YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts

June 2006

VOL XIV, Issue 6, Number 158

Editor: Klaus J. Gerken

Production Editor: Heather Ferguson

European Editor: Moshe Benarroch

Contributing Editors: Michael Collings; Jack R. Wesdorp; Oswald Le Winter

Previous Associate Editors: Igal Koshevoy; Pedro Sena

ISSN 1480-6401


   Wars and Wars/Human Love
      Written by Absolute Sovereign - Ank Justice SteadySpear 


   Guido Monte
      AHA  n.1: Echoes
         echo n.1 : vahana (wind)
         echo n.2 : aeviternum retournar (nothing new)
         echo n.3 : lete (no memory)
         echo n.4 : voit (emptyness)
         echo n.5 : duònus (good)

   Santiago B. Villafania
      Sons of Sisyphus
      One Without Oneness

   Andrew Faulkner
      the other
      in the cafés
      a.m. klein
      The history of motion
      Sunday elegy
      a mari usque ad mare*
      realizing I am at a park on a sunny afternoon
      that time we were dancing
      can lit.
      the current

   Pauk Murphy
      John Maynard Keynes in Hell
      Karl Marx in Hell or Instruction Manual for Survival in Inhospitable Places
      Adam Smith in Hell

         EACH DAY
            JEDEN TAG

         SILENT DANCING       
            STILLES TANZEN
            KAFFEE AM MORGEN

   Ernest Williamson III 
      What of the Cedar Trees
      The Importance of Liquid Rainbows
      The Jazz of Old Wine
      Empty Cup



Wars and Wars
Human Love

Too much wars in the Middle East people killing each other we want some cease
This World needs more love and peace, too much wars in the Middle East
Making bread you will need some yeast, eating as one will bring some peace
The youths them struggles to find a crease, it's time for peace for wars to cease
Some wearing clothing of pleats with guns they causing humanity to decrease
This World need love to increase humans living in harmony will bring peace
All because of greed men in power still denying she, her children dying like trees

Too much wars I see humans dropping like fleas, others acting like sheep(s)
Eyes wide close many still don't want to see the horrors of humanity
Under the soil many bones cries, blood running for oil civilization in a coil
Oh why just for pride egos causing great crimes some don't like others to shine
While stepping in the lime some creating wars in disguise just for hidden prizes
Life it seems is like a tin foil after it get soiled, many disregarding the child
The future of human kind lies in all being kind laughter is better than a cry

Oh my so much wars in our modern time some still thinks this is fine
For others to kill with a lie or a justify crime, against humanity they lied
It's hard to sleep when the sun doesn't shine, in fear I try to see the light
Love is better than being unkind for us to live right we must share this might
Without slight share your insights and let the blossom of love be bright
Oh can I say I am living right when my society is causing a plight
I see human unable to stand upright suffering is a common sight 

Too much wars in the Middle East people killing each other we want it to cease
It's no dream, this World needs more love and peace, too much wars I see
This World need love to increase humans living in harmony will bring peace
I love you, I love u, I love yu, three times daily to stop the wars & bring peace
By adjusting history why can't we see exalting she will help to heal humanity
Her-stories carries the path to be, loving children running free no wars on we

Too much wars in the Middle East people killing each other it's time to cease
Our World need more love for us to live in peace.

Written by Absolute Sovereign - Ank Justice SteadySpear 

Guido Monte

AHA  n.1: Echoes

(Qoèlet, Grief, Blake, Leopardi, Baudelaire, Puškin)

The author thanks Laura Costantini and Andrej Arena (for the help with the 
translation), Manuela Catarcia, Federica Corona, Marco Ferrante, Alessandro 
Pericò, Silvia Spacca (for the researchwork on the echoes).
The Sanskrit term aha embraces all the letters of the alphabet  
in her depth, symbolically embracing  the whole universe.   

