Ποιειν Και Πραττειν - create and do

Experience 2010




Endless pain

I recall how the moon

    shone into my empty room

    on some pages I had written

    now scattered on the floor.


The candle's flame flickered 

as if the wind sat on the window sill.


Down below, in the garden, behold

the rags drapped over the scare crow

since it looks like my hands still clutching the pen

to write without knowing where to find a word

to end finally the dispute raging in my soul.


Normal life of the writer

She holds her breath. Thoughts pass by.

As if shadows climb up walls.

Or else just clouds glide past the moon

like a Flying Hollander through the night.


Thin air circles around mountain tops

and leaves the horizon free

to greet the eagle descending

with the sunlight down

into the valley now darkening rapidly.

From there climb up images

to hover in the twilight zone.


He remembers a sequence of events,

but after numerous phone calls

in which he demanded an answer,

she ran away before the day came

and he had woken up to understand.


Unwilling to repeat the same mistake,

she calmed down only when out of sight.

Slowly the muscles in her body relaxed.


The last thing he had asked her was

what makes her so tense, so tired after work,

but then he never found out what she did.


Now he writes always a bit

at a small table standing

close to the balcony door kept open.


Once Kafka described a sparrow

very close to the bread crumb

but sensing the man standing

behind the curtain of the balcony door

still did not dare to pick it, as if fear

is at times greater than hunger.


Other things are needed

Have not all descriptions of human destiny shown that a link to the past allows for a glimpse into the future?

To grow in self confidence would mean some fear has been swept aside. That concerns especially such fear which plays in the soul shadow theatre and succeeds thereby to impose a tough constraint with regards to the meaning of love.

It is simple. Someone suggests love is a free expression. But where is this love which could replace her? Only she had a way to open him up to the universe. Stars say so.

What remains are dreams. As to his wish, it was rejected by her. It left him in taunting doubts as if love was apparently not possible under these circumstances. The crunch came later. Everything was dropped as if it does not matter, if nothing is shared. Not even bread.

As long as we live, said Sophia, the writer, we wish to express ourselves and to communicate to others what we feel. But which words suit what he feels?

Here a restraint makes itself visible like those famous cracks in the wall. No painter can ever cover them up. More endurance is needed. Whistling does not help. Other things are needed to give courage. It may be another experience.




Whisper to the trees for then they will bend over and listen

while their branches sweep the streets

to clear them for people to experience

a sky free of smoke of battles long gone

with only the cemeteries back in the woods

coughing out messages of the dead

for the living to draw their faces in the sand.


Ambivalence has spread to the edge of the city

known for centuries to have been on the waiting list

for recognition by the winds and travelers

all while miners were finally freed to sudden fame

after two months under ground in this land

called Chile where once Neruda

created a river out of the silence of people

longing to escape oblivion and hate.


Now, who ever gives up hope these days,

in the belief the rescue work shall not succeed,

he risks to take the impossible more serious,

but here the youth gripped by bursts of energy

are like those cities imagining invisible love

shall return one day to warm up again every corner

too long left in the shadows of after thoughts

trailing behind like the teddy bear a child.

Pecs 15.10.2010


Wildness in the eyes

After the thought comes the light

                          Wildness in the eyes

Not forlorn like some human beings

      Once things have gone astray in life

               there is no way to cry in order to find the way.

                           But the flight of the owl

                           is wisdom, light, a grace of God!

Showing how the universe can be, can be

      not only in a dream...

                          If only man could leave some things

alone, untouched, not overturned many a times and then

thrown away as if worthless.

      With snow now crunching underneath his boots

And the wind dusting the white flakes off the branches,

      everything can become bare, naked

      like the woman about to descend on him

      to make love for man to feel certainty

      as something to look forward to in near future.

It is the aspiration of uncertainty

to be acquainted with certainty all the time.

Restless the thoughts once acquitted

     from having worked over time

     without finding any solution

     in this search of a true love.




Life is more than sheer survival

(dedicated to Gyongyi who organised the Pecs Conference

and upon hearing of the rescue of the miners in Chile)


Listen to the whisper of trees bending over

till their branches sweep the streets

empty of people to make real the experience

of a sky finally freed of smoke of past battles

with only the cemetery at the fringe of the city

caughing out forlorn messages of the dead.


Ambivalence has spread to that part of the city

known to have been waiting for such a long time

to receive recognition by travelers from afar

all while the news spreads across the globe

that finally the last miners in Chile have been rescued

after having spend two long months under ground.


Now who would ever give up the only hope

that this time the rescue work would succeed?

If only all believed the impossible is possible,

then cities could set free the invisible wish

for love to warm up like the sun every street

left for too long in shadows of forgetfulness

now trailing behind shivering thoughts made

not ouf clay to let man be simply great

by being alive, a human being, even if

exhausted after having been washed ashore

like Odysseus who wondered where to survive

that first night: in the forest full of wild animals

or at the beach where it is moist and cold?

Still undecided, he stumbled upon a shelter

underneath a tamed and a wild olive tree

twinned together like man and nature

to make possible more than naked survival

a life without regret for the experiences made.


Hatto Fischer

Pecs 15.10.2010



^ Top

« Dance at night - Paros Poems II 2008 | 20 poems for an imaginary poetry festival 2012 »