Floating underwater
held safely from all sides
Stillness around me
Inside me
Sun rays lost in blue
Glittering fish below
No need to breathe
Time does not exist
by Cosima
tags: poem
July 31, 2006
Underwater
June 30, 2006
I cried
I.
I cried
when your son told me
you had died
from deep within my heart
The tears surprised me
We didn’t start well
So much mistrust
Later you told me
My son loves you
I love you too
When I had
A son myself
I understood
Like tigresses
We fight to protect
From whatever harm
II.
I cried
From deep within my heart
Why are you crying?
Your mali sin asked
Because Baba died
So call the doctor
To make her whole again
I remember
Kissing your hands
In the hospital
You forgave me
Where is she now?
In heaven
Oh good, then we see Baba
When we fly
III.
I cried
From deep within my heart
I stand at your grave
In merciless sun
On stony earth
Grey mountains around us
This land has seen
So much hardship
Yours as well
your father’s
empty grave
Next to yours
Taken away
never seen again
IV.
I cried
From deep within my heart
I wish I could
Believe
Like you did
Like the ladies in black
The priest chanting
But I know
That you will live on
in my son
In his eyes
In his energy
In his toughness
In his passion
I love you
From deep within my heart
tags: poem
June 19, 2006
Alone
June 18, 2006
Weekly Poem: Black Terror
Black is the night,
Fading stars twinkle softly
flaming over the dense forest,
Disappearing down the river of blood.
Black is the deep jungle of Cambodia,
Overcrowded with trees.
Red are the fruits,
Bearing cold blooded bitterness.
Soft white delicate flowers
Are too hard to see.
Black is the Raven,
Hidden behind the tree branch.
Dark eyes watching,
Alert to its prey.
Red is the heart,
racing with fear,
An omen of danger.
Black is the Khmer Rouge,
Creeping closer on the forest floor.
Terrorizing even the overgrown trees.
That stir to embraces their neighbors.
Red is their eyes,
Blazing with hatred,
Vicious hunger, lust for prey,
Black is their face
The deception hidden from sight.
Black is where the leaves are crunching,
Hearts beating, bushes stirring,
Gun clicking,
BANG !
Innocent blood pouring out
into the darkness,
Sucking, swallowing
By the Black Terror.
by Vun Vann
from www.khmervoice.com
http://www.khmervoice.com/old-KV-files/black.htm
June 12, 2006
Weekly Poem: Tiananmen
Tiananmen
Is broad and clean
And you can’t tell
Where the dead have been
And you can’t tell
What happened then
And you can’t speak
Of Tiananmen.
You must not speak
You must not think.
You must not dip
Your brush in ink.
You must not say
What happened then,
What happened there
In Tiananmen.
The cruel men
Are old and deaf
Ready to kill
But short of breath
And they will die
Like other men
And they’ll lie in state
In Tiananmen.
They lie in state.
They lie in style.
Another lie’s
Thrown on the pile,
Thrown on the pile
By the cruel men
To cleanse the blood
From Tiananmen.
Truth is a secret.
Keep it dark.
Keep it dark
In your heart of hearts.
Keep it dark
Till you know when
Truth may return
To Tiananmen.
Tiananmen
Is broad and clean
And you can’t tell
Where the dead have been
And you can’t tell
When they’ll come again
They’ll come again
To Tiananmen.
Hong Kong, 15 June 1989
By James Fenton from Selected Poems
In Hong Kong, thousands of people have comemorated the massacre on Tiananmen square on June 4th every year since it happened. I cannot even begin to tell you how proud I am to live in this city.
Check out pictures of the latest demonstration at
Hong Kong Digital Vision �™港�•�碼�–覺: 17th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre
Background and photo of the “tank man”. I hope I will see the day when he is officially celebrated as a hero in China.