works...from the only Book ever composed

Biblia Sacra Vulgata, liber Ecclesiastes  (legenda:eccl.)
Andreas Grief, Kirchhofsgedanken, Einsamkeit (legenda: eins.)
William Blake, Poems from the Rossetti Manuscript;
    The Songs of Experience (legenda: poems)
Giacomo Leopardi, Canti (legenda: canti)
Charles Baudelaire, Les fleurs du mal (legenda: fleurs)
Aleksandr S. Puškin, Polnoe Sobranie Socineij v destati tomach (legenda: poiesie)

echo n.1 : vahana (wind) eccl.1, 2; poems ; eins.; canti; poems ;fleurs; poiesie vanitas vanitatum omnia vanitas- You throw the sand against the wind, And wind blows it back again! Betracht' ich: wie der Mensch in Eitelkeit vergeh', amaro e noia la vita, altro mai nulla... and know not what but care - Plus tard, un Ange,entr'ouvrant les portes, viendra ranimer, fidèle et joyeux, les miroirs ternis et les flammes mortes... i tomit menà toscuiu odnozvucnii gizni schum [meaningless within meaningless it's all meaningless... You throw the sand against the wind, and wind blows it back again! I see man turning into something vain, that's our life: a bitter bore, nothing else ever and know not what but care - later an angel, opening the doors, will quietly come, to shine rusty mirrors and awake our dead fires... I suffer the life dull noise]
echo n.2 : aeviternum retournar (nothing new) eccl.1, 9-10; eins.; fleurs nihil sub sole novum nec valet quisquam dicere ecce hoc recens est iam enim processit in seculis quae fuerunt ante nos Wie, auf nicht festem Grund all unser Hoffen steh' - désormais tu n'es plus, ô matière vivante! Qu'un granit entouré d'une vague épouvante, assoupi dans le fond d'un Sahara brumeux [nothing new under the sun no new things they all existed long before like hopes on bad grounds - you living matter yet, quite astonished rock asleep amid some obscure Sahara]
echo n.3 : lete (no memory) eccl. 1, 11; canti; fleurs non est priorum memoria un vieux sphinix ignoré du monde insoucieux, a pensare come tutto al mondo passa e quasi orma non lascia [of things past no memory today sphinx forgotten by cold worlds while everything is fading away, quite traceless]
echo n.4 : voit (emptyness) eccl.2,17; canti; fleurs; poems; poiesie Et idcirco taeduit me vitae meae nè di sospiri è degna la terra Et mon coeur s'effraya d'envier maint pauvre homme courant avec ferveur à l'abîme béant, et qui... préférerait en somme la douleur à la mort et l'enfer au néant - to seek for new joy I met with scorn... gisin zacem ti mne dana? [and I got tired of my life, in unworthy of sighs land I was envious with wonder of infinite upset men, running to the open abyss, preferring sorrow to death, hell to nothing - to seek for new joy I met with scorn... why must I live?]
echo n.5: duònus (good) eccl. 4, 2-3; poems; eccl.; canti et laudavi magis mortuos quam viventes they stumble all night et feliciorem iudicavi qui necdum natus est al gener nostro il fato non donò che il morire [and I saw the dead, they stumble all night, they were better off than the living, but best of all the never born...though - one choice left: to die]
Santiago B. Villafania Sons of Sisyphus ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ there were voices in the field and ghostly footfalls of farmers fallen like the yellow blades on the breast of the earth they came and poured their sweat under the seething sun they lived their lives away and searched what was to be found they are mere voices now mingling with the wind soothing those who come after them softening the hardened hearts of those who waste their adamhood on the barren ground O how would they know? they speak no poetry but the plaints of daily toil O why would they care? they only live for a moment each night they pause awhile and push their rock once again when the sun climbs its ancient hill
Erolalia ~~~~~~~~ i. tonight i am Abelard my Heloise i will sing of your lyric lips the contours of your breast your thighs your sweet surprise! ii. when into your nakedness feast O my heart will break all pledges! i too will pound God's skull and breast i'll neither mind death nor ages iii. woman i would rather kiss the slopes of your breasts and think of the Himalayas it would be as if i have reached the highest ground of Everest when those proud twin-peaks trapped between my lips iv. kill me sweetly love in the dead of night with your satin dress fallen before your rose-ankled feet bury me softly love bury me O bury me with all the charms of Eve on your orient body v. i cannot say a word my love when i see the roses on your cheeks and taste the taste of red wine on your lips your cheeks your lips your breasts silent little poems that made these songs i will sing of them O i will sing of them sweetly as if they are the last fruits flowers from the vanished orchard of Eden vi. i will come to thee love i will come to thee over thee yes white as moonlight sharp as a star i will take thee love gently O gently you will know nothing nothing O blossom under me but my brightness above thee my