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Notes09/22/2021
Isolani
Translated Show original
Isolani
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19
...all the way to the Brokatz Room...
Like when you
late at night
in front of the neighbor's apartment
and timidly
knock on the door
and you wonder
that you are opened so soon
and you enter hesitantly
and you murmur, barely audible "I don't want to disturb you for long, either,
you might be wondering,
i have something for you..."
and you've got a basket in your hand and you're holding it,
because no one is getting ready to take it from you to take it from you on the dresser
just to the left on the wall
under the Killers tour poster,
and you'll be asked
if you would like to come in for a moment,
for a jump,
now that you're here,
for a chat,
at such a late hour!,
otherwise nobody lets itself be seen for months,
and now: such a surprise,
yeah, no, leave your shoes on,
one should not be so fussy
and the carpeting is also quite old,
really, you hardly see each other at all
lately, in these times
since it should actually be quieter to go
and yet again everyone as usual to do
and his performance to "deliver" have
because the shop must run and the Rubel roll
and whether you would like to sit down,
please excuse the mess you've been busy all day.. and there's no way of knowing that there would be someone else here tonight when it's already getting on to midnight,
and outside and in the house everything was already quiet one hears in this silence yes literally
guantanamo-like
every drop of water falling,
my goodness! and whether you also hear it
and of course you react irritably,
what else! -
"and that, that's exactly what they want to achieve,
i tell you, exactly that !!
terrible"-
you still become oversensitive,
can't stand anything anymore,
everything would be too much
and then again too little
and who then, please, not everything to everything
would have something to say,
"say it honestly",
and whether you don't know that,
that as soon as you take a step outside the door someone would come along,
who already made the world a better place
even before you could have asked for it
because you are actually quite satisfied
with the way it is now,
one would finally come to the things,
which one had planned since the age of thirteen
since the age of thirteen and so on and how you listen so
and moderntalking
into an inner, unsuspected lightness
you get red in the cheeks and forget the time and you're shyly chatting away
and only after what feels like three hours
interrupted in your flow of speech
when it's already dawn -
just as you declare
to have also heard
that the janitor is probably now
a roast-potato relationship
with the recently moved-in
single, middle-aged lady,
what one so tells,
exactly one does not know it himself;
well, you greet each other,
wish each other a good day
and borrow now and then
two grams of sugar,
a bath additive or the horoscope of the day from,
but that's about it,
often enough one hears charming
over the one or the other away,
because you want to stay out of it,
live and let live,
"each Jeck it differently" -
as they say so beautifully,
and what is there in the end, in all this -
one does not know it simply,
ah, mysterious the whole thing...
and then in the middle
in your explanations the question
what was in the basket.. which you brought with you,
you wanted to look 'times in peace,
where did you put it again?,
you had not really looked earlier,
as one there so between door and Angel
so rather hopplahopp together stood,
let's see,
what you had brought beautiful things,
and you told me something about mild apples soft chestnuts, a heart greeting in gold
and just-hatched blue tits,
who were looking for a new home and since you're leaving in a few days you'd be on your way to the big wide world you would have thought that they, the feathery ones,
would be well looked after here here they would want for nothing and if the
chubby, a little stormy
and chubby children! -
yes, it must be said once,
with the noise,
that you sometimes hear from them
across the corridors -
if they sawed off a little.. the wings of the little feathered ones would probably remain intact;
they weighed now already thirteen grams each,
would be house-trained, could behave well,
would have some fun tricks for the amusement of all on it,
chirp at the half hour and trill at the hour
a minute and a half at a time - not to be missed,
better than any alarm clock -
and would know on call all - ALL titles
from the Beatles' "White Album" to sing,
straight up.
So it went through the night,
it got lighter,
it became morning,
it became a new day,
and finally they
adopted the birds
and gave them other names:
Doris, Misha and Hallelujah;
with this naming,
they felt,
would be the successful future
and an international career
nothing would stand in the way,
whether as a
Animal filmmaker,
Ventriloquist,
or as a candidate
in the kitchen battle,
yes, da could,
no: da WERDE !
