..
Hans Richter, "VormittagsSpuk" (1928)
..
jan svankmajer - the flat 1968
"Unterwasser Sonate"
Pflanzen auf dem Meeresgrunde
strecken bleiche Blätter aus,
gespenstisch dehnt sich..s in der Runde
in diesem wortlosen Haus.
Schwer ist..s im Trüben zu liegen,
es lockt die obere Welt.........
_Konstantin Balmont_
ES GIBT NUR EIN GESICHT DAS MAN LIEBT ES IST IMMER DASSELBE MAN ERKENNT ES UNTER TAUSENDEN
Die Lippen, oftmals trocken, aufgesprungen.
Hatten diese Lippen je vorher geküsst.
Begegneten mir solche Lippen, derart trocken,
derart aufgesprungen, roch ich hinter ihnen die Erfahrung. Rot, durchbluten, mundig. Inwendiger Ausdruck einer absichtsreichen Sinnlichkeit.
Zum Platzen angefüllt. Zu kosten und zu küssen, ewiger Geschichtenlauf. Verkrustungsmale nachher, meistens. Trocken, aufgesprungen, wie gesagt. Verendet süßer Speichel....
_Andre Sokolowski_
Spot/On
"Scheinwerferlicht auf die,
die sich gerne blenden lassen..."
vom herzen her zuviel kommt
nahehalten, abstand gewinnen,
sich anziehen lassen, sich abstossen,
mit einem wort sich einlassen.
cold lately - anna mutely
wie das wasser durch meine lunge strömt,
ein seltsames gefühl der undruchlässigkeit;
..
open letter to a friend
between the lines the start and end
long time ago..there were two girls sitting in a seedy bar and daydreaming about there futurelife! one was saying "in a small town in the mountains you can dream but you can..t make your dreams come true" the other said "thats true"....
so what happen....
my life is now in the right course..i start to study 3 weeks ago at the art university! and it is for me like a small dream come true, i know that its not the end, i feel more that..s now a start for me in a other league..i dont miss the time when i was workin in some advertising agencies, it..s not so that i did not learn there some things for life and for my work experience but i always missed the art connection, the discussions about life, art and thinkings...and now i live between that all..i cant tell you how great i feel!! that was the part in me that slept toooo long, and now i can scream out and tell everybody who i am! ;)
but there are still things in life not going well...maybe i have to look for the thing call "love" but i did not find it in the last years..
Rainer Maria Rilke - To Lou Andreas-Salome
I held myself too open, I forgot
that outside not just things exist and animals
fully at ease in themselves, whose eyes
reach from their lives' roundedness no differently
than portraits do from frames; forgot that I
with all I did incessantly crammed
looks into myself; looks, opinion, curiosity.
Who knows: perhaps eyes form in space
and look on everywhere. Ah, only plunged toward you
does my face cease being on display, grows
into you and twines on darkly, endlessly,
into your sheltered heart.
As one puts a handkerchief before pent-in-breath-
no: as one presses it against a wound
out of which the whole of life, in a single gush,
wants to stream, I held you to me: I saw you
turn red from me. How could anyone express
what took place between us? We made up for everything
there was never time for. I matured strangely
in every impulse of unperformed youth,
and you, love, had wildest childhood over my heart.
Memory won't suffice here: from those moments
there must be layers of pure existence
on my being's floor, a precipitate
from that immensely overfilled solution.
For I don't think back; all that I am
stirs me because of you. I don't invent you
at sadly cooled-off places from which
you've gone away; even your not being there
is warm with you and more real and more
than a privation. Longing leads out too often
into vagueness. Why should I cast myself, when,
for all I know, your influence falls on me,
gently, like moonlight on a window seat.
willige vollstrecker..
schnürende gedanken sich um meinen hals binden
dass die luft selbst zu ersticken beginnt.
ein wandern, in den körperzellen
über muskeln beschwingt sich schwingen.
das treiben der löslichkeit in butgefässen,
dass man den schwall im hirn nicht stoppen kann.
angedachtes wird in der zeit zu panalen fraktalen,
die sich ohne mittel selbst erstehlen, ohne sinn
und zweifel sich erregen.
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