brightness glistening mastering thy rosely softness with white luminous songs vii. your breasts are birds beneath my hands longing to be free from their breathlessness your lips are nameless flowers groping searching for the earth where it shall find its own beginning your eyes are distant stars lost in their own constellation and though i hold them close they are too far and your body the skies of flesh with its own darkness and harmonious spheres - it breathes fire and life as i plunge myself in rhythmic movements or fall in measured cadence man-god and thunder into your mysterious universe viii. O the dark virgin forest now lies under me under me i am rubyed i am purpled i am steeled enclose me now O divinest of all lovers enclose me now with your softness like a bird enjailed enjailed in your satin fingers you will be pierced with songs O you will be rivered with silver dew you will learn how to dance under me and i will be drowned deathlessly deep into your own universe where i first came to be ix. you have godded me tonight enclosed me brightly under you who with your allness brought my adamhood closely briefly into paradise so strong so swift my body that i did not hear the song of agony in your eyes x. and we loved and loved and loved again and again O it was a wondrous night of crimson rain and love songs
One Without Oneness ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ my poems are one without oneness i have cried them unloudly at night on my bed with my Parnassian muse i have been empty and unpure until they were written these broken sutras and snatches of uncouth songs they've given me sleep (as if i have drank a cup of nepenthe) to face my own darkness perhaps from them you will learn what my madness and my poetry can teach from them will raise the aristos of my priestliness obscured by the sins of the many selves before me
Andrew Faulkner the other ~~~~~~~~~ the indefinite personal pronoun you should not be confused with anyone in particular (like, oh say, you) it is meant as a flexible signifier pointing to a dynamic relationship the speaker has with the world, who's not to be confused with andrew faulkner (likes beer, writes poems about you, and misses the feel of a baseball in his hands (referring to andrew, not the speaker)) so the you (indefinite, not you) refers to whatever is not-him (speaker, not andrew) allowing anyone to step into his shoes (the speaker's, and I suppose andrew's too if you really want to push the issue) (but you can still trace the outline of your body (which should not be confused with anyone in particular) in the way I break the lines
in the cafés ~~~~~~~~~~~~ in the cafés the talk is long and of where things come from "oui monsieur, tu l'as déjà dit" coffee moroccan, winking at irony over white ceramic saucers, and this little trinket a small nothing from the vendor up the street "et puis?" the flowers the girls carry are bright this year, translate well into conversation. in the evening the windows are left open ashtrays fill smoke and humid air meet while those on the sidewalk pace effortlessly through conversations, parting words as they glide up the street.
canvas ~~~~~~ tracing the curves of your spine, my hands draw a new naked across your back.
a.m. klein ~~~~~~~~~~ this morning I bought a.m. klein's selected poems. I've since left it on my bookshelf, having found no mention of you, or anything to describe you asleep in my bed and me at my desk writing about a.m. klein.
The history of motion ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I The first drawings weren't on the walls of caves; they were in the dirt the faint press of sand, a little scratch, the triumph of a kill or signifying something buried. For direction, perhaps a way to spend idle moments. They moved to caves - smearing rough pigment over porous stone, little archaisms for paleontologists to scrap over something for school children to dream about - thought not because the tiny mounds of dirt that built up - pushed aside to make way for a mark or two - were poor arguments against the wind, or that the little scratches of land would fill again. It's that, stepping back, the lines would bend into a single horizon, - that is to say, nothing. II The first music was recorded in dust too in the stomps, the accidental scrapes of feet, flinging a body against the hard earth until something gives.
floorboards ~~~~~~~~~~~ splinters from the floor line the bottom of my feet while the rough wooden boards leave me in the bumps I've smoothed over you can no longer see
Precipitate ~~~~~~~~~~~ A surgical incision across the sky dividing dark from darkness visible, grounded in the middle of a small lake and a forecast of one to five inches of rain. Two hours from the city and several hundred meters from the main highway north, lightning ripples the water and is gone. As if God, like a stubborn child, upset at the rumours of his own death steps a moment into an empty smithy, denying his non-existence with a hammer on a cold anvil, killing a few small fish, frightening the dog, giving the night a new kind of shadow.