'what will become of it,
you have it in the feeling,
to do everything right,
so purely from the gut 'out;
and so you had it
but finally also
imagined and wished,
and that's why you could also
in this one quiet moment,
at eight thirty-nine in the morning
in the drizzle
and
and a gathering storm of enthusiasm.. also be quite sure
the right thing
to have done
to have done.
The next walk,
the next walk of life -
you asked for it.
Noble simplicity.
Silent greatness.
-------------------------
Flowers and fruits
and
Becoming and passing
and
good stories of blue tits
and doubts about everything,
yes,
good,
it may all pass,
someday, of course,
and it's supposed to be
be like that,
but not now nor in the next ten hours.
Superstitious is a massive and intense perfume,
which demands a special fit,
that is not quiet
but tender and poetic,
and for it to fit,
the tightly tailored circus jacket,
which may well be black,
(with golden piping)
should not wrinkle.
The first impression is that of fresh, juicy peach,
fruitful and plump
and depending on the weather or humidity
also chewing gum ball-like,
yes, perhaps also 'sometimes squeaky perceived,
well,
but only briefly
and also not with every wearing,
one, two minutes maybe,
then the
and it blossoms
the fine blossoms,
full and open,
from here to the brocade room
and from minute to minute new
and constantly changing
and especially spacey,
and they stay,
Hour after hour!,
waste themselves
and each one cries out:
"Yes, I want that!
Absolutely, I recognize myself!",
and these almost morbid blossoms
in opulent clusters,
are of a velvety deep red
and a pale purple
and a warm white
and quite a few shades in between,
Blossoms that even on a funeral wreath
still joyful and upbeat (that too!)
and sweetly melancholy
can tell of beauty in all moments,
and also that to beauty,
when it gets its first serious cracks,
bitterness belongs,
Blossoms,
which want to line up
and yet are never just to be grasped;
in a little eternal chapel,
the light
and the breath of the world
like an auspicious
Wall of sunshine
of stardust standing.
**
Because
nothing
really
passes.
Well.
late at night
in front of the neighbor's apartment
and timidly
knock on the door
and you wonder
that you are opened so soon
and you enter hesitantly
and you murmur, barely audible "I don't want to disturb you for long, either,
you might be wondering,
i have something for you..."
and you've got a basket in your hand and you're holding it,
because no one is getting ready to take it from you to take it from you on the dresser
just to the left on the wall
under the Killers tour poster,
and you'll be asked
if you would like to come in for a moment,
for a jump,
now that you're here,
for a chat,
at such a late hour!,
otherwise nobody lets itself be seen for months,
and now: such a surprise,
yeah, no, leave your shoes on,
one should not be so fussy
and the carpeting is also quite old,
really, you hardly see each other at all
lately, in these times
since it should actually be quieter to go
and yet again everyone as usual to do
and his performance to "deliver" have
because the shop must run and the Rubel roll
and whether you would like to sit down,
please excuse the mess you've been busy all day.. and there's no way of knowing that there would be someone else here tonight when it's already getting on to midnight,
and outside and in the house everything was already quiet one hears in this silence yes literally
guantanamo-like
every drop of water falling,
my goodness! and whether you also hear it
and of course you react irritably,
what else! -
"and that, that's exactly what they want to achieve,
i tell you, exactly that !!
terrible"-
you still become oversensitive,
can't stand anything anymore,
everything would be too much
and then again too little
and who then, please, not everything to everything
would have something to say,
"say it honestly",
and whether you don't know that,
that as soon as you take a step outside the door someone would come along,
who already made the world a better place
even before you could have asked for it
because you are actually quite satisfied
with the way it is now,
one would finally come to the things,
which one had planned since the age of thirteen
since the age of thirteen and so on and how you listen so
and moderntalking
into an inner, unsuspected lightness
you get red in the cheeks and forget the time and you're shyly chatting away
and only after what feels like three hours
interrupted in your flow of speech
when it's already dawn -
just as you declare
to have also heard
that the janitor is probably now
a roast-potato relationship
with the recently moved-in
single, middle-aged lady,
what one so tells,
exactly one does not know it himself;
well, you greet each other,
wish each other a good day
and borrow now and then
two grams of sugar,
a bath additive or the horoscope of the day from,
but that's about it,
often enough one hears charming
over the one or the other away,
because you want to stay out of it,
live and let live,
"each Jeck it differently" -
as they say so beautifully,
and what is there in the end, in all this -
one does not know it simply,
ah, mysterious the whole thing...
