Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Mother O´Mine


When I was young, I liked this poem. And I recited, recited more than thousand times, remembering that I had  my own mother too. When I was grown up, I stopped reciting it. But once again I remembered that I'd liked the poem, when I lost my mother. That moment, I didn't know what I had to do for her. Then I just read it for her.

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!

If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayer would make me whole,
Mother o´mine, O mother o´mine!

- Rudyard Kipling

on the day, no in the night when i lost the one whom i loved, but to whom i've never pronounced "i love you" 

EL PAÍS EXÓTICO


ella: ¿Porqué buscas siempre el país exótico?
el: Para ti, es tu sueño.
ella: En mis ojos, eres una persona exótica. Entonces, es inutil que quieres navegar a otra tierra. Lo que necesitas es abrir tus ojos y tu corazón. ¡Hay un país exótico!

I AM BLUE


A: Am I blue?
B: I don't have blue eyes.
A: I don't have blue eyes either.
B: Are you then blue?
A: Sorry I don't get it.
B: I feel so sad for you don't understand what I have. But I'm blue.

Harry the Nobody

My name is Nobody. But they call me not-remember-Harry. It is not the ordinary Harry.
Harry, the one cursed by his own spell. But the Harry is not me. He's my cousin. Yes! My cousin who still lives in my damned shadow.

la melancolía


Tuve un amigo. Este amigo pudo beber conmigo quando lo queria yo. Pero tengo que llamarle para verlo y para beber con el. Ahora no sé donde esta el, sin embargo puedo sentir que quiere estar en mi mundo. El sentimiento que quiere compartir con alguien.
¡La melancolía!

TENGO TREINTA Y OCHO AÑOS


Hoy, yo tengo treinta y ocho años. Quiero que alguien lo sepa bien. Claro, sé que esto no es importante. 

Pero, yo tengo treinta y ochos años. Quiero que tú lo sepas bien, porque piensas que esto no es imporante y porque insistes en que lo ignore.

Ahora, yo tengo treinta y ocho años. No son treinta y ocho años ordinarios. Sin ti, serán treinta y ocho años solitarios. Contigo, serán treinta y ocho años benditos.

Por eso, quiero que sepas bien que hoy yo cumplo treinta y ocho años.

EL MAR DE MUERTE




Esta mañana, no, exactamente no mañana, cuando el sol iba a mostrar su cuerpo frío, yo sentía, no yo escuché una voz que susurraba a mi oído izquierda, "veeeeeeen, veeeeeeen, veeeee.."

Y yo fui a la colina pequeña enfrente de mi casa que había ido nunca.

Se tardaría veinte minutos en perder la respiración. Finalmente yo ví a la cima de la colina. El aire estaba fresco, tal vez, gracias a los arboles, yo pienso.

Pero, cuando llegaba la cima, yo encontre el otro mundo. ¡La ciudad de los muertos! Las tumbas eran demasiadas para calcular. Había los aparamientos para ellos y las casas para ellos también. Era commo un mar de muerte. Y, yo, con el sol que ya mostraba su cuerpo, estaba nadando en este mar...

A PHÈDRE


Perfide! Traîtresse! Monstre!

Quoi que l'on t'appelle,

Tu es une femme attirante

A cause de la malice.

Ton amour à l'orgueilleux beau-fils,

Ton humeur aux ennémies,

Tout me plaît, comme j'aperçois

Mon destin dans le tien.

Viens à côté de moi pour que

Je te sauve l'âme perdue.

Je te bâtirai les autels

Comme tu lui as fait.

Viens dans ma chambre où

Les chandelles ténèbreuses frissonnent.

Viens au foyer qui fut jadis gelé

Par ton épouvantable crime.

Là nous dégèlerons nos fatalités

Et nous réchaufferons nos désirs

Qui ne sont plus interdits.

Par les poètes tyranniques je bien connais

Que tu n'est qu'un fantôme sans os,

Il te faut, toutefois, connaître

Que je ne suis qu'un esprit sans pays.

Si tu viens sur-le-champ à moi,

Je t'aimerai et te caresserai.

Je t'aime de tout mon coeur

Car j'aime tout ce que l'on hait.

