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trld. by Annemarie G. De Leary, St.Louis (USA)
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In the year of my birth 1934,
the 1000-Year-Reich was in the process of establishing itself. As soon as it had settled in however, it was already all over. Thank God.
But for me, everything was just beginning, and this was good! How else would Poetikon have come into existence, I ask?
I have been writing ever since I was able to form a thought—or do I think ever since I was able to write? I do not know. In any case, I’ve been thinking and writing for a very long time! At first it was the quill pen, with the ink from the inkwell; that was the time, when we had to turn in old, used school-exercise-books, in order to receive new ones!
For the lack of paper, we also wrote on the margins of newspapers!
The first poems, to an early youth’s love, were also made manifest on the blank pages of old books.
Later came the first cartridge ink pen. How great was the joy, over this progress. Now writing began to be really fun! If the writings became better, because of it, I dare to doubt.
The first typewriter was an “Olympia”- and it was a triumph in spite of it, although it did nothing in the way of helping us with the thinking process. However everything went much quicker, one couldn’t think fast enough to keep up with the typewriter.
In the mid-eighties I was introduced to the computer. In the first instance, my judgment was critical, but soon it was accepted with enthusiasm. What possibilities were opening up? Besides the giant boxes by Nixdorf and IBM, which easily were the size of a living room wall unit, now, the first smaller PC’s, also called, “personal computers”, sometimes even “Volks-Computers”, began reaching the households.
Schneider (Amstrad) CPC464 was the name of my first small pc. It was great, 64kB RAM, with magnetic tape-drive. The replacement already had more to offer. That one was a CPC128, with disk-drive 128kB RAM, CP’M System.
Most of the programs I wrote for myself, in Microsoft-BASC, it was a lot of fun!
The text was transferred to paper by a Dot-Matrix-Printer, by the name of, NLQ 401.
Soon, it was not enough and something larger was required: Aspiring to change upward-mobile, ATARI -1040ST was the name, and with 4MB RAM space, it was a great deal of progress for that time. The dot-matrix printer was exchanged for a 24 Dot-Matrix printer, with Near-Letter-Quality. Yes sir, progress was unstoppable.
How long ago was this? Barely two decades ago. And today? Today we are using the most advanced appliance, creep around in the inter net and are wise to the fact that what we buy tomorrow, by the day after that, it will be snow from yesterday, technically outdated and no longer modern. The speed of change, especially in this branch is often scary to behold.
Yet poems will always be written. Love and sorrow are still being brought to paper in lyrical form or prose, in e-mails or home pages, placed online. And they are being read as well other wise it would all be for naught. The human being, human emotions, and romance will not parish even in this electronic age. Love, grief, mourning, sentimentality and happiness are always in high demand. And that is wonderful.
Not everybody can be a Goethe. But everybody can form his thoughts and somehow express them too. Every product of this kind has value.
And this is the reason, these words are meant to be an encouragement to all: Write from the heart, whatever moves you! It would not unusual, that some time in the future, readers will find themselves reflected in this or that of what you’ve written.
It is understood, that all who write, will not to be read, und must be able to handle a critique. A critique should always be given in a constructive manner. It should point out, in a loving way, that which might need attention. Otherwise, critique is often very subjective and should there for be balanced with a certain objectivity.
However he, who cannot stand criticism, would perhaps, be better off, to remain a reader only.
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My answer to all Question...
I was asked to write something about my life. Well, that is a thought I shall not like to elaborate on. Is my life a fulfilled one? Or is it one, which has been lived in vain? My view is relative. Am I today, now that I am 70 years old, a different person as then, when I was 20? Most assuredly yes, on the outside, certainly, and on the inside?
Everything changes, the lows and the highs of my life have made of me, what I am today. I think differently, I feel differently, and I am sensible in a different way; with more intensity and depth. I have become aware of the fact, that I am capable now, of a deep sensitivity toward other people’s feelings, their joys and sufferings. Was I able to do this as a young person? I do not know. Times were different then.
Was life any better then? History will have to judge. Most people would say: “Those were the old days”, extraordinary….
I absorbed every thing and took it along with me. But I also offered my hand in charity.
Often very judgmental and full of resentments, I finally learned, that kind of behavior had a way of coming back at me.
Today I am more tolerant but still, I have the same aversion for unfairness that I had 76 years ago. Over and over, I made mistakes. And even today, but never the same mistake twice!
What then is the conclusion? No conclusion, from my avantage point. However, I do not decide what other people think.
That is up to them.
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With my favorite words by Lothar Zenetti
I would like to conclude my thoughts:
At the end, the bill
Some day we certainly will be presented the bill,
For the sunshine, and the rustling of the leaves,
For the gentle lily of the valley,
And the dark green spruce tree,
And the snow and the wind,
The flight of birds, the grass and the butterflies,
For the air we have breathed, the view of the stars,
And for it all: the balmy evenings and the nights.