and then in the middle
in your explanations the question
what was in the basket.. which you brought with you,
you wanted to look 'times in peace,
where did you put it again?,
you had not really looked earlier,
as one there so between door and Angel
so rather hopplahopp together stood,
let's see,
what you had brought beautiful things,
and you told me something about mild apples soft chestnuts, a heart greeting in gold
and just-hatched blue tits,
who were looking for a new home and since you're leaving in a few days you'd be on your way to the big wide world you would have thought that they, the feathery ones,
would be well looked after here here they would want for nothing and if the
chubby, a little stormy
and chubby children! -
yes, it must be said once,
with the noise,
that you sometimes hear from them
across the corridors -
if they sawed off a little.. the wings of the little feathered ones would probably remain intact;
they weighed now already thirteen grams each,
would be house-trained, could behave well,
would have some fun tricks for the amusement of all on it,
chirp at the half hour and trill at the hour
a minute and a half at a time - not to be missed,
better than any alarm clock -
and would know on call all - ALL titles
from the Beatles' "White Album" to sing,
straight up.
So it went through the night,
it got lighter,
it became morning,
it became a new day,
and finally they
adopted the birds
and gave them other names:
Doris, Misha and Hallelujah;
with this naming,
they felt,
would be the successful future
and an international career
nothing would stand in the way,
whether as a
Animal filmmaker,
Ventriloquist,
or as a candidate
in the kitchen battle,
yes, da could,
no: da WERDE !
'what will become of it,
you have it in the feeling,
to do everything right,
so purely from the gut 'out;
and so you had it
but finally also
imagined and wished,
and that's why you could also
in this one quiet moment,
at eight thirty-nine in the morning
in the drizzle
and
and a gathering storm of enthusiasm.. also be quite sure
the right thing
to have done
to have done.
The next walk,
the next walk of life -
you asked for it.
Noble simplicity.
Silent greatness.
-------------------------
Flowers and fruits
and
Becoming and passing
and
good stories of blue tits
and doubts about everything,
yes,
good,
it may all pass,
someday, of course,
and it's supposed to be
be like that,
but not now nor in the next ten hours.
Superstitious is a massive and intense perfume,
which demands a special fit,
that is not quiet
but tender and poetic,
and for it to fit,
the tightly tailored circus jacket,
which may well be black,
(with golden piping)
should not wrinkle.
The first impression is that of fresh, juicy peach,
fruitful and plump
and depending on the weather or humidity
also chewing gum ball-like,
yes, perhaps also 'sometimes squeaky perceived,
well,
but only briefly
and also not with every wearing,
one, two minutes maybe,
then the
and it blossoms
the fine blossoms,
full and open,
from here to the brocade room
and from minute to minute new
and constantly changing
and especially spacey,
and they stay,
Hour after hour!,
waste themselves
and each one cries out:
"Yes, I want that!
Absolutely, I recognize myself!",
and these almost morbid blossoms
in opulent clusters,
are of a velvety deep red
and a pale purple
and a warm white
and quite a few shades in between,
Blossoms that even on a funeral wreath
still joyful and upbeat (that too!)
and sweetly melancholy
can tell of beauty in all moments,
and also that to beauty,
when it gets its first serious cracks,
bitterness belongs,
Blossoms,
which want to line up
and yet are never just to be grasped;
in a little eternal chapel,
the light
and the breath of the world
like an auspicious
Wall of sunshine
of stardust standing.
**
Because
nothing
really
passes.
Well.
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Emorandeira
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