein Be-Greifen.

Was lernt ihr all die Theorien,
verlernt dabei das eig'ne Studieren,
von Paradigmen paralysiert,
der Kopf zum Nicken instrumentalisiert.

Die Empirie imperialisiert,
ist sie auch nur auf Theorie basiert,
die Theorien balancieren auf Theoremen,
Zweifel an diesen ist gleich Studienproblemen.

Gross ist die Resonanz für Wissenschaft,
kein Wunder bei hohler Körperschaft,
selig sind die geistig Verarmten,
denen sich die weissen Greise erbarmten.

Laden sie in ihre Tempel, Matrikelstempel auf ihre Stirn,
zuerst lesen, dann nicht mehr denken - Es ruhe sanft, deren Hirn.

Wissen schafft nur neuen Glauben,
dem sich Lämmer anvertrauen,
GebeTheorien zu studieren, zu rekapitularisieren,
statt Dinge zu erfahren, mit Händen zu kapieren.

Gibt's kein Gott, so schaffe ihn,
um naiver Glaube kommt keiner hin,
was du glaubst, das ist,
das Logos der neue Christ.


What keeps me writing on these walls?

What keeps me writing, writing on these walls?
What rain will wash away, or eventually palls?
People will pass anyway, minding their own lives.

Oh please, remember me one day,
I try to live, just have to dwell.
It’ll stay one life that fades away,
but that aware of itself.

Oh please, recall another time,
this mind that longs for more to strive
than naïve happiness in grime,
to surpass this mere short, trite life.

Oh please, yet think of me again,
I’ve tried to see through everything.
Big pictures are what’s to obtain,
in order to understand anything.

Oh please, consider once as well,
that though this ghost will carry on
to struggle for nothing left upon,
will stay imprisoned in its shell.

And finally, oh please, refrain
from thinking of all this in vain,
carry this seed, breed and feed,
so that this dream will once succeed

… and in the end, I will be freed.


Stört ruhig meine Kreise.

Gleich Schneisen von Geleisen
kreuzen uns’re Leben sich.
Wie alle ihre Wege weisen,
scheiden sie sich doch letztlich.

Als wollte sie schon Abschied nehmen,
sprach sie so das letzte Mal.
Denn Leben heisst V(orüb)ergehen –
wen triffst, ist doch egal.

Doch, bedenke auch, mein Kind,
dass Schneisen sich nicht einfach schneiden,
sondern dort oft Weichen sind,
die dich auf Bahnen and’rer leiten.

Geh’ nur weiter deinen Weg.
Du musst nicht stoppen oder wenden.
Lenken ist dir eh verwehrt.
Die Weichen werden dich schon senden.


Kontrolle ist auch Einschränkung.

Das Leben ist nur so profund,
wie du es denn haben willst.
Darum wünsch’ ich hier offen kund,
dass du jede Neugier stillst.


(The Forest Allegory)

I went into a forest once
to see into those many trees.
I’ve found two kinds there, different ones,
that pierced the canopy of leaves.

There were the bigger mighty oaks
that took up quite a lot of space.
Engulfed in large, shadowy cloaks
they didn’t leave an exposed place.

As light and rain could not pervade,
no other tree could start to sprout,
evaded to a brighter glade –
to grow is what it’s all about.

Instead envious ivy harked,
entwined around the oaken bole,
stroke its roots into its bark
to wind up to the sunlit goal.

As ivy kept on to entangle,
to leech onto and drain the sap,
eventually the oak got strangled,
decayed, collapsed and lied there dead.

But ivy cannot stand alone.
It trembled and tottered, then it fell.
There were no other trees full-grown,
and so it perished thus as well.

Above just such a dead oak’s trunk
I’ve found two pines that prospered both.
They didn’t fight for every chunk,
but still they were in blow and growth.

They did not crop a crown atop,
but sprouted branches all-around,
grew less and less towards the top,
so light could pass through to the ground.

And when the wind blew through those trees,
the rustling whispered ancient tales,
they patted on each others leaves
and waltzed their dance admidst of glades.


Wie Musen becircen?

Alas, my muse, why hast thou gone,
orsaking me at Apoll\'s dawn,
Cloud bright prospects of further tales,
in wailers\' tears and darkened veils?
No verse fits to the plot,
all rhymes sound somewhat forced,
no pun hits yet the spot,
innuendos seem all coarse.
I need your words, your signs and song,
how else should I ever get this done?
But if you really stop to fond,
decide to break this both our bond,
should therefore our cooperation cease ...
introduce me to your sisters please - at least!


Bide my time in truism's rhyme to wait and spend till days will end.

The future's bright, the future's dawn,
hough not for those already born.
The sun has risen with your birth
and then set running back to earth.

Life's nothing but one long sunset,
a new day just raises new regret,
makes to forget with useless haste
so you can lay another day to waste.

Work and breed so we succeed
n spinning this huge wheel of life,
life's for free of each worker bee,work so that this hive may thrive.

Bear and carry down your blood,
every day to mother sun,
though you're no more the one
whom she casts her light upon.

Feed on the remaining rays
that your body's yet kept save
and count on how many days
you'll stay your own life's slave.

And once the last drop is shed
mother sun will turn blood-red,
body breaks and mind all fades,
experience is comfort's facade,
you will know in night's swallow:
Aging is just dying slow,life will always stay hollow.


The Star Festival

Alas, no swan’s come back againto their celestial river-shores.
The ravens waited all in vain
to bridge this silver river’s course.

Instead, amidst black-feathered ranks,
the cowherd stands yet at the banks,
his eyes stare to the other side,
where his princess’s supposed to bide.

He clasps the casket in his hands,
which bears the gift that should be hers:
A year he spent at these banks
to find for her the finest pearls.
The steady search, though, left its mark.

His cowhide wore out, turned all dark.
It turned as black as a raven’s feather
that makes him reach not aether but nether.

His heart is broken like his dream,
sheds blood-red tears from deep inside
that drop into the silver stream
ourishing the surging tide.

The river doesn’t share his mood,
and stays in calm and silent flood,
but ravens every floating gourd
extinguishing the lights aboard.

As the final lights go out,
a final sob accepts aloud:
ever will white birds come back.
Forever’s Vega altered her track.



星祭の夜

烏だけ
鵲の橋
造れない

飛ぶ羽を
牛革に買え
渡れない

川端で
向こうの側に見
待こがれ

思い出に
銀川の上
瓜流し


Pigs we are

Pigs in boxes, pigs we are,
write reports and beat the deal,
work to give your life some worth,
faster spins the hamster wheel.

Pigs in dresses, pigs although,
hiding fat, pink flesh below,
shame we couldn’t forget the same
but stays the last thing we will know.

Pigs in bars, pigs we are,
Swigging till pigs turn to apes,
Booze belongs to our highest goods,
the only thing that allows to mate.

Pigs in cars, pigs, you arse,
driving to pig farms near and far,
mood seeks out for better food,
grass looks greener from afar.

Pigs we are, pigs we eat,
pilgrimaging to cantines.
Cash for nutritious trash
chucking out of mash machines.

Pigs we are, pigs we bear,
Shoats are shouting for fresher muck
Boars are grunting in the choir,
hunting for the next best fuck,
In pig is what the sows end up.

Pigs in coffins, pigs we are,
buried deep down in the earth,
worms shall eat such high lifeforms,
for salvation we all pray,
heaven is a glitch away.


(Picture dedication)

The sun was shining from the boat,
and kept me clinging to the rope,
and though I couldn’t ride the board,
it was a crest of a wave I rode.

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