THANK YOU MY BEST BUDDY


    I woke up to a peculiar sound and looked around. But I couldn't find anything strange in my studio. Everything was like what it was: an audio set turned off; a computer, colored black by darkness, in which a cursor waiting to be typed by any soul was blinking dimly; and a digital clock showing 4:00 a.m.  I opened the window, and cold raindrops struck me in the face. Taking a breath, I thought it was a nightmare, and I recalled the accident of Reeve.

     Reeve, who had dreamed to come to this darn Paris in order to study design, kept his position as my rival and companion during my wandering youth. Writing this story, I'm reckoning about what could be the best way not to be blamed and to show mea culpa. If I had to write this at the very time, I couldn't do it because of shame and guilt.

     It was a summer day in 1988 when Reeve introduced me to Eudita, his girl friend, who studied with him in the design school that he considered as the first step to his future. She was the unforgettable type once you see her and surely was the person who had the most attentions in the huge wedding party for my friend, even she was just a bride-maiden. But soon, I forgot about her. Although she had invincible beauty that made other women jealous, she was merely my best friend's girlfriend. I didn't have any feelings against her. As a matter of fact, I was as busy as a spider spinning desires at that time because I had just entered a trading company and could fulfill my dreadful dream-Don't be curious about what my dream was. It is not what I'm going to talk about.  It is all about my buddy. I was just a dealer (now I don't know what I dealt was: that might be some articles or some souls).

     It was six months later when I saw her again. One day, Reeve called and asked me to go to the cafe Malentendu where they, Reeve and Eudita, were supposed to meet. According to his excuse, all of a sudden, he had to go on a business trip, so he tried to contract her in order to cancel the date, but he couldn't get in touch with her. What a boy friend !  I accepted his request because of friendship or brotherhood, even though I was reluctant to go there. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't interested in what she looked or what charm she had.  Any spell-bound didn't work to me. I was totally against those magic-words, or was a misogynist. Please remember I was one of the busiest people in the world creating my mythical dreams.

     When I got there, she hadn't arrived yet. Waiting for her, I ordered a cup of cappuccino. Even after I finished my cappuccino she didn't show up, then I got the second cappuccino. I was a little bit furious about their attitude and about their stealing my precious time. "These ignorant designers! They don't know how to design! They need a lesson! Ah! There she is!" Finally she showed up with a pair of tight blue jeans and a white T-shirt which gives her breasts cupful lines remarking her naive cupidity. Delivering his apology, I quelled her amazement of seeing me in his place.

        "I'm sorry for being late. If I knew you would be here, I should be in time," in foreign manner she apologized.

        "No, it's all right. I spent a great time with my friars," I retorted.

        "Pardon me?" she asked.

        "Oh! I mean the cappuccino. I already drank two cups. 'Cause I love its flavor and taste, but the best part of it is the color. Do you know where the word cappuccino came from. That's Capuchins. They are Franciscan friars. Thanks to the color of their garment, we named it cappuccino. But I like call it my friar. It is the happiest time for me to kiss it slightly and have it in the mouth and in the gut," I continued, "Then I had it twice. You know, it's better than foutre."

        She burst out laughing and said sorry again. I laughed too plainly. Anyway I carried out my duty successfully. She suggested to go to a movie, they were supposed to see "Basic Instinct". During the film, I thought that she had an air of Sharon Stone.    

        That very moment was the beginning of all following events between us. I don't know why I felt such a strange sense of jealousy at that moment. What a tangled web we weave!

     The devil that slept in mind woke up and whispered, when she asked me something which I can't remember now, : "Listen, buddy. Look at her beauty, the darken hair, the dreamy eyes like mourning stars, the milky skin, and these lustful lips!  What a charmer! That's exactly your type. And she is interested in you.  Let's take her."

     But my conscience dissented, "Don't do that! She is the only girl that your best friend loves. You can't do that to him." I seemed to be reminded of our good friendship, but I couldn't refuse the sweet lure of the devil.

     "What's the matter?  What are you afraid of?  Reeve? Forget him," the devil urged, "He is not on your side. Let's think of me. I've always been with you. If you want to kidnap her blind conscience, I'll help you. I am your only best friend in the world."

