where did the night go

 

as seen on consens.

egorithmus

reisende soll man ich kann dich nicht aufhalten
will dich nicht umkehren gibt es den wert eines
menschen in art aller menschen mit denen er
schläft als die not der realen maschine was ratterst
du denkst du denn dass du verlassener machst als
du selbst je verlassen warst ach wenn du weg
wanderst denk doch ich habe das gehen geübt das 
gelassen ich habe mit abschied in reinform die 
treueste freundschaft geschlossen da musst du schon
mehr leisten grosses wie wär eine spontane wiederkehr? 
ach wird bis dann noch viel schlaf meinen schnarch 
runterrasseln und schnauf aus dem herz emporgehn 
wirst du als reisender nach deiner weltfahrt das hier 
wollen mich wollen alles verklären und wie früher sehn

feldforschung [field work]

erwachen wegen radikalen
sonnenscheins. im traum du
der lichtpunkt (heimatort: - )
als kern einer seitenlang
endlosen welt und ich perle
als schmuck ab die fällt und
am boden singt nach mir ein
seltenes echo die dielen entlang
bis ein loch seinen rachen aufhält.
ich schenke mich her (dich: - )
auch ohne versteckte bedingung.



[rough translation:

awakening due to radical
sunshine. dreaming you are
the light spot (native place: - )
as core of an endlessly
page filling world and i roll off 
as one falling pearl and a very
rare echo sings after me along
the floors until some hole 
rips open its fauces. 
i'm giving myself away (you: - )
without hidden conditions as well.]

the red big bag vs. the big red bag - how to order adjectives in english

even the teacher himself gets confused when he gives the example of 'the old boring physics teacher'. according to his own rules written on the board behind him, it would have to be 'the boring old physics teacher' - at least that proves his claim that this clip might of interest for native speakers, too!

du kannst alles haben
auch das, was am
meisten bedeutete: ich
nehme nichts: dich
den eitlen zum fraß
für dreifünfzig die nie
jemand aufrechnet
du: in der glasglocke
druntrer als ich je
drin saß und mit
nichts eines lebens
das je mehr bedeutete
gut für dich: du
kannst es haben das
alles auch das was
du ließt: mich
im liegen dir doch
noch das meiste
nicht wahr die
dreifünfzig zum fraß
vor die scheibe
zwei gänge noch
gehen nicht bleiben.

i am working on my prose text for tuesday at this very moment and needing a break. i need breaks all the time when i write. during those breaks i do all sorts of things, walk up and down, grab a tea, and another, call someone up, or pluck eyebrows. the typical stuff. like now for example, i'm writing this post. it's such a shame i haven't really written any poetry lately, at least none i'd like to put up here. i think i might be getting a little more protective of my private matters as i am expanding my presence on the web... i am, for example, new to twitter - please feel free to add me. alright, i'll try and go back to work now.

interview with myself, part 1

apparently, people have many questions about the below mentioned concept of Poetiken. clemens kuhnert compiled them, and gave them to a couple of authors to answer in 2003. i felt like answering some of them, too.

To you, when is a poem finished?

A poem is finished when it sounds round. I like smooth rhythms. A poem is finished when every word is equally important. Some of the poems I put on this blog are not finished.

Before you start writing, do you know where a poem will be going?

Not really, no. Mostly I do know how it will end, though, as the last line is usually the first one I come up with. If you want, I write poems backwards. The question for me is, therefore: Where does a poem start? What is it that lies at the heart of the matter?

Do you care how other poets treat a certain subject matter? Do you tend to follow trends?

I really don't care about what other poets write. Especially not when it comes to poetry. That might be a little different with respect to prose, which I find more important than poetry, because it tends to be more accessible. Personally, I find prose more difficult to write. It's a pain. My poetry is more spontaneous than my prose. Prose is a huge deal. That's probably the reason why I write so little.

I try to avoid trends like the plague, but I do notice a reoccurence of certain topics amongst the generation of writers I belong to. I think that is a) because people are much more alike than they like to believe and b) because zeitgeist and social surroundings take their toll on all of us.

older

schael mich aus meinem
geheimnis nun da wir
die sommer vergleichen
und aufgeben. aufgeben.
spatzen auf dieser schiene
des grauen gelaenders. nun.
nun und aneurysmen.
zehn jahre noch, freund.
zehn jahre noch an deinen
lippen.

lazy

okay, so i started translating that poem of 26 july 2008. somehow i can't make it work in english, but here are parts of it in case you're interested in what it's about:

tilts the horizon in front of the scuttle up
down and down up tilts unreasonableness.

[...]

all those first times are in flower still flowering
that valley's bed up and down by that stream and yet
time passed into nothing into just not passing at all

that sheer equatorial problem... [...]

[...]

up down up and down the unreasonableness.

contact

flatness caves in to silence.
dreams dance in spacey
pirouettes of lack.

you: in the wilderness of incoming.
in fact, you're in the wildest
wilderness of everything.

dreams dance into fat sunsets.
stills of sand, the trenches and
improbabilities.

bachmannpreis new website online, john irving reading

this week there were two interesting literary events on my list.

the first one was on wednesday:
the launch of the brand new, multilingual homepage of the ingeborg bachmann preis.

the second one was a reading by john irving tonight (i'm sure the kcl people will put a review up soon. until then, this link here will lead you to another, kind of similar reading of his). it was more of a lecture on his way of working than anything else, which was fantastic. for example he admitted to editing his texts up to twenty times, until he finds 'that one wrong word'. what a relief to hear that from a gifted person like him!! somehow i always seem to think that literary perfection is supposed to happen right when the words appear on the page. especially when i do not write much over an extended period of time i tend to forget that working extremely hard for a good text is perfectly normal. other cool john irving quotes from tonight include:

i write to a sound.

i write from the last sentence to the first chapter.