Sunday elegy ~~~~~~~~~~~~ How do I say that your voice was like the cup of coffee I didn't have a chance to drink this morning, rushing to catch the bus, the change I stole from your purse warming in my hand? I meant to tell you that your voice sounded like Sunday morning, but my eyes too easily slipped shut, swaying in the lull of your words.
a mari usque ad mare* ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ one nation in a coffee pot, the definitive variations of a disposable paper cup. alike in complaints of the plastic tab not folding back right, spilling coffee on the walk/drive to work, home, etc. * "from sea to sea", the official motto of Canada
realizing I am at a park on a sunny afternoon ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ O glor e ous day! the objects of the world are arrayed just for me! all the things there are to see (while the ducks nibble bread reticent as always
that time we were dancing ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ that time we were dancing and every song the same our hips rolled and bobbed, the same tide buoying, your dress brushing against my leg. you saw nothing outside my arms and I moved with your look. and after, when my legs tired and I sat down my arm draped over the chair, fabric swishing at your feet, you danced without me, except for a look over your shoulder.
can lit. ~~~~~~~ every poem looks like half of a pine tree (are there birds in it yet?)
the current ~~~~~~~~~~~ amid cracked, peeling paint the light in the hall flickers, the current still alive.
Kate ~~~~ Larger than vision, any attempt to describe her lacks. One can say brown hair, slender fingers or those eyes; Like saying a flash of lightning is bright, something misses. And who can say no to a woman who brings beer with a look that fills the gaps between words. P.S. May 11, 2005. Your eyes, yes, but that friend of yours, she just so curves.
Pauk Murphy Play 1 John Maynard Keynes in Hell ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ JM - I've just seen the whole of my life flash past. I got it wrong, you know: men don't love one another. My economic theories can't work. 1st Demon - Submit it to a Post-Structuralist analysis. The Devil says this works: but only on Mondays, his day for counter-factuals. 2nd Demon - So. Day and night, man and woman, white and black.... 1st Demon - Dichotomies, all diamond bright and arrayed like shiny white pearls, like little sins - dichotomies. JM - I'm worried. My left molar is bitten through. In Hell I just can't get a good dentist. Demon 1 said he could manage all the medical problems that came along - we're all dead after all - but eating all that soot and ashes is so - well, its irritating and boring but also painful. Smithian supply and demand economics, they're just not suited to Hell. Only living people can say they renounce love. But we have renounced - not just love - but coal, oil, clothes, food. Frankly, I'm sick of Hell. It's not the dystopia I once thought it. I think a Maoist Republic might be preferable. Maybe the half-living people of Beijing, maybe they occasionally find some human warmth, even if it is miserable, freezing, suffering and very, very small. 2nd Demon - You're a sentimentalist, John! At Versailles, you thought that Germany should not be punished in such a vindictive way. That would have made it even more difficult to defeat it the 2nd time around. The Devil thinks you don't pull your weight, even when it comes to eating soot. Your not cut out for Hell, John. You might even ask yourself, why was I sent here? JM - Why? 2nd Demon - You were sent here as an observer. Hell has no objective existence except in your mind. Wish it away or regard it as a play. If you'd been truly objective, then you might have become Tsar of Outer Mongolia or some other trans-Siberian depot. Instead you invented the Arts Council! (screaming)
Play 2 Karl Marx in Hell or Instruction Manual for Survival in Inhospitable Places ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ `The dreariest of sciences.' - Malthus KM : The proof of my theories is the fact that I'm being talked about at all! I said 'a spectre is haunting Europe' but, really, a spectre isn't haunting Europe. A child, maybe, lost, frozen, half-dead.... Demon 1: (whirling past) Hurry up! KM: I can't go any faster: you told me the ball must be rolled to the top of the hill. I roll it up, it falls down again. Over and over again. (exhausted) Demon 2: You said - and I refer you to the application form that you filled in personally at the start of your visit - you said, Hell in a Neo-Classical manner:- KM: Yes... Demon 2: Not Baroque Hell or Romantic Hell but Hell in the manner of your own Phd thesis on Greek Philosophy. Am I right? (yelling) Demon 1: Hurry up now! You can't kick against the pricks! You asked for Hell after Sisyphus. You could have had Hell after Judas Escariot