     With his assistance, I began to influence her slyly. I tried to prove how I was superior to him in such a cunning way which nobody could figure out. My web was too complicated and delicate for her to escape. I did what I could! Of course, I knew she couldn't extricate herself from this type of web by her attitude during our conversation. In every way, the web was greater and more successful than I had expected. She was like an weary insect that has no strength to struggle with a spider web.

     Since that strange date, I had some occasions to meet them because she had solicited Reeve for my presence. By the way, it didn't matter to me. I could taste my confidence and act stuck up whenever I met them. Also, I often witnessed the scenes when she complained to him comparing him to me and all the rest that, in fact, was useless. Their behavior satisfied me, a hypocrite who had an obsession about him. But, I didn't stop. Pretending to be his best friend, I constructed a labyrinth that they couldn't exit. They couldn't flee but instead ended their love as two little lambs come to the wolf in sheep's clothing.

     Although they seemed to have fallen in love for a time, I knew that there would be a crack in that puppy-love because I believed in the consequences of my trap. In fact, women like her have a desire to possess things which they don't have but which someone, who they know, has. Then there I was. I had a Master Degree of that kind of game. I was using this. I paid for most entertainment and dinners, and showed my prowess whenever I joined them on their dates. Of course, my stupid friend welcomed me; he believed I was his best buddy, so that's why I paid for them. He never knew how much I enjoyed my game.

     By the way, she grew more disappointed with him for not having the spending power that I had, unless I was present. At last, she decided to be realistic and asked him to separate. But he didn't catch the point. He tried to make her happy in other ways and at times begged. At first, all his efforts seemed to be successful, but too late.

     To solve the problem, they needed me and dropped by to see me respectively. Although they were in trouble, their situation was not bad for me. If you've ever been in this situation, you could understand my feeling. If you never had any experience like this, let's imagine that someone, whom you know well or even don't know, asks for your help. Maybe your heart will be full of self-satisfaction and confidence caused by the competence to change someone's mind.

     No matter what they expected from me, it was certain that I ridiculed their demeanor. In spite of this cruel thought, I pretended to be a good adviser and friend. Do you think they could be happy again with this hypocrite's help? They didn't have a chance.

     For a time, they seemed to have gotten over their affair, but the way which they were going didn't distress me. Everything was going the way I had planed except for the unexpected last scene.

     Have you ever devised a plan like the one above? I bet you think of me as a wicked bastard.  Maybe you are right. But please don't think that all I thought about was raining on their parade. As I told you before, I was working like a busy bee at that time to achieve my ambition. That is, I didn't only concentrate on setting the trap for them. The cruel planner of this trap was not me, but the devil that hid under my skin and these pitiful companies' ineptness for self-realization. I don't mean that I want to exonerate myself from any blame. All I had done was to provide a little personal assistance to activate the devil's plan. They should knew that there is no free lunches.

     After a year of being their affair counselor without charge, the fateful day arrived. While preparing a seminar that would be held the following week, my phone rang loudly. I picked it up, and heard Reeve's voice.

     "Gene?  Do me a favor?" he said gloomily, "Write this down, 7 2 1 2 3 1 0 ......."

     I asked suspiciously, "What for? What's this?  What do you want?"

     He replied, "It's her phone number."

     "Whose?" I inquired vehemently.

     "Eudita's phone number. Please tell her how much I loved her, if you ever see her," he muttered, "Now good-bye..."

     All of a sudden, I had a foreboding, and immediately shouted, "What? Where are you?  Hey! Boy!"

     There, however, was only the echo of my voice on the receiver. He had already hung up. I called his office to learn what was going on, but the information I got from a chilly voice secretary  was that he was on vacation, even though it wasn't vacation season. Then, I did everything I could to find him out, but I lost all the trace of him. Ah, he got away from my hunting net!

     Soon, however, I who sought the bubble reputation and was a member of the modern hypocrite club got my way. Soon I forgot about him and focused on the task for the seminar, much more urgent than his missing, considering his behavior as the rambling of a fool.

     Two days later, I could contact him. Of course, reluctantly. He called me up again. "Hello, M&M," I picked up the phone, but no answer. I asked again and finally heard a voice on the other end.