[on the importance of a well-crafted plot] how can you know where i am going if i don't?

the first sentence is always easier than the last.

all writers are outsiders. or should be.

it's a good feeling to be a popular novelist, but i value my enemies, too. more than they could ever imagine, in fact.

i got into wrestling because i was angry and nobody told me things. i was resentful.

making films to me feels like skipping school.

guadeloupe

und bleibst stumm sitzen auf dem teppich
aus zurechtgelegten sätzen, faselig
die krummen zehen in das hingeseufz vergraben,
denkst, du kannst, du denkst, du kannst
das lächeln ungesehen machen, das im witz,
auf dem du sitzt, verharrt.

gegen die sinnlosigkeit der romantik

verschwören
mit dir mich
das wollt ich
schon immer.

[to plot against the pointlessness of romance/ with you/ is what i have been/ wanting to do.]

through/ i do

most certainly
it’s all about the weak lungs

the wild veil swings
the will is wanting to

the sparkling night ring
looks as if it fits my finger

the odd beginning of a poem just gets lost.

ich habe zu meinem eigenen hügel
kakteen gestaut sand seen
verdammte sandseen vor wand
der horizont macht blau
ein halber untergang
und wo du flogst da bin ich
ungenau i am a hill i think
ein hügel bist du auch.

[i'm afraid this doesn't really work in english.... but anyways, here you all go:

i have for my own hill/ dammed cacti sand lakes/ damned sand lakes pre tense/ the horizon skips blue/ half a sun down/ where you flew/ i'm improper a hill think/ a hill you are, too.]

just for shits and giggles, here's the translation google translate gives you when you enter the german original version above:

i had my own hill
sand cacti dammed lakes
damned sandseen front wall
the horizon is blue
among a half
and where you because i am flew
i am a vague hill i think
are you a hill too.

here you can see very well how difficult it is to get a point across. especially parts like der horizont macht blau, which literally means 'the horizon makes blue', but would actually have to be translated 'the horizon skips work'. i went for the mixed-up version and took 'the horizon skips blue' which does kind of make sense in the context of a sunset. ... i'm just thinking that my own translation probably won't make any more sense to you than the generated one ... oh well.

poetic deed

i partook here with the poem-version of my story Bärenklau - one that hasn't been published yet, but liked very much by the people who have heard or read it. i tried writing something separate, but wasn't quite happy with any of it. Bärenklau, though, has always been close to my heart; this becomes evident in the english translation i made of it, too. i'm really sorry i can't post it here just yet, as - as usual - the competition entry mustn't be published. instead, as a consolation gift, i'll show you a translation of one of those poems i wrote and discarded.

it's called up above (or should i call it up abaph?):

i’m your affliction
seraph

can you
lathe me

your nine to five
wings aph

they lathe themselves
low where i am.

happy 2008

when i drove back from germany to switzerland this afternoon, the passing landscape made me think of one of his poems alistair noon read in london a couple of weeks ago. in a passage it described the changing view during a journey across the atlantic, and for a while went SEA. SEA. SEA. and so on. (unfortunately, i couldn't find it online - will have to ask him where it can be found.) well, anyways, this listing style made me think of the following poem. only a first draft, but since i promised to post stuff more often again....


die fahrten
ziehen sich immer
...
strecke kurve wald feld
huegellandschaft dorf
fabrik stadt stadt stadt stadt
ein autobahnkreuz strecke dann
strecke kurve wald feld bald
huegellandschaft dorf dann
[erinnern]
...
zög ich aus dir
das prophetische
sag mir was bliebe
dem weg.

≈

vor jahren im traum
saß ich im selben moment
papier = gelb wie hier
jemands satz ... nichts im traum
vor den jahren war anders als jetzt
erst am morgen damals deine nachricht
taucht auf die fehlt jetzt deine
zeichen zwischen all jenen
jemands stets ungesetzt und
vor jahren im traum
meine küsse deine
wassersandhaut auf strand breit
und = gelb wie hier
deine hand ... ich auf dir
in den dünen wars anders als jetzt
hab im traum damals niemands
gedicht übersetzt niemals jemands
geschwätz zwischen unsere zungen
gespült schrieb nie fische ins netz
jener niemande nie jemals
nur auf papier der moment
jenes traums wenn der
morgen vor jahren = jetzt.

give-and-takes

i say: then take it. for it's
something's gotta give.
i say: i will. i will while you
will leave. they're saying:
something's gotta give.

i think: i heard receipt. for
is it not that what is given
is to keep? i say: it is. i say:
first give, then go, then see.
something's free to keep.


(i've been feeling bad about not writing, so i've written this, and now i feel bad for having written it, eugh, and how bad. i once read about how only vain idiots publish their bad work. [hang on, have i told you this before?] then again, this blog is to document some sort of a creative process, which, for completeness, should also incorporate the not so productive and brilliant pieces. talk about give-and-take, for fuck's sake. - - - i'm beginning to think that writing is a lot like drawing: once you're out of practice, it will take a minimum of ten attempts to get it right again.)