or the Hell of a minor Roman Pope. KM: I changed my mind. Everything would have been settled, but Trotsky chose to end Krondstadt by comparing it to the last day of the Paris Commune. It was the exact anniversary. The point is this: I supported the Commune. I can't continue with a Christian Heresy by choosing a Christian damnation, can I? Demon 1: You can't change to a Plan B Hell. Its too late. Any decision relating to such a matter would have to be made by the Guvnor. KM: The Guvnor? Demon 1: Lucifer, Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies, Satan, in Persian Zarathustra. The Devil!!!! KM: (rattling on) How can you have morality in Hell? And truth! In Hell neither exists at all. As I said at the start: I am important because you still talk about me and looked forward to my company. What I actually said is a matter of no importance. Even the fact that you ceased to be an audience: but you stormed off and xy and z saw it. They realised that you had no refutation of my arguments. Demon 2: (whirling past, yelling distantly) You can't kick against the pricks...
Play 3 Adam Smith in Hell ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Demon 1: The Guvnor wants a word with you! AS: I've only just got here... Demon 2: (interjecting) You've been here five years. Demon 1: For the purposes of sniffing. You know the cardinal rule of Hell: no private soot piles. Remember, the Guvnor placed a 10 million year lease against his own rehabilitation. No private soot piles, and definitely not for use as a personal snuff box. Come on! Darkness - glimmer of infernal fires Devil: (booming voice) Well I never! Adam Smith! Can you explain to me why your private abundances should scorch my misery. Hell is built on greed. My infinite greed, my selfishness, my hatred. You cannot replace my private greed with your own. You'd privatise Hell and sell off slim percentages to the damned. (whispering) What was the percentage, I mean the percentage of net profit you made on the sale? Can you tell me? What investments can you advise? AS: You mean monopoly... Devil: Monopoly, monopoly... (whispering) yes, I'll talk to you later. Please, it's very helpful, I hope to re-mortgage the place in five years time. (in an official, booming voice) I will not tolerate your arrogance any longer. On the other hand, there's no where else for you to go. This is the lowest circle of Hell. (whispering) Couldn't you just disappear for a while, take a flight to the North Pole, be seen photographing...polar bears...with Japanese tourists, then come back. I'd make you into a minor Demon. Beelzebub, well, there's a problem with Beelzebub. He doesn't inspire terror, yes terror, but something more. At first he inspired terror, sure, but then there were many hiccups. Many regrettable things happened. My plan to change the North Sea into an oil slick: the adventures in Iraq and Afghanistan. They didn't go (harrowed and anguished) according to plan. AS: Why? You are the Devil after all, with limitless foresight and insight. What happened? Devil: The overall plan was fine, but we've had difficulty accounting for several things. The effect of terror and horror, yes of course there was lots of very effective terror and horror but I lost Beelzebub (moaning, utter gloom). He fell off the balcony of a hotel in Baghdad. We haven't seen him since. He was disguised as a Channel 4 reporter. O, the expense of his suits and rings (moaning). This ensured a catalogue of incidents. In short, things simply haven't gone according to plan. AS: What do you think I can do? Devil: Nothing. It's too late now. Events have left my grasp, things are out of control. Without my representative there I can't control the flow- the flow of propaganda and misinformation. (whispering) 5%, was it 5%, for the soot pile? How do you create these financial schemes? Can you ring up the Dow Jones or the Dax for me, now, place some bids. Please? I'll give you my...I'll give you my ducky for Friday night bath time. I'll give you my ducky. Duck, duck ducky...(sobbing) Nothing like this ever happened before...
VIC COMPHER LIFE SONGS/LEBENSLIEDER ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1. WORD ~~~~ your Word like a drop of honey on my tongue lips fingers stomach tingling from your single Word love WORT ~~~~ dein Wort wie ein Tropfen Honig auf meiner Zunge Lippen Fingern Bauch zitternd von deinem einzelnen Wort Liebe 2. REMEMBERING ~~~~~~~~~~~ sail with open heart widening your wings breathing peace deeply into your soul your tongue with spicy gifts and sweet tasting nourishing life remembering each day with love ERINNERND ~~~~~~~~~ segele mit offenem Herzen breite deine Flügel aus atme Frieden tief in deine Seele hinein deine Zunge mit würzigen und süssen Geschenken schmeckt und fördert das Leben erinnert sich an jeden Tag mit Liebe 3. RITUAL ~~~~~~ the intimate ritual each night stirs my heart the easy sliding off of clothes the gift of smooth and tender skin freed of all weight unencumbered