     "Oh! What's wrong with you? You out of mind?  Where are you now? Why did you take a vacation?  Are you crazy?  Give you a penny for your thoughts. Let me know where you are," I spat some words without stopping. But he began to sob, and told me that she was going to shack up with an another guy that I knew. Then he pleased me to come out and console his weary heart.

     There he goes again. It's was a good chance for me full of selfishness to prove I was superior to him. But I couldn't respond to his begging for comfort from me, because I was behind in my work that would allow me to get a promotion later.

     I told him to go to  le cheval de bois, a bar we went to regularly, and  wait for me.  The next thing I did was to call Dion, a friend of mine and his, and tell Dion the whole story.  I asked ( no it's better to say "I commanded") him to go to le cheval de bois and be with him until I got there. Dion accepted my request, so I could finish my work without any obstacles.

     When I arrived at the bar, I didn't have any opportunity to be proud because Reeve was already too drunk to talk. Instead, I heard about what he had done for two days via Dion's emotionless chattering mouth.

     According to Dion's account, the Poor Reeve, he went to his hometown  river two days before, in order to commit suicide after calling me. However, facing the hopeless color of water, he had second thoughts as follows : "Why should I kill myself?  Why am I on earth?  What about my parents and sisters, and my kid brother? If I did this silly thing, where would they leave? Let's think about this.  What is the most valuable thing in the world? Even though I made this decision, why is it hard for me? Let's try again. There is no reason I should give up my life."  So he stopped by her office with a bouquet of roses as soon as he arrived in the town where his whole memories about her was still living vividly. But what awaited him was deliberate cruelty. She told him that she was going to shack up with someone else and asked him to forget about her in order to kick him out definitively. Her strategy was so great that his wandering soul was knocked breathless. And then he asked me to help.

     After listening to Dion's story, I found out what I should do for him. And I decided to take him to my apartment and made a quick departure. On the way home, I thought that he was really foolish and dangerous. Although we had been friends for about ten years, I never realized how stupid he was. So, to really help him, I made up my mind to tell him how to live in this harsh world, what he should do in this hell, and how many charming women were waiting for us in this world. She is not only fish in the sea. With the purpose of giving a lesson to this childish friend, I reinforced my conscience.   

         When I was ready to tell the truth, we were home, and he was still drunk. I had confidence that I could turn around his mind when he woke up the next morning. So imagining his grinning face covered with foolishness which I would face as the first thing in the next morning, I threw his drunken body into my double size bed and hit the sack by him.

     I was awakened by a strange sound and looked around. But everything seemed normal. Everything was all right, and the clock indicated 4:00 a.m.  I opened the window and took a breath, listening to the gloomy sound of the raindrops striking against the pale blue colored window pane. Taking a breath again, I thought I had had a nightmare.

     I mumbled " Nightmare......."

     At that moment, I remembered the presence of Reeve, and turned my eyes to the bed. I was stunned. He was not there. I called out his name, but I didn't get any response.  With a dismal feeling of foreboding, I tried to open the bathroom door, but it was closed. I knocked and yell his name, but there was no reply and I had to open it with the key slept for a long time in my closet. I laughed as soon as I opened the door because he was leaning against the wall and sleeping in such a queer position. What a fool!

     I shouted, "Wake up! Let's go back to bed! Come on!"

     After I moved closer to him to take him, I saw that an exuberantly colorful necktie, which Eudita presented for his twenty-seventh birthday, linked his pale and long neck to a glittering shower pipe on the wall. To avoid the sinful panorama I drove my bloody eyes on the right side, then found a note on the toilet on which were written the words : "Thank you, my best buddy."

     Now , many years have passed, and I am in Paris where he had desired to come. I don't know why I've chosen this city to stay. But I guess it is not my will, but another of the devil's plans.

     I'm sorry, but let me stop here because I can't hold back my tears anymore. I'd like to finish this story by saying " Forgive me, my buddy, even though it was an unforgivable thing, Let there be no hard feelings......."  and it is time to have another cappuccino.   

 

Die Scheinwelt


Wir wissen nicht was wir machen. Wir glauben, dass wir es wissen. Allerdings gibts es nur die Scheinweilt. Auch gibt es viele Sache, die beim Fantasie glauben helfen. Ja genau die Scheinwelt! Das ist überhaupt nicht real! Glaubst du die Zeitung oder Fernseher oder Internet ist real?