The time will come, when we must step forward
And settle the accounts.
“The bill please!”
Although we did not asked the host,
when we went into His debt, He graciously replies;
“ I invited you, you are my guests,”
He says, and laughs, as far as the earth will reach.
” It was my pleasure!”
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Against the will of heaven
not even the harshest force,
of human might, can prevail.
Life flows like a river,
in many twists and turns.
Not by its own fancy,
does life choose its course,
unknown laws create
obstacles for it.
They guide it hither and thither,
strictly paternal.
O fool, who would impose
his own free choice
against the will of destiny
~~John Knittel, Via Mala~~
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Copy
If I were,
As every one
Would like me to be,
Lived, as every body thinks,
I should live,
My whole life
Would only be
A carbon copy
Of their Fantasy.
-HCG Lux-
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Spirit Of Adventure 1.
The Child
Even in my youngest years,
Maybe I was ten,
I wanted to travel,
To the Amazon,
And many foreign lands
All alone and by myself.
I wanted to explore the Grand Chaco.
And Humboldt’s footprints,
In the jungle, I would trace.
When all the answers I would find,
Even my mother would understand.
While everyone was sound asleep,
I packed up my belongings
I was sorry, I could not tell them,
I did not want to worry them.
And off I went to foreign lands,
My knapsack on my back.
The glistening stars, above my head,
But soon my Rucksack hurt my back.
At the last house on our street,
I made inventory of my things:
From the line, two shirts, quite wet,
And my father’s pocket watch, I had.
One book; ” I’ve lived in the Jungle for many years”
Three socks and a crust of bread,
For my hair, a comb, with seven teeth,
One ladybug, already dead.
Here, another book, ”I survived”!
By Ferdinand von Emmerich.
When I get to the jungle, yes,
I will certainly need this!
Now a compass, from the wondrous bag,
I had found it somewhere, just in time,
For the purpose of adventure,
I also placed it in my knapsack…
After I inspected all my treasures,
At the end, I came to the conclusion,
Before I risk my life at this adventure,
I’d rather wait a few more years.
So, I crept home to mother’s pantry,
Und everybody clearly understood
That in the end, the morning–after,
A great scientist was lost forever to the world.
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Spirit of Advantage_2.
The young man
Once upon a time, I choose ‘my’ freedom,
I bid farewell to family and my first love.
At that time I counted eighteen summers,
And I declared with gusto: I am going!
My road lead me directly south,
Toward the sun, where the swallows fly in fall,
I had made my decision long ago,
And wanted to leave all constraints behind.
Where the Rhine lies as a youth in his bed,
And where the boarder to La France called to me: Stop!
When the morning mist announced a brand new day,
Secretly I crossed the river and the nearby woods.
The next few weeks one only saw me hiking,
In sunshine and some times even rain,
Through the valleys of the Loire, Rhone and others,
From castle to castle on peaceful, secret paths.
The harbor of Marseille with its bright lights, came later,
Chateau d’If, ”Monte Christo” far out in the Mediterranean Sea
On pleasure ships, vacationers, with happy faces,
And from high up on a mountain, Notre Dame, was greeting me.
For a short time, my heart found here its harbor,
My soul rejoiced in the beauty of this place.
But unfortunately, I only took a breather,
And before I knew it, I was on my way again.
My fortune lay across the sea, Africa was calling me,
And later yet, through many arduous years,
I would be homesick and wanted to go back again
However here our valid motto was: Legio patria nostria.
Back home it was the time of the economic miracle,
When I found myself crawling, through rice paddies and the bush, a hero,
I was fighting for the ‘Grande Nation’, in a distant land, Vietnam,
For what, I did not know, for honor, fame, or fortune??
Although I lived through it, my heart had turned to steal,
Mercilessness had been the order of the day.
At the Mekong-River, I buried my good friend, the caporal,
And many times there after, I wished, it had been me, instead.
Through many lands, thereafter, my odyssey would lead me,
I saw much beauty, and the squalor too.
Somehow I made it back to old Marseille.
And for the journey home, I sold my last shirt.
After seven years I returned to Germany,
A run-away with sun parched cheeks.
A friend came towards me and shook my hands,
As if I had never left.
My mothers joy was boundless, as she looked into my eyes,
My last letter had been sent from the red sea-
But my promise; ”I’ll settle down, believe me,”
She doubted to the very end, I did, but it was hard!
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The Blue Bruises…
The blue bruises on my hands,
Coal and stone have put them there,
And they are going to remain there,
Till my dying days…
They’re buried deep into my flesh,
As signs of toil and heavy labor,
They will witness to the world,
Of the battle on the impact drill.
They shall be all I have to bring me fame.
They shall tell the story of the coal miner’s lot.
Yes, I am proud of my blue bruises,
As they grace my hands,
”Glück auf!”
And I’ll remain to the last trip down,
A ”Kumpel” from the Ruhrland.
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