form the lightness of being RITUAL ~~~~~~ das intime Ritual rührt jede Nacht mein Herz das leise Ausziehen das Geschenk der sanften, zarten Haut von allem Gewicht befreit unbelastete Form die Leichtigkeit des Daseins 4. EMBRACE ~~~~~~~ I have embraced her with my racing love traced the soft and deep lines of her form touched the inner recesses the peaks and valleys of her being I have been wounded on her paths she has held my pain it is my time and no one else's to hold within me this sacred mountain UMARMUNG ~~~~~~~~ ich hab sie mit meiner rasenden Liebe umarmt verfolgt die sanften und tiefen Linien ihrer Form berührte die inneren Höhlen die Spitzen und Tälern ihres Daseins ich wurde auf ihren Pfaden verwundet sie nimmt meinen Schmerz an es ist meine Zeit und niemand anderes' sie in mir zu halten diese heiligen Gebirge 5. SURPRISE ~~~~~~~~ following the reach of our souls the union of our hearts surprise me with the unexpected touch of your hand breathe into my lungs the sweet oxygen of your truth passing from your lips through mine hold me in your strong and tender embrace that I may be your lover in passion and compassion talk with me and let your gentle words fall like feathers on my breathing chest surprise me with the unexpected touch of your hand BERRASCHUNG ~~~~~~~~~~~ dem Greifen unserer Seelen und der Einigung unserer Herzen nachfolgend überrasche mich mit der unerwarten Berührung deiner Hand atme den süssen Sauerstoff deiner Wahrheit von deinen Lippen durch meine halte mich in deiner starken und zärtlichen Umarmung dass ich dein Geliebter in Leidenschaft und in Mitleid werde sprich mit mir und lass deine leisen Worte wie Federn auf meine Brust hinunterfallen überrasch mich mit der unerwarteten Berührung deiner Hand 6. BREATH ~~~~~~ all with open heart I have told you you know me now and I am not afraid innocence surrounds us an aura the peace of a million light years the universe within us we are the thankful feast of living the dawn and sunset of being how will we ever know the full exuberance of the song of life the myriad shades of morning light we sing the quiver, the passion that is only a breath away ATEM ~~~~ alles mit offenem Herzen hab ich dir gesagt du kennst mich jetzt und ich fürchte nicht Unschuld umkreist uns eine Aura des Friedens von Millionen Lichtjahren des Weltalls in uns wir sind das dankbare Festmahl des Lebens die Dämmerung des Daseins die Lebendigkeit der Lebenslieder die vielfältigen Schattierungen des Morgenlichts wir singen die zitternde Leidenschaft die nur einen Atem von uns weg ist 7. SHADOW ~~~~~~ a shadow cold of distant past casts its dark pale over purest joy threatens from towers of shaky security denies the embers and sparks of attraction fears distraction yet more passion believes the ancient falsehoods that Eros is only selfish judges through lens of early hurts the innocence of the lusty heart oh weary night of doubt and grief you cannot though for long restrain the breaking light of dawn for peace shines brighter and excitement still SCHATTEN ~~~~~~~~ ein Schatten kalt und von entfernter Vergangenheit schlägt sich dunkel über echteste Freude bedroht vom Turm zitternder Sicherheit leugnet die Glut und Funken der Zuneigung fürchtet sich vor Ablenkung doch mehr als vor Leidenschaft glaubt an die uralte Unwahrheit dass die Erotik nur egoistisch sei schätzt durch Linsen früheren Schmerzes die Unschuld des begierenden Herzens müde Nacht von Zweifel und Trauer du kannst nicht lang zurückhalten den Durchbruch der Morgendämmerung denn der Frieden scheint heller und doch die Aufregung 8. TOTALITY ~~~~~~~~ what elixir tastes of the divine unites presence with presence peace with peace between us sparkles travels across all time to this eternal now? for such discreet moments of connection are all moments equally sacred in the totality within and beyond time GESAMTHEIT ~~~~~~~~~~ welches Elixir schmeckt von dem Heiligen einigt Anwesenheit mit Anwesenheit Frieden mit Frieden zwischen uns funkelt reist über alle Zeit zu dieser ewigen Gegenwart? denn solche besonderen Augenblicke der Verbindung sind doch alle Momente und alle sind gleich würdig in der Gesamtheit in und jenseits der Zeit 9. EACH DAY ~~~~~~~~ each day waking up more and more alertness growing clearer and clearer emerging through deepest rest through full trust always observing the unfolding of a process whole and complete in its compassion and tenderness standing then out of the way for all in its time and way is being fulfilled JEDEN TAG ~~~~~~~~~ jeden Tag immer mehr aufzuwachen Aufmerksamkeit zunehmend immer klarer durch tiefste Ruhe und volles Vertrauen auftauchend das sich entfaltende Verfahren völlig und fertig in seinem Mitleid und Zärtlichkeit zu beobachten warte dann an der Seite denn alles im Lauf der Zeit auf eigenem Weg erfüllt sich 10. SING ~~~~ sing to what may never be but is in the beauty of all forms an exquisite possibility take bravely a leap of greatness of faith sing tears of sorrow and hope forgetting not that which is to be built upon nothing and is for all SING ~~~~ sing zu dem was vielleicht nie besteht aber doch ist in der Schönheit von allen Formen eine köstliche Möglichkeit spring kühn in die Grösse in den Glauben sing mit Tränen der Trauer und der Hoffnung nicht vergessend was aus gar nichts aufgebaut werden könnte und ist für alle