Wahrheit und Lüge


Die Wahrheit versorgt den Menschen mit verlässlichen Informationen.

Die Gründe, warum Menschen lügen, sind vielfältig.

Angst vor der Wahrheit oder deren Konsequenzen gib uns sicherlich die meisten Anlässe, die Wahrheit zu frisieren.

all about the tree


Why grow the branches now the root is wither'd?
Why wither not the leaves that want their sap?

le combat de nègres et de chiens


Kennst du Bernard-Marie Koltès? Wenn du ihn nicht kennst, gibt es einen Teil seines Stück, le combat de nègres et de chiens.

Il y a très longtemps. je dis à  mon frère: je sens que j'ai froid; il me dit: c'est qu'il y a un petit nuage entre le soleil et toi; je lui dis: est-ce possible que ce petit nuage me fasse geler alors que tout autour de moi, les gens transpirent et le soleil les brûle? Mon frère me dit: moi aussi, je gèle; nous nous sommes donc réchauffés ensemble. Je dis ensuit à mon frère: quand donc disparaîtra ce nuage, que le soleil puisse nous chauffer nous aussi? Il m'adit: il ne disparaîtra pas, c'est un petit nuage qui nous suivra partout, toujours entre le soleil et nous. Et je sentais qu'il nous suivait partout, et qu'au milieu des gens riant tout nus dans la chaleur, mon frère et moi nous gelions et nous nous réchauffions ensemble. Alors mon frère et moi, sous ce petit nuage qui nous privait de chaleur, nous nous sommes habitués l'un à l'autre, à force de nous réchauffer. Si le dos me démangeait, j'avais mon frère pour le grater; et je grattais le sien lorsqu'il le démangeait; l'inquiétude me faisait ronger les ongles de ses mains et, dans son sommeil, il suçait le pouce de ma main. Les femmes que l'on eut s'accrochèrent à nous et se mirent à geler à leur tour; mais on se réchauffait tant on était serrés sous le petit nuage, on s'habituait les uns aus autres et le frisson qui saisissait un homme se répercutait d'un bord à l'autre du groupe. Les mères vinrent nous rejoindre, et les mères des mères et leurs enfants et nos enfants, une innombrable famille dont même les morts n'étaient jamait arrachés, mais gardés serrés au milieu de nous á cause du froid sous le nuage. Le petit nuage avait monté, monté vers le soleil, privant de chaleur une famille de plus en plus grande, de plus en plus habituée chacun à chacun, une famille innombrable faite de corps morts, vivants et à venir, indispensables chacun à chacun à mesure que nous voyions reculer les limites des terres encore chaudes sous le soleil. C'est pourquoi je viens réclamer le corps de mon frère que l'on nous a arraché, parce que son absence a brisé cette proximité qui nous permet de nous tenir chaud, parce que, même mort, nous avons besoins de sa chaleur pour nous réchauffer, et il a besoins de la nôtre pour lui garder la sienne. 

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

un mundo


Un Mundo: We know nothing about the world. The world knows nothing about us either.

Eugene O'Neil und Heiner Müller und Javi und Charlo





Gestern war ich in Schlot (ein Jazz Bar in Zinnowitzer Straße, am Montag Eintritt ist frei) mit Javi. Ich habe ihm gesagt wo wir gehen. Aber er erzälte dass er keine Ahnung hatte. Über Telefon kann man sich nicht verständigen. Handy ist für ihn wie Sushi. Technologie und Japanische Essen sind seine riesige Feinde. Diese Nacht kann die letzte Nacht mit ihn sein. Die Musikspieler hatten auch keine Ahnung. Sie spielen nur Jazz. In dem Melodie empfand ich Mitleid für die Menschen. Warum sind die Menschen stets traurig? Musik ist bloß ein camouflage für die Traurigkeit. Stell dir vor, was passieren kann. Ohne Musik könnte die Traurigkeit der Menschen schön sein? Wir schenken der sich verirrte Seele die Musik zum Trost.  Es habe ich nicht ausgesprochen, sondern gedacht. Javi hat allerdings mir gesagt, dass er mit jemandem Mitleid hatte. Dieses Kind, wer einen großen Schriftsteller werden will, verstand was ich in Herz hatte! Unglaublich! Dann ich habe ein paar Zeile von O´Neil als die Belohnung aufgesagt. Er hat sie kopiert. Aber es gibt mehr. Hör zu, Javi!:

