January 29, 2016 § Leave a comment
Tales of the wind (Part 1)
Of course the wind comes from far away. That’s what winds do, what they’re paid for.
If a rain hasn’t been enough to clean up sinn and shame, you then call the wind, for a biblical showdown.
Tales of the wind (Part 2)
You must escape but you’re broke? No problem. You take an east wind and head west, where even the sun rests.
And if you fear you’ll miss someone you’ve left behind, send a few Autumn love leaves with the next wind heading east. They’ll come.
Tales of the wind (Part 3)
The ones betrayed, the ones deceived stand at the top of the rock against the wind and cry out the bitter names.
And some of them get carried away, in every single way.
Tales of the wind (Part 4)
If a wind returns the next night it’s always stronger. Our resistance is played and brief. We give in and fly.
There were people found in far away countries who could still name the winds in their mother tongues but had forgotten their mother’s name.
Tales of the wind (Part 5)
Winds don’t like meeting each other.
But no one who’s been at their meeting points has survived to tell us why.
Tale of the wind (Part 6)
A wind never really sleeps. It rests for a while in the trees, on the back of lazy rain clouds, or in deep lakes.
Tales of the wind (Part 7)
Weak winds touch softly the earth to rest when light is low. But every stone touched hurts. Winds die down.
No one remembers a dead wind except one or two birds who learned to fly against it.
January 24, 2016 § 4 Comments
I was already
sleeping. I saw you passing
the doorstep. A dream.
“I don’t know where I
had been before you called my
name. But I’m here now.”
through dreams is like the test card
of an old TV.
Spaces full of colour
but trembling and uncertain
Are you from my past
or am I in your future?
Lines are blurred in dreams.
Somewhere else the moon
is higher than in this room
where I write down dreams.
I better go back
to sleep before I forget
the channel you’re on.
January 11, 2016 § 4 Comments
Whom are we going to mourn my love this dawn?
to mourn after ourselves?
David Bowie (8 January 1947 – 10 January 2016)
December 5, 2015 § 1 Comment
(What Kind of Times Are These)
And I won’t tell you where it is, so why do I tell youanything? Because you still listen, because in times like theseto have you listen at all, it’s necessaryto talk about trees.–Adrienne Rich
October 24, 2015 § 1 Comment
I got up this morning and went straight to the mirror that was not there. The wall the mirror used to hang on was renovated last spring and afterwards I somehow preferred the white wall naked and neutral. It is the spot where the sun dives into the bedroom through the window every morning. I often watch the spot of light getting bigger and then smaller again as clouds fly past the sun. A meditative moment in the rare times when staying in bed longer is possible. I could live without my reflection for a while, I thought, even if this round mirror was a particularly beloved one.
But this morning I was obviously so confused that I searched for an image of myself first. One has to make sure she exists sometimes. I stood in front of the white wall and looked deep inside it. First surprised, then searching and realizing, and finally searching again. It was much more difficult to see myself in that white wall, but I was still in that room.
October 21, 2015 § 3 Comments
You’re not the summer
You’re not quite healthy
(And you burned yourself while ironing yesterday)
You’re not twenty but not even eighty
You’re simply not in the right age
You’re not a have-not but you also cannot
(And you tried to buy the good dress but the shop was closed)
You could not talk but could not stop
You had not the power to not listen either
(And all your knowledge is still not shared)
You are not there
(And all your words will bring you nowhere)
You are not her
(And if she copies you, you are unaware)
You are not a woman
You are not a man
You are a creature that will die young