June 8, 2006
Weekly Poem: Only Not
Life
would be
perhaps easier
if I hadn’t met you
Less grief
every time
we have to part
less fear
of the next
seperation and the one after
And not so much
of this powerless longing
when you are not here
which only wants the impossible
and that at once
in the next moment
and which then
because it cannot be
is dismayed
and breathes heavily
Life
would be perhaps
easier
if I hadn’t
met you
only it would not be
my life
by Erich Fried
(“Nur nicht” translated by Cosima)
“Wanting” by Erich Fried my favorite
May 27, 2006
Weekly Poem: The Erlking
Who rides so late through night and wind?
It is the father with his child;
He has the boy safe in his arm,
He holds him secure, he keeps him warm.
My son, why do you hide your face in fear?-
Father, don’t you see Erlking over there?
The Erlking with crown and trailing robes?-
My son, it is a swirl of fog.-
“Dear child come with me!
Such lovely games we’ll play;
Many pretty flowers are at this shore,
My mother has golden robes galore.”
My father, my father, and don’t you hear?
What Erlking softly promises me?-
Be quiet, stay quiet, my child;
In dry leaves whispers the wind.-
“Fine boy, won’t you come with me?
My daughters shall wait on you tenderly;
My daughters lead the nightly dance,
And dance and sing and lull you in.”
My father, my father, and don’t you see
Erlking’s daughters in the dark place there?-
My son, my son, I see it clearly:
It’s old willows shining silvery.-
“I love you, I’m tempted by your beautiful form;
And if you’re not willing, then I will use force.”
My father, my father, now he’s grabbing me!
Erlking has done harm to me!-
The father is terrified, he rides fast,
He holds in his arms the groaning child,
Reaches the farm with great effort and dread;
In his arms the child was dead.
By Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
(“Erlkönig” translated by Cosima)
Schubert-Lieder (Transkriptionen): Erlkönig Franz Liszt
German original and short version (probably by kids who had to memorize it in school)
May 18, 2006
Weekly Poem: Wanting
Wanting to be with you
from the midst of what one does
wanting to be away
vanished at your place
Nothing but with you
nearer than hand in hand
closer than mouth on mouth
wanting to be with you
Within you being tender to you
kissing you from outside
and caressing you from inside
so and so and the other way too
And wanting to breathe you in
always only wanting to breathe in
deeper deeper
and drinking without breathing out
But seeking distance in between
to be able to see you
from one two hand’s breadth away
and then kissing you on and on
by Erich Fried
(“Wollen” translated by Cosima)
May 13, 2006
Weekly Poem: All Days
The war is not declared anymore,
but continued. The outrageous
has become daily routine. The hero
stays away from the battle field. The weak
is moved into the zone of fire.
The uniform of the day is patience,
the decoration is a wretched star
of hope above the heart.
It is awarded,
when nothing happens anymore,
when the barrage ceases,
when the enemy has become invisible
and the shadow of eternal armament
covers the sky.
It is awarded
for flight from flags,
for braveness before the friend,
for betrayal of unworthy secrets
and disregard
of all orders.
by Ingeborg Bachmann, 1952
(“Alle Tage” translated by Cosima)
May 5, 2006
Weekly Poem: Eyes in the Big City
When you go to work
early in the morning,
when you stand in the station
with your worries:
the city shows you
asphalt-smooth
in a funnel full of people
million of faces:
Two eyes of a stranger, a short glance,
the brow, pupils, lids –
What was that? Perhaps your life’s happiness …
over, scattered, no more.
You walk your life along
a thousand streets;
you see on your way,
those that forgot you.
An eye winks,
the soul rings;
you have found it,
only for seconds …
Two eyes of a stranger, a short glance,
the brow, pupils, lids -
What was that? No one turns back time …
over, scattered, no more.
On your walk you have
to wander through cities;
for a pulse beat you see
the unknown other.
It could be a foe,
it could be a friend,
it could be your
companion in battle.
It looks across
and passes by …
Two eyes of a stranger, a short glance,
the brow, pupils, lids -
What was that? Of great mankind a piece!
Over, scattered, no more.
by Kurt Tucholsky, 1930
(“Augen in der Großstadt” translated by Cosima)
tags: Kurt Tucholsky, Poem