"The fog was where I wanted to be. Halfway down the path you can’t see this house. You’d never know it was here. Or any of the other places down the avenue. I couldn’t see but a few feet ahead. I didn’t meet a soul. Everything looked and sounded unreal. Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted – to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself. Out beyond the harbor, where the road runs along the beach, I even lost the feeling of being on land. The fog and the sea seemed part of each other. It was like walking on the bottom of the sea. As if I had drowned long ago. As if I was a ghost belonging to the fog, and the fog was the ghost of sea. It felt damned peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost.

Don’t look at me as if I’d gone nutty. I’m talking sense. Who wants to see life as it is, if they can help it? It’s the three Gorgons in one. You look in their faces and turned to stone. Or it’s Pan. You see him and you die – that is, inside you – and have to go on living as a ghost."


"You've told some high spots in your memories. Want to hear mine? They are all connected with the sea. Here's one. When I was on the Squarehead square rigger, bounce for Buenos Aires. Full moon in the Trades. The old hooker driving fourteen knots. I lay in the bowsprit, facing astern, with the water foaming into spume under me, masts with every sail while in the moonlight, towering high above me. I became drunk with the beauty and singing rhythm of it, and for a moment I lost myself-actually lost my life. I was set free! I dissolved in the sea, became white sails and flying spray, became beauty and rhythm, became moonlight and the ship and the high dim-starred sky! I belonged, without past or future, within peace and unity and a wild joy, within something greater than my own life, the life of Man, to Life itself! To God, if you want to put it that way. Then another time, on the American Line, I was lookout on the crow's nest in the dawn watch. A calm sea, that time. Only a lazy ground swell and a slow drowsy roll of the ship. The passengers asleep and none of the crews in sight. No sound of man. Black smoke pouring from the funnels behind and below me. Dreaming, not keeping lookout, feeling alone, and above, and apart, watching the dawn creep like a painted dream over the sky and sea which slept together. Then the moment of ecstatic freedom came. The peace, the end of the quest, the last harbor, the joy of belonging to a fulfillment beyond men's lousy, pitiful, and greedy fears, hopes, dreams. Then several other times in my life, when I was swimming far out, or laying on a beach, I have had the same experience. Became the sun, the hot sand, green seaweed anchored to a rock, swaying in the tide. Like a saint's vision of beatitude! Like the veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a moment, you see, seeing the secret, are the secret. For a moment, there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in fog again, and you stumble on toward nowhere, for no good reason. It was a great mistake, my being born a man, I would have been more successful as a seagull or a fish. I will always be a stranger, who never feels at home, who does not want and is not wanted, who can never belong, who must always be a little in love with a death!"

Bist du zufrieden? Und ich habe einen Zettel getroffen, in den Heiner Müllers Kommentar über Kunst geprägt ist: "KUNST IST LETZTLICH NICHT KONTROLLIERBAR". Und es gabt auch Müllers Credo: "Ich glaube an Konflikt. Sonst glaube ich an nichts"

Und dieses wunderbare Kind hat in der Gasse seine spanische Gedicht aufgesagt. Er ist sehr schüchtern. Aber wer nicht! Wir sind alle schüchtern. Alle! Alle Menschen! Ausnahme sind Tiere. Er könnte gute Schauspieler sein, aber nur wenn er betrunken ist. Die Nacht und das Kalte Licht und der grausam Wind und die poetische Szene in der Gasse. Das war Perfekt! Du hattest nur einen Zuschauer. aber dieser Zuschauer war nicht normaler Zuschauer. Er war Charlo! Und er hat BRAVO gesagt. Wir hatten perfekten Abschied von einander genommen. 

Jede Nacht wohne ich auf der Bühne. Die Bühne heißt Liebe. Die Bühne heißt Hass. Die Bühne heißt Freund. Die Bühne heißt Mensch. Die Bühne heißt Literatur. Die Bühne heißt Kunst. Sie sind überall. in Staße, in Kneipe, in Gasse, in U-Bahn, in unseres Herz. 

