(23) Cat

Watching them curl into a pillow of soft fur, burying their nose deep into it – I wish I could transform to be like that. Basking in the sun is the image that first comes to mind. Then regal posture in an armchair in the corner – ever watchful. Vibrations beneath stroking fingers, purring is a feat I have yet to master, that artful way to set a whole body swinging. Changing their stance to suit the moment, from royalty – not to be bothered, to smug – looking up from my book, to clown – watch me catch this fly.

Ever elegant
so smooth and soft to touch
warm under my hand

 

Our prompt today was to write about an animal. I admit I am a cat person, so the choice was easy. The form is called a Haibun.

Heute bestand die Aufforderung darin, über ein Tier zu schreiben. Ich gebe gerne zu, dass ich ein Katzenmensch bin, also war die Wahl eines Tiers einfach, auch wenn das Schreiben dann doch nicht ganz so schnell von der Hand ging. Letztendlich ist es dann ein Haibun geworden.

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(22) Different Languages

I have a friend who speaks music
dreams, communicates, lives
in music.
Invite him to a party
and he will bring an ukulele
at the very least
maybe an e-piano or a cajon
additionally.
Heck, he even locked himself
in a room for four days
vowing to communicate only
by playing his piano.
His month is December:
a composition a day
‚till Christmas comes,
musical riddles representing
his friends.

I am a person who speaks in words,
dreams, communicates, lives
for words.
Invite me to a party
and I will write a card crammed
full of them right to the edges
maybe adding a personal poem
for good measure.
Heck, I fell in love over e-mails
twice,
and poems finally
won my heart.
My month is April:
A poem a day,
a challenge,
30 chances.

I am not fluent in his language,
but I try. I listen,
listen for feelings
and sometimes they vibrate
somewhere
inside me: echo of understanding.

My language is not his mother-tongue,
but for my last birthday
he gifted me
a booklet of my own
poetry
and his understanding of it.

Our languages unite us
in passion for them
and our friendship
bridges the gulf of
incomprehension.

 

Today’s prompt was to write a poem that engages with another art form. I’ve written before about my difficulties with music, especially talking about it, but I have a friend who is quite the opposite, he talks in music. This is about our different languages.

Heute war die Herausforderung ein Gedicht zu schreiben, dass sich mit einer anderen Form der Kunst auseinandersetzt. Ich habe schon über meine Schwierigkeiten mit Musik, vor allem dem Reden darüber geschreiben, aber ich habe einen Freund, der in dieser Hinsicht das komplette Gegenteil ist; Musik ist einfach seine Sprache. Dieses Gedicht ist über uns.

(21) Walking

                                         I tread quietly / I am the stranger
                              on this dappled way / of sun and shade
                                 between the fallen / where light runs green
           cleared ranks and empty rows / of those who fell beneath the snow
those who remain just start to grow / over my path
            an ant carries her dead sister / a dropped body under my silent eye
                       a secret knock knocked / into the wood
                                                     I stare / upwards
                                          until I find it / – he flies away
                            leaving me to stroke / their rough skin
                  it is bumpy, carved by life, / remains
                        while I count the rings / of the fallen
                                 I am the stranger / yet I hide
                                    from the others / behind those lined up tall
                      I walk out into the light / treading quietly

 

Today’s prompt was to incorporate dream-like wild imagery into our poems. A walk in the woods put me in such a dream-like state, so felt easy to translate that feeling into poetry. The form is called a cleave poem, which means that the whole text can be read as one poem, as well each side of the slashes. So actually, it is not only one poem, but three. It started as a „normal“ kind of poem (if there is even such a thing), but I didn’t have much space to write, so I marked linebreaks with slashes. Then I noticed, that the left and right side of those worked quite well as their own poems, so I decided to continue it as a cleave poem.

Heute sollten wir surreale Traumwelten in unsere Gedichte transferieren. Ich war gegen Abend im Wald spazieren und danach selbst fast ein wenig traumwandlerisch unterwegs. So war es dann recht einfach, das in einem Gedicht umzusetzen. Die Gedichtform ist ein Fugengedicht, man kann sowohl den gesamten Text als ein Gedicht lesen, als auch nur den kursiven Text oder nur den normal gesetzten Text als jeweils ein Gedicht. Angefangen hat das Ganze eigentlich als ein ganz normales Gedicht, aber ich hatte nicht so viel Platz beim Schreiben und habe deswegen Zeilumbrüche mit / markiert, um dann zu merken, dass die rechte und linke Seite auch jeweils ganz gut allein funktionieren und dann weiter an einem Fugengedicht zu basteln.

 

 

(20) Grüße

Daheim sind die Grüße
Schritt für Schritt
Lächeln: „Grüß Gott!“
Ab wann blickt man auf?
Sagt, laut oder leise
„Servus“ oder „Guten Morgen“?
Meistens kommt etwas zurück,
wenn nicht, dann war wohl
meine Stimme wieder zu klein.
Man merkt es erst,
wenn man weg ist:
Grüßen – Schweigen.
manchmal ein überraschter Blick.

 

Gestern ist mir das Leben dazwischen gekommen, deswegen heute ein Gedicht zum Schreibvorschlag von gestern: Gesprochene Sprache in unser Gedicht einzubauen. Ich habe mich für Grußformeln entschieden, weil es mir jedes Mal wieder auffällt, wenn ich meine Eltern besuche: Das Grüßen.

Yesterday, life was in the way, and I penned a poem for the 20th NaPoWriMo prompt today instead, incorporating spoken language (in this case, greetings) into my poem.

(19) About you – a poem

A poem about you. I write it
because you were the beginning, your
choices in life gave birth to me and who I am
descended from your love
enveloped in caring arms and held by your hand
from my first moment on earth onward.
Gentle is one word to describe you
helpful another and the times you dried my tears…
I cannot count them, nor the times you made me smile
just with a few kind words, you
kept a child’s world turning and
like then, so now I always will be your child and you
my mother, my example to look up to, my
nurturer. Your nudges sent me out
on my way to become who I am – a
person I like being on a path I like treading.
Quietly you encouraged me to walk on it.
Remember all those first times we
shared together? I hope for many more
to come, more memories to make and
ultimately what I want to tell you here, in
verse, is thank-you for being there, for all the
ways you make and made me beautiful:
x ways of it, where x
yields love from you to me. Do you know how much?
Zooming to the moon and back. – your little rabbit.

 

Today’s prompt over at NaPoWriMo.net was to write an abcedarian poem, that is only which takes the alphabet as a base and goes on from there. It’s not mother’s day, but I don’t think we should restrict our attention to that one day anyway. So here’s to you, mom! The last two lines are inspired by the children’s book „Guess how much I love you“.

Heute zogen wir unsere Inspiration aus ABC-Gedichten, von denen ich zum ersten Mal in „Mein Urgroßvater und ich“ von James Krüss, gehört hatte. Ganz so virtuous ist meines nicht geworden, aber es kommt von Herzen. PS: Es ist noch nicht Muttertag, aber ich finde sowieso, dass wir unsere Aufmerksamkeit nicht immer nur auf diesen Tag konzentrieren sollten. Die letzten beiden Zeilen sind inspiriert vom Kinderbuch „Weißt du eigentlich wie lieb ich dich hab“. Für dich, Mama!

(18) Lost

I have a notebook somewhere
small, and luminously blue
in binding. It contains
my notes and ideas
on poetry, some drafts in several
states of finishedness and some
which I would consider readable
for other eyes than mine.
I know it still is somewhere,
maybe sitting quietly in a corner
collecting dust or conversing
with the spiders. I know it.
Meanwhile I use empty sheets of paper,
the backs of sheet music and checks
or school notebooks to plan my poems,
experiment with forms or jot down
ideas to consider later.
This works, but poems clutter quickly
fluttering into all the corners
I imagine my missing notebook
to enjoy.
I know it is somewhere I will find it
and yet
today I started a new notebook, small
with a slight reddish brown shine
to the binding.

 

Today’s prompt was to convey the abstraction of loss and sadness through physical details. I’m afraid my poem is only slightly sad though, because I myself feel ridiculously happy and liberated right now.

Heute sollten wir ein Gedicht schreiben, in dem die abstrakten Gefühle Traurigkeit und Verlust durch physische Details konkret werden. Ich fürchte, ich habe gerade nicht so viel Traurigkeit in mir, weil ich so erleichtert und befreit bin zur Zeit, deswegen ist mein Gedicht nur geringfügig traurig geworden.

(17) Outside In

I observe
these frantic beings
come to stay
inside me.
I observe them
from the outside in.
Their moods change
so fast
smiling and sleeping and crying.
Sometimes they sit and stare
at black bugs
on lit papers
with only their fingers
still moving so fast
dancing.
Sometimes they skip
and hop through
my bowels.
I observe them laughing.
I love it when they clean
me inside out
brooms tickle me
scratch my stiff boards
but I most enjoy this
sucking kind of massage
they do afterwards.
Their music vibrates
through my bones
I observe them, like watching them
live.
They switch their vessels
every few years.
It’s like in that story
they watch in moving pictures
– even faster than their own lives,
centurys stuffed into hours –
different looks, personalities.
I don’t know
what makes them change
I observe.

 

Today’s prompt was to write a poem with an unusual perspective. I originally wanted to write from the point of view of a plant, remembering a poem I’d read at the beginning of the month from the point of view of a tree (which I can’t find anymore, unfortunately), but it turned into something different.

Heute sollten wir ein Gedicht aus einer ungewöhnlichen Perspektive schreiben. Ursprünglich wollte ich aus der Sicht einer Pflanze schreiben, nachdem ich zu Beginn des Monats ein Gedicht mit einem Baum als lyrischem Ich gelesen hatte, aber dann ist es eben doch etwas anderes geworden…