I am a Human Being

I AM A HUMAN BEING

Grapevine and grapes grope for my brain
though I don’t drink.
It’s all in vain.

For I see double and triple to boot,
see some of the others
and cannot stay mute.

I’m Mrs. Messy, yet at times
I’m Tina Tidy,
and this rhymes

for there’s order in chaos.  Oh, what mess!
Now, who’s to say, who’s more,
who’s less?

I do hoard things, eat, drink too much,
must somewhere be starving,
not one drop to touch.

I do die poor and quite well-off;
am nothing here, but
please don’t scoff

for there, I’m mayor and/or judge.
To recall my own faces
need more than a nudge.

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Das Menschenkind

DAS MENSCHENKIND

Weinstock and Reben raenkeln sich,
um meinen Hirnstamm zaenkeln sich.
Hab doch getrunken keinen Wein,
muss wohl woanders ein Trinker sein.

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Sonderbar

SONDERBAR
 

 
 Im Traume denk ich mir ‘nen Baum.
Da steht er schon und ist kein Traum,
denn dass ich traeume, weiss ich nicht,
derweil ich traeume die Geschicht.

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Fuchs

FUCHS

FUCHS, DU HAST DIE GANS GESTOHLEN,
GIB SIE WIEDER HER.

“Meinst Du denn, dass ich alleine
hab gestohlen Eins und Eine?
Ist die Gans die ganze Welt?”

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Fox

F O X

fox2

In this German children’s song
the fox who stole the goose
is told that he must give it back,
or he will surely lose: Continue reading

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Three Carrots

THREE CARROTS

English version by the author from the German on 9-3-1993

They were scraping carrots
in the pub by the moor,
somewhere in Germany,
to be sure,
when
on the first of September ’91,
they found these three carrots
intertwined into one,
just the way they’d been growing
beneath the ground,
a three-carrot union!

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Der Moehrendreiheit

Die Moehrendreiheit

Beim Moehrenschraapen
in der Kneipe am Moor
am l. September kamen hervor
 drei Moehr’n, eng umschlungen,
so wie sie der lieben Erde entrungen,
drei Moehren als eine.

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Der Weidliche Weber

Der Weidliche Weber

Die Trauerweide
neigt sich im Wind.
Darunter steht traurig
und einsam
ein Kind.

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The Willowy Weaver

The Willowy Weaver

Beneath the weeping willow stands,
on tip-toe,
reaching up her hands,
a little girl, alone and sad
feeling bad,
but the harm is done.
The hem of the willow’s gown is gone.

“Woe is me, you beautiful willow tree!
I dressed up in your finery, day in, day out.
You say, there is nothing to worry about?

I think I hear thunder.

Your greenery’s wilted on my arm.
Now you, weeping willow, are as bare as my arm,
your garland ripped and rent and torn.
I feel forlorn.”

Years later, in a distant land
once more under a willow stands
child turned woman.
The child in the woman, knowingly, breaks one little branch.
This time it’s grand.

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A Vision

A Vision

My eye,
blue-gray and sparkling lens,
is wonder-startled ever new.
Each moment young,
yet eons old,
each moment trembles
in that bold clear ball.

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