SILENT DANCING ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ silently to the festive song heard only by herself she dances gracefully on her skates kicks boldly into the air to her right side stoops gently then rises again quickly shaking out all tension in rhythmic shoulder shivers along the parkway her admirers are captivated she seems unaware mesmerized in the music of her accompanying walkman STILLES TANZEN ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ still mit dem feierlichen Gesang den nur sie allein hört tanzt sie anmutig auf ihren Rollschuhen stösst keck mit einem Fuss in die Luft zur Rechten beugt sich leicht springt schnell wieder auf alle Spannung in den Schultern rhythmisch weg schüttelnd am Gehweg des Parkes schauen ihre Bewunderer sie vertieft an sie scheint sich aber ihnen nicht bewusst zu sein indem sie berauscht mit ihrem begleitenden "Walkman" tanzt
MORNING COFFEE ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ have a cup of coffee with yourself sometime soon in a sidewalk café notice across the way the shaded stucco beige row house with overflowing flowerboxes the perfect placement beside the doorway of a tall, trimmed yew bush enjoy the energy of the young woman on the corner waiting for the bus her green sneakers with yellow stripes her bold African T-shirt with vertical patches of yellow, red, and dark green drink a second cup let your hot, tired brain become cool breathe in deeply the morning KAFFEE AM MORGEN ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ manchmal doch bald trink eine Tasse Kaffee mit dir selbst allein deinem Cafe gegenüber bemerk das beschattete beigefarbene Reihenhaus mit seinen überlaufenden Blumenkästen die perfekte Stellung neben dem Eingang des hohen gepflegten Eibenstrauches geniess die Tatkraft der jungen Frau an der Ecke auf einen Bus wartend ihre grünen Leinenschuhe mit gelben Streifen ihr afrikanisches T-shirt mit senkrechten Flecken von Gelb, Rot, und dunklem Grün trink eine zweite Tasse laß dir dein heißes, müdes Gehirn kühl werden atme tief den Morgen ein
Ernest Williamson III What of the Cedar Trees ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ there was no lament in the dour Cedar trees in the corner I was upright like the lives in Katrina's droning leveling flesh but mystified by the spirit of resplendent hands holding on to future bonds with no regard for stocks in residual condonement but back to the Cedar trees these two worn 200 year old bodies showing with no regard for shame its stains its diaries of exposition for men and women to ignore and explore though I see the trees as few may see them I am no child and wonderment evades the man who evades the spores of initiation that high pitched blooming eye loving the trees but yet not knowing them at least as I say to know them
The Importance of Liquid Rainbows ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mother used cedar-wood window sills to hang my clothes in Mr. Landall's mansion 2 miles south of Granny's Market Mr. Rogers and Mr. Milton would stand on descending concrete steps singin' YANKEE DOODLE DANDY for my brother and me and though they were pink and old I never saw any association of discontent in their words I am a black person or African American you may say yet my friends back then like the smell of sun dried clothes on the cedar-wood window sills in my room were mostly of a nice touch a good smell in my nostrils a silent smile fans of universality and to my surprise hidden from the common disdain of the incivility of 1965.
The Jazz of Old Wine ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ life is a disposition dipped in mirth divided by two annulled in blithe and despair like our first kiss in the middle of yesterday's November rain with fresh pine biting with congealed blue notes while hissing in the residue of phony lightning storms I'd love to hold your story from tears to triumph in my sheet music as I wait here on the corner of Hope Street singing a change gone come for twenty minutes inside of twenty long years and though I long for your utterance I can still stand here branded by these watery rainbows near my shoes these worn leather brown shoes.
Empty Cup ~~~~~~~~~ we met in Grothel's vineyard she, as wet wheat in the burrow below the sky left of the cabbage patches, loved me without words I've sustained millions of diluted wounds in heart and mind flown from flight to ideas of levity with wishes coated in real feelings unfelt a kiss in mind but lips dry with truth and yet in Grothel's vineyard wine gravitated away from my tongue as if I were a thief of the green with nothing to grasp, feign, or drink.