Monday, December 29, 2008

You Know Who We Are?


We know who we are, but we do not know who we can become.

Wir wissen wer wir sind, aber wir wissen nicht wer wir werden können.

Our Man Shakespeare made that comment:

"Well. God 'ild you! They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table!"  - Hamlet

Berggruen




Kennst du "Berggruen"?

Ich glaube, du hast niemals davon gehört. Man sagt, dass er gute Beziehungen zu Picasso hatte. Deshalb konnte er viele Gemälde von Picasso bekommen. Aber ich bin nicht so sicher. Alles ist meine Vermutung. Übrigens gibt es ein nach ihm bennanntes Museum in Berlin. Außer Picasso warten dort vor dem Charlottenburg Schloss auf dich auch Matisse und Miro.

Normalerweise erzähle ich etwas über Gemäldegalerie Bilder. Aber heute habe ich einen Grund, über Picasso zu reden. Ich erzähle es später. Das ist sehr persönlich...

Erinnerst du dich an den "Heiligen Bruno" über den habe ich vor einiger Zeit, ich glaube 5 Monaten vor, geschrieben. Der betende Mönch mit der weißen Kapuze.

Erst habe ich es falsch verstanden, dass Picasso einen Kapuziner gemalt hatte. Diese Heilige Laune! Diese gleiche Laune, die ich in dem "Heiligen Bruno" gefunden hatte! Aber nachdem ich den Titel gesehen hatte, sagte ich "Nein!". Das ist kein Mönch. Das ist eine Frau! Schau dir den Titel an: "Die Lektüre".

Warum habe ich sie wohl als Mönch ansehen? Es gibt keine heiligen Symbole, wie den "Halo". Trotzdem hat sie einen Heiligenschein. Doch, sie hat einen! Nicht hinter ihrem Kopf, sondern unter ihrer linken Hand. Ein Buch! Das Buch hat diese Szenen gemacht.

Mit geschlossen Augen legt sie ihre rechte Hand über das Herz, als ob sie einen Schmerz hätte. Einen Liebesschmerz?! Ich weiß nicht, woher sie diesen Schmerz bekommt. Aber für meine Augen, nein, in meinen Herzen flüstert jemand, "Sie hat einen Schmerz wie die Heilige Agatha..." Und sie klagt mir ihr Leid. Oder sie träumt vielleicht... und sie murmelt, was sie träumt...

Warum Traum? Wegen der Blumen auf der Tapete? Ich weiß es nicht. Ich bin nicht Picasso. Aber sowieso habe ich jetzt ein seltsames Gefühl. Ich lese ihr ein Gedicht von Baudelaire vor.

... C´est l´Ennui! 
l´oeil chargé d´un pleur involonltaire,
Il rêve d´échafauds en fumant son houka
Tu le connais, lecteur, ce monstre délicat,
Hypocrite lecteur,
mon semblabe,
mon frère!

Tu comprends? ma soeur...


WIR SIND WÖLFE UND VÖGEL


Die Nacht ist ein dunkler Spiegel des Tages! Am Tag sind wir Wölfe, aber in der Nacht werden wir Vögel, die ihr Augenlicht verloren haben. Sie fliegen mit dem Gedächnis, das sie im Gehirn eingesteckt haben. 


Schatten und Charlo


"Warum guckst du mich so an?", fragt sie. Dann antwortet er mit verträumter Stimme und Augen, "Nein, ich schaue nur deine Augen an. Diese Augen habe ich schon mal getroffen. Aber ich erinnere mich nicht wo... Trotzdem bin ich sicher, dass ich sie irgendwo getroffen habe. ...Ah! Jetzt! Im Spiegel! Ja, genau, im Spiegel! Im Spiegel habe ich diese Augen getroffen." "Dann kannst du in den Spiegel gucken, um sie zu sehen. Nicht mich!", sagt sie wieder mit lachenden Augen. "Ah! Leider habe ich den Spiegel nicht mehr. In meiner Wohnung habe ich keine Spiegel. Ich bin wie Vampir. Ich habe keinen Schatten. Dieser Schatten ist nicht mein. Meinen habe ich vor vieler Zeit verloren. Diesen hier habe ich mir beim Leihhaus ausgeliehen. "Wie viel Schulde ich Ihnen?", habe ich gefragt. - "Kein Geld! Er ist kostenfrei. Aber wenn Sie ihn verlieren, müssen Sie zwei Schatten mitbringen. Das ist unser Vertrag.", sagte der Pfandleiher. Jetzt habe ich den Schatten. Aber er bleibt an mir nur tagsüber. Bei Nacht verschwindet er. Ich habe keine Ahnung, was er draußen macht. Ich warte auf ihn die ganze Nacht. Warte, warte, warte ich. Ich kann nicht schlafen. Viel Sorge um diesen verdammten Schaten! Meine Schlaflosigkeit kommt daher. Aber ich hatte diese Augen!"

"Hast du gehört?", fragt er, plötzlich aufstehend.

"Was?", fragt sie zurück.

"Dieses Geräusch! Er kommt wieder! Mein ehemaliger schatten! Kannst du nichts hören? Ah! Er wandert da! Draußen! Ich muss rausgehen, um ihn zu treffen. Wirklich, hast du nichts gehört?", sagt er schnell als ob er seinen Kopf verloren hätte.

Sie schaut seine roten Augen ein paar Sekunden schweigend an und sagt kurz pizzicato, "Nein! Nichts!"

"Ihr hört nur mit den Ohren. Deswegen hört ihr nicht. Die Leute hören mit den Ohren. Sie sehen mit den Augen. Aber ich höre mit dem Gedanken. Ich sehe mit dem Gedanken. Ich denke, dass ich ihn gehört habe. Ich denke, dass ich ihn gesehen habe. Seit ich den neuen Schatten bekommen hatte, habe ich ihn einmal getroffen. Am westlichen Ende des Endteils, Lissabon, war ich in einem kleinen Café Oublié irgendwo in Alfalma. Es regnete...", sagte er als ob er im Traum wäre.

Er nimmt eine Zigarette aus der Packung, auf die Lucky Strike gepräge ist, und riecht an ihr. Und er sagt, "Der Mensch ist ein Gewohnheitstier. Ich kann nicht mehr rauchen, seit ich meine rechte Lunge verloren habe. Ich rieche bloß an Zigaretten. Ohne zu rauchen kann ich allerdings sagen, ob diese Zigarette gut schmeckt. Hmmmm... Nicht schlecht! Lucky Strike... Wo war ich? Ah! Ja! Es regnete... Ich schaute an, dass die Regentropfen sich aufs Meer fallen ließen. Von sepia Himmel fellen sie wie die verwelkten Blätter. In dem Augenblick habe ich ihn, meinen Schatten, gesehen. Nein! Ich dachte, dass ich ihn gesehen habe. Die Kellnerin fragte mich, "Was sehen Sie draußen?" Ich sagte, "Meinen Schatten. Haben Sie ihn auch gesehen?" Sie lächelte, "Natürlich! Er ist hier an Ihnen!" Ich schire, "NEIN! DIESER IST NICHT MEIN SCHATTEN. MEINER IST DA DRAUßEN. KÖNNEN SIE NICHT SEHEN? DA! AN DER VITRINE! ER KLOPFT DARAN. klopf. klopf. KÖNNEN SIE NICHT HÖREN? DIESER VERDAMMTE SCHATTEN DEN SIE GUCKEN; GEHÖRT MIR NICHT. ICH WEIß NICHT; WER DIESEN HATTE: ABER NICHT ICH! MEIN SCHATTEN; ER WANDERT! DA! MIRA! POR FAVOR; SENHORITA! SOMBRA! MINHA SOMBRA!" "Louco!", sagte sie, "Está louco!" Sie verschwand hinten in der Küche. Ich sah, dass mein sich verirrter Schatten weinte. Ich hörte, dass er weinte. Und er jammerte, "Wo stehe ich? Wo kann ich stehen? Du hast schon einen anderen Schatten. Wohin gehe ich jetzt?" Seine Tränen fellen... Seine sepia Tränen fellen von seinen roten Augen. Da habe ich klar gesehen. seine Tränen... Seine sepia Tränen..."