‘Sunday Walk’ 2012 (Thirteen poems)
1.
and suddenly
suddenly
with a
blurring shimmer
on a bench
these errotic
these erratic
these rat like
rot like
movements
this rat like
rot like
ruthless
joy?
13.
and
forgive
the smiles,
the passing
ship
shamelessly
withers
the
green.
‘Crows’ 2012 (Part of work in progress) including poems, visual art and perfrormance)
3.
crows
crawl
into
my
sleep
awake
cleaning their
wings
waiting
picking
at
crumbs
of scattered
day
dreams
building a
nest
with
veins
from
my
brain
fools!
bloody
fools!
11.
crows
do not
like
to be
projected
on
independently
they
fly
to
their
doom
relieved
sometimes
as mark
of contempt
and gratitude
they leave
droppings
on
crumbs
‘Twelve’ 2010 (Twelve poems & twelve drawings, with perfromance and music)
4.
force fed
like
a
goose
go!
ooze!
5.
‘stägeli uf
stägeli ab’
go home
angels
go home
my anus is
sky blue.
‘Walls of Paradise‘ 2006 (Part three of Trilogy) 5,757 words
(from page 3)
Lo and behold
on the shores of
paradise waves
wear bulldozers
and dig at the
sand
and dig and dig
and dig the
Stillness
Lie in the barren earth of paradise that is fertile with bones and details. Lie deep and fly. Legs touch the missing, arms a scarecrow salute, shirt-flapping against your limbs, making them innocent. Try flying over the valley, over the ancient sites, your feet an irrigation net with promised water, never enough.
(from page 4)
Pardon me for being: a snake, a traitor, a criminal, a pervert.
Pardon me for invading your space.
Pardon me for having designs on the dove.
Pardon me for smearing saliva on your grass and wiping my anus with your fruit.
Pardon me for loving beyond hate, for hating love, for loving love, for hating.
Pardon me for penetrating your holiness with empty sockets and for letting my hair fall over your face.
Pardon me.
‘Victory’ 2005 4,169 words
(from page 1)
Was soll das? She died. Victory. Alone, without tenants, hostile tenants. Victory. No plan. Victory has no plan. Wrong. Only planned victories are victory. Not to mention “Sieg”, “Sieg” can only be planned. Victories are not supposed to be failures, unless they are unplanned Victories. These were not supposed to be successful Victories, but failed Victories. A failed Victory is a plan for Victory, which failed.
(from page 3) ‘Five Stones‘
Each child has five stones.
You throw one upwards.
Before you catch it
you must collect
the others in groups of
one
two
three and
four.
You throw one upwards
and push the others
through a gate
made of two fingers
on your second hand.
You have to throw one upwards
and take two
and then the other two.
You have to throw one upwards
and collect the remaining four
with the same hand
and the stone thrown upwards too.
When you do all this, without dropping a stone, you won. You are the winner.
’Proems’ 2005 9,515 words
(from page 2)
Babies should not be allowed into cinemas or schools; babies belong where they belong if they belong. Babies are taboo and even snakes are not allowed to get anywhere near them, even trains must stop for babies and the sun should not shine in the conductors eyes. Please release all hostages, or you shall not be given ice cream for dinner.
(from Page 15)
If you examine carefully the state of the world, you will realize there are less and less chairs. This is worrying.
(from Page 17)
Tremendous earth shakes are rolling in the country and make a nuisance of themselves. “Shake and twist” is my policy, no mater what. Shake and twist. Beer is not a solution, because the nearest pub is too near and the exits are blocked with other exits...
Tulips are everywhere. Everywhere you gaze, there is a tulip in a vase and outside, a lot of out side in the outside, in the sides of the out and the sides of the sides, every where tulips with lips and without. Some have two lips and more. I do not trust tulips at all. Most of the time they lie and tell lies and tell only tulip news, which mean nothing to skyscrapers and dinosaurs, for instance, for example. That is why I don’t trust tulips, with lips and without.
(from page 18)
Roses are sort of foreign, refusing to merge, behaving in a most egocentric, neurotic, border line linear pacifism, evoking the notion that roses do not really belong to the human race and should consider themselves some kind of plant or insect. We should never go to a reading of a rose, or a concert of a rose. Roses are unreasonable, which may sound trivial and it is. Roses should be taken seriously wrong.
‘Result of a Journey‘ 2004 (Part two of Trilogy) 4,681 words
(from page 1)
“And the river is high ...
If I drift down the stream they will collect, stop, restrain me at the dam. A deep rift in the concrete catches it all; dead wood, bottles, dirt, dead birds, sweet children, torn bits of angels. There you are stuck. Not allowed to flow, not allowed to fall, kept away from clean guts of citizens.
“ich sitz am Strande
der rauschenden See
und suche dort nach Ruh” ...
“Fish are jumping
And the water is high” ..
(from page 16)
Comb your wet hair
pull it over your eyes
in long wet strands
turned black
turned marble
green and black.
Your comb
a boat,
stuck across
your
marble hair.
Be just half alone, half alive, be just half hungry, half a bird, half a glass of water - the empty, the full, be just half a Jew, half a Christian, be just half kind, half cruel, be just half a talent, half a shoe, be just half a song, half dead, half alive. Alive.
Ten years younger. Ten years older . Ten - der
Tender the time that flows from your eyelashes. Tender the time that circles your (very small male) nipple. Tender the time that crouches, hiding in the tiny hole of your penis. Tender the time in your painful smile. Tender the time in your anger and despair. Tender the time in your dry, determined thirst. Tender the time in your unabashed hardness. Tender your hard look at me, flowing on my face, rain on window glass, open, unprotected. Tender is Time, becoming a puddle at your feet, a trickle, a river, and then a sea.
Tender, my face in your water.
from ‘Songs from Ligallureja’ (a cycle of poems).
I was
made
of rubbish
and some
socks.
Did
you
hear
of the
dog
who was tied
to the back
of a running car
in Milan
and had
to run
and to run?
He lost his paws.
I lost
my socks.
‘Schauder‘ (für Paul Klee)
schwarze Perle
weissdampfende
Schlacht
Sieg-si-mund
ist
eingeschlafen.
Heute, Nacht,
sind die Fische
“hopping mad”.
Fädendünn
fliesst die Perle
weiss ins
Wasser.
Rot wird es,
ein Zahn beim
Seelen Artzt
ausgerissen.
‘Death Wall‘ 2001 (Part one of Trilogy) 2,968 words
(from page 8)
The wall in our garden is a death wall. Enemies can be placed against it and shot.
Slowly they sink to their knees blood trailing carefully from neck to crevice. It will become a historic wall.
Deep under two stones dug from the sea, lies my dog in a pot. Plucked cows from his collar moo to the moon and graze his feet. He sleeps contented.
What’s the point of it all (banal).
close her tongue
arrest her breathing
untie her hair
put her on an electric chair
string her cells
a string of pearls
tie her up
my finger nails
speak many tongues
‘Remarques‘ 2000 Short story, 2,585 words
(from page 1)
It was ironic. I mean, “Petite Monaco”, Café “Petite Monaco”. Monaco was by the sea, tough buildings pressing side of hills like rape. But this was Paris, rue Piccardie, in the vicinity of the important vernissage she was invited to attend. Time was a heavy beast. Looking for refuge, this Café was what she “swung into”. One man, stared, another, the bar tender, replied to the question “What have you got to drink” with what seemed to her, mocking politeness. It was not like a French Café. The décor, the music, the two faces.
Whether to take a pill in the toilet or, in front of the two staring faces, she will have to take one. Clear? First, though, she took the mock leather agenda out of her bag, where she stored the photographs and started, what seemed to her impressively, to scribble drafts, transferring instantaneously to a writer who outlines sketches to become an important work of genius. The trick proved effective. She became calm, shall we say, more self possessed.
Dressed in black, these were the same clothes she wore to the premiere of her work: “Look at me Mr. Elephant”. She criticized her choice. Clothes were the part she played. it was no good wearing the clothes for one part, in a different part.
The music was “Algerienne” the bar tender told her guardedly, being, perhaps, aware of her secret.
She was a big fleshy strawberry. Sand hidden under her crown of hard leaves.
‘The Diary of the Wetzikoner Hausfrau‘ 1995 One from 23 poems published in ‘die
Affenschaukel 18’
(from page 20)
Sin
derella
uglier
than her
sisters
nipples
flying
a dance
with intestines
in the dark
noprince
is
waiting.
Short story published in the above.
(page 5)
‘The Sale‘
The psychologist and the girl friend were trying to chose a drawing and she tried to help. Before they arrived she cleaned the flat bought an unusual cake and decidedly wore something sensuous artistic subtle to fit with the circumstances. In fact she was disappointed he did not come alone. Like the ducks which refused to be fed at night, he gave her a clear signal. She tried to make the best of it. She planned to play the “double game” - charming intelligent seductive world wise little girl. That same evening she played yet another game: “Pretending to be”. She denied through polenta and spat lies with her little pieces of meat. She fought to be somebodyanybody - and she lost.
At any rate she had the sensation of self disgust at managing to cheat someone into buying one of her drawings. At night she dreamt that her husband betrays her and felt sure that the psychologist will find a vomiting monster when he arrives home and has another look at what he bought. She loved the psychologist and the girl friend. She laid all the drawings on the white pubic carpet, she held a small lamp to give them extra light, at their request she told them what she thinks, she offered them a free drawing, she folded her legs in her short skirt in such a way that both would be enchanted. She wanted them in different ways and she wanted them to save her.
Sometimes at what seemed to her critical moments she stepped out of the room to give them room to hesitate, she decidedly went to the loo and did not mind if they heard her peeing. This was an achievement. Normally she would let the water run to hide the noise. This time she only did that briefly. All in all she made very few mistakes.
Then he wrote the check on the glass table.
She was happy, for a while. She collected their cups and carefully avoided the window in case they still stood outside and watched her in the dark. She started to prepare a complex fruit salad. She missed them. Then she changed the position of the check and placed it on top of her computer.
‘Ducks & Swans‘ 1994 Instantaneous texts at the piano, 11 tracks on first of numerous recorded tapes to be digitalized
(extract from track 3)
“Good bye Meidele
good bye Ketzele
good bye”
I am waiting till
you come back
come back
What shall I do now?
Shall I go to the church-no
shall I read Freud-no no-no
Decide now
Decide
I’ll write something
quickly down
so that it is done
so that it is clear
so that I know
so that it stays
and I can read it again
and make sure
it really
happened
“Good Bye good bye
Meidele”
to make sure
it really happened
I live with an open window
and therefore I am susceptible
to all sorts of weather conditions
and insects
and pushing
and no real place
of my own
“Goodbye Meidele
Good Bye Meidele
Meidele”