I come to my head office after thirty years- 
taking over as CEO- 

Pattabhi is still there in the 
executive mess 
serving coffee and lunch 
for all above GM 
in the penthouse- 

he was there when I joined as a trainee, 
saw him when the then CEO 
gave us all trainees 
a luncheon speech 
exhorting us to work and work- 

he never stepped out of the penthouse 
except to take the lift 
going home- 

his manners still the same 
and continue 
to somehow remind you 
of the club-house employees 
serving the british 
in the colonial days- 

impeccable well starched dress 
well paced walk 
firm greetings 
a smile on his moustache- 
solicitude when he bends to listen- 

I have never heard 
anyone complaining 
of his carrying tales 
overhearing the bosses 
at the lunch tables- 

he should have never 
once violated 
the sacred silence 
of the corporate governance- 

never breathed a word 
that I am his daughter 
though with a christian name 
on account of my conversion 
on marriage. 


  All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
  these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is

  YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993 - 2006 by 
  Klaus J. Gerken.

  The official version of this magazine is available on Ygdrasil's 
  World-Wide Web site http://users.synapse.net/~kgerken.  No other 
  version shall be deemed "authorized" unless downloaded from there. 
  Distribution is allowed and encouraged as long as the issue is unchanged.


    * Klaus Gerken, Chief Editor - for general messages and ASCII text
    submissions: kgerken@synapse.net

    Or mailed with a self addressed stamped envelope, to: