• So sieht es also 2013 am Silvestermorgen aus.

    Es grünt so grün

     

                            

     

     

     [An elderly gentleman of the amiable military type rushes into shelter, and closes a dripping umbrella. He is in the same plight as Freddy, very wet about the ankles. He is in evening dress, with a light overcoat. He takes the place left vacant by the daughter's retirement.]Es grünt so grün

    Es grünt so grünTHE GENTLEMAN. Phew!

    THE MOTHER [to the gentleman] Oh, sir, is there any sign of its stopping?

    THE GENTLEMAN. I'm afraid not. It started worse than ever about two minutes ago. [He goes to the plinth beside the flower girl; puts up his foot on it; and stoops to turn down his trouser ends].

    THE MOTHER. Oh, dear! [She retires sadly and joins her daughter].

    THE FLOWER GIRL [taking advantage of the military gentleman's proximity to establish friendly relations with him]. If it's worse it's a sign it's nearly over. So cheer up, Captain; and buy a flower off a poor girl.

    George Bernard Shaw: Pygmalion

      

     


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  •  

     

     

    Mond

     

    (Alfred Henschke) Klabund

    Mond überm Schwarzwald

    Goldne Sichel des Monds! Dich schwingt der
    Ewige Schnitter und mäht
    Halme und Herzen.

    Siehe, ich wandre auf steinichter Höhe
    Über dem wolkigen Wald und neige
    Willig den Nacken
    Deinem erlösenden Streich.

    Mond

     


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  • Rabe im Kirschbaum

      

      

      

      

     

     

      

      

      

      

     

     

    Heute beim Gang zum Briefkasten fiel mir ein dreister Rabe auf, der auf dem kleinen Parkplatz auf einem Autodach saß und von dort die Umgebung abschätzte. Als ich wieder zu Hause war, hockte dann einer im Kirschbaum und flog natürlich genau in dem Moment weg, als ich ein Foto machte.

      

    Edgar Allan Poe

    THE RAVEN

    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
    Only this, and nothing more.'

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
    `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
    This it is, and nothing more,'

    Presently my heart grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream to dream before
    But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
    Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
    Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
    'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
    Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
    `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
    Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as `Nevermore.'

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
    Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
    On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
    Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
    Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of "Never-nevermore."'

    But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
    What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamo-light gloating o'er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
    Respite - respite and nepenthe from tha memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
    Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
    On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
    Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
    `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take tha form from off my door!'
    Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

    And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted - nevermore!


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  • Oktoberspaziergang

    Max Dauthendey

    Im Buchenwald

    Du gehst tief auf dem goldenen Grunde der Seen.
    Lautlos steigen in Strahlen graue Korallen,
    Fließen Phosphorfeuer von grünen Kristallen,
    Sinken Perlen auf den braunwelken Grund.

    Draußen von silbernen Sonnenufern
    Neigen sich Glocken
    Und locken mit blauen Kelchen
    Die smaragdene Tiefe.


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  • Il faut cultiver son jardinIl faut cultiver son jardinHeute Abend habe ich meine ersten vier Erdbeeren geerntet und sofort gegessen. Absolut aromatisch. In den nächsten Tagen wird sich die Ernte sicher noch mehr lohnen. Bei Erdbeeren denke ich immer sofort an Paul Zechs Nachdichtungen der Balladen von François Villon, berühmt durch Klaus Kinskis Rezitation. Aber eigentlich sind es gar keine Nachdichtungen, sondern eigenständige Gedichte, Villon besang keine "bouche en fraise".

      

    Ich bin so wild nach deinem Erdbeermund,
    ich schrie mir schon die Lungen wund
    nach deinem weißen Leib, du Weib.
    Im Klee, da hat der Mai ein Bett gemacht,
    da blüht ein schöner Zeitvertreib
    mit deinem Leib die lange Nacht.
    Da will ich sein im tiefen Tal.
    Dein Nachtgebet und auch dein Sterngemahl.

    Im tiefen Erdbeertal, im schwarzen Haar,
    da schlief ich manches Sommerjahr
    bei dir und schlief doch nie zuviel.
    Ich habe jetzt ein rotes Tier im Blut,
    das macht mir wieder frohen Mut.
    Komm her, ich weiss ein schönes Spiel
    im dunklen Tal, im Muschelgrund...
    Ich bin so wild nach deinem Erdbeermund!

    Die graue Welt macht keine Freude mehr,
    ich gab den schönsten Sommer her,
    und dir hats auch kein Glück gebracht;
    hast nur den roten Mund noch aufgespart,
    für mich so tief im Haar verwahrt...
    Ich such ihn schon die lange Nacht
    im Wintertal, im Aschengrund...
    Ich bin so wild nach deinem Erdbeermund.

    Im Wintertal, im schwarzen Erdbeerkraut,
    da hat der Schnee sein Nest gebaut
    und fragt nicht, wo die Liebe sei.
    Und habe doch das rote Tier so tief
    erfahren, als ich bei dir schlief.
    Wär nur der Winter erst vorbei
    und wieder grün der Wiesengrund!
    Ich bin so wild nach deinem Erdbeermund!

    Il faut cultiver son jardin



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