Thursday, March 19, 2009
like that.
Like the sprinkling of snow, and then, the sheets of ice on charcoal pavement, pavement that have felt the footsteps of many passing and going, where those who should stay, didn't, and those who didn't have to, never did. Who belongs, but you, and me, and the other green bottles. The piano is of no solace as the turn of my mind is not inclined towards creating the phantasmagorical, not now. And because of it, I am becoming in my undoing, to steal a few decontextualised words that had once rocked my soul and no longer. The last two stanzas from Mein Kind, wir waren Kinder, Heine's Homecoming (1823-24): Wie Lieb' und Treu' und Glauben Verschwunden aus der Welt, Und wie so teuer der Kaffee, Und wie so rar das Geld! How love and faith and honor Had disappeared from the earth, How the price of coffee had risen, And how little a mark was worth. Vorbei sind die Kinderspiele, Und alles rollt vorbei-- Das Geld und die Welt und die Zeiten Und Glauben und Lieb' und Treu'. Gone are the childish pretendings, And everything else rolls past, Money and world and eras, And faith and love and trust. Heine does it best, and of course, always, and only, 'for now'.
she procrastinated @ 12:43 |
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