Invitation to kiss a prince

Here I sit gathering moss.
Come on girls, don’t be at a loss:
Bring the prince salvation,
release him from ancient damnation.
One little kiss is all it takes –
your life from now on will be champagne and cakes.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2008)

Totally Optional Prompts is all about transformation – just like this picture and text accompaniment.

Blessed ignorance

I wish I weren’t so ignorant!
Then I would know lots more.

I might possibly be less arrogant,
knowing what and what not to ignore.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2008)

Written for BlogFriday, where the weekly word is ignorant.

Ode to one who loves her sleep

Do not tamper with my temper,
she said,
never wake me up
when I’m asleep in bed.

Men a lot braver than you
have tried,
with the result
that I had their hide.

My temper when wakened is like
the wrath of a god,
it scathes, it burns,
it kills at a wink and a nod.

The wounds I inflict
with my nails run deep.
Therefore do not, I repeat,
wake me up when I sleep.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2008)

Once again I could not resist a prompt from Mad Kane, this time for temper, temper.

Click here for the Morgensterns' collected literary crimes in English and German.

About my favorite color

My favorite color is red;
on chilly nights I wear
red socks in bed.

When it gets warm outside,
I take my bike out
for a ride.

Its color, as you might have
guessed, is red
cause that’s the best.

Red also rhymes
with daily bread;
it’s what we pray for
and what keeps us fed.

My grandpa’s car is red,
and what a life that man
has led!

In winter red is very good
because it is on
Santa’s hood.

Some roses are red,
and those are said
to best impart
the love in one’s heart.

To make my color poem full:
please do not wave
red at a bull.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2008)

Posted for Colorful Poetry at The Miss Rumphius Effect and Color at One Single Impression.

Counting to four

This land is flat,
my nanny is a rat,
my sister is a gnat,
and you are fat!

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2008)

Inspired by BlogFriday’s invitation to write on the topic of “flat”.

I cannot explain it

I smoke, and the mirror
shows no smoke

In fact, the mirror
shows neither my pipe
nor my hand holding it

In fact, my face
and I
are missing as well

– Bhoot (© 1898)

Note
I pulled out this poem by my close friend Bhoot because Totally Optional Prompts' theme Smoke and Mirrors reminded me of it.

Image

My soul mate’s soul is like delicate silver,
Two lissome white seagull wings
Her feet,
And in her dear blood
Rises a blue intimation
Of things
All miraculous

– Peter Hille

English version by Johannes Beilharz, who writes:

In this translation I deviated quite noticeably from the German original, e.g. by avoiding the second person address and using third person instead ("her"), with the intention of rendering more the feeling of Peter Hille's poem or its inner intention, as I experienced it, than the actual words.

Peter Hille (1854-1904) traveled widely in England, Holland and Italy before settling in Berlin, where he became friends with Detlev von Liliencron (Germany's leading impressionist poet), Richard Dehmel, Rainer Maria Rilke, Otto Julius Bierbaum and Else Lasker-Schüler (who mystified him in her Peter Hille book of 1907). Lived most of his life in poverty, helped by friends. The Rowohlt Literaturlexikon 20. Jahrhundert (1971) calls him "the fragmentist of impressionism, who succeeded in recording momentary sensual and psychic impressions in an idiosyncratic manner." Along with Lasker-Schüler, he is also considered a precursor of German expressionism.

Distant greeting by telephone

I call you on the telephone:
Good morning! – How are you, my dear?
I’m listening to your voice’s tone.
It’s lovely, soothing and so very clear.

Through wire I kiss you on your distant ear,
You’re mine – aren’t you, my sweet?
How ever I hurt you when I was near:
Please do forgive me – I entreat!

You’re fine? – Great! – Worried about money?
Never you mind, the cost is not that much.
I have to go now and hang up, my honey.
Next time I’ll write to get in touch.

– Joachim Ringelnatz (1883-1934)

Translated from the German (which can be found here) by Johannes Beilharz.

Note
This poem was written in the days when not everybody had a telephone and definitely before the advent of free local calls or flat rates. If Ringelnatz were alive today, he'd have to rethink and write about wireless communication and e-mail. No doubt he would.

Copyright of translation by Johannes Beilharz 2008.

Jimmy Cain: Sliver

Me and my dawg Sliver

So I says to my dawg Sliver,
Sliver you know one thang

And Sliver yawns right
in my face and I
don’t like her breath much

But still I tickle her belly,
and Sliver she don’t
say much, just gives me a
quick lick and a blink

That one thang I’m talking about,
I says, is that life’s a bowl
of dog food – it sure stinks,
but I’ll have it in a pinch

– Jimmy Cain (© 2008)

My buddy Jim Cain claims this was inspired by Cafe Writing's February Option 4: Can You Picture That.

The above photo is by Beverly Lussier. Her artist page is here.

Some kind of passion

Passion to last from here to eternity

Momentarily lacking the necessary inspiration to write something myself for Sunday Scribblings' PASSION prompt # 99, I decided to resort to the services of the Love Poetry Generator as my best shot at a poem full of singeing torridity. What you do is enter a number of words in boxes. Here is the result:

M y L o v e

Your skin glows like the orange, blossoms grave as the rose in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your oud voice and leaps like a lizard at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great titmouse wing.
I am comforted by your slip that I carry into the twilight of zipperbeams and hold next to my lips.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of dew.
In the quiet, I listen for the last thud of the day.
My heated mouth leaps to your bosom.
I wait in the moonlight for your secret strap so that we may undress as one, mouth to mouth, in search of the magnificient black and mystical delight of love.

Free from compositional rhetoric

Triadic Memories by Morton Feldman, played by Roger Woodward to abstract expressionist art and French and English spoken gibberish.

Ouw-oo!

"Let me down, let me down!"

"Yahoo! Dumped you in the croop you dirty breek!"

– Iself

Note
Reading about the composer Morton Feldman that he "began graphic works, with open pitch and rhythm, and music 'free from a compositional rhetoric' in early '50s," I decided to write poetry following the same principles. This is the first example of a poem that is free from compositional rhetoric. It is also quite obvious that its pitch and rhythm are open.

Retroactively attributed to Sunday Scribblings #107 – Compose.

BIG BAD HAIKU

This is a BIG BAD haiku,
making mince meat
of its smaller siblings.

– Johannes Beilharz (© 2008)

The state of the art in automatic translation

Wenn die Minni
im Bikini
in der Sonne sitzt
und der azurblaue Himmel niederblitzt,
dann stehn die Nachbarjungs am Zaun
und sehn: die Minni wird ganz braun

– Felix Morgenstern

Google's automatic translation of this ditty:

If the minni
in bikini
sitting in the sun
and the blue sky niederblitzt,
then stand on the nachbarjungs zaun
sehn and the Minni is quite brown

As anyone lightly conversant in German and English can tell, Google's translation skills are mostly distinguished by a great potential for improvement.

Is Babelfish any better? Here's its result:

If the Minni
in the bikini
sits in the sun
and the azure sky down-flashes,
then stehn neighbour-young at the fence
and long: the Minni becomes completely brown

OK, so Babelfish knows a few more German words than Google, but still:

Alleluia, us human translators won't run out of work if this is the state of the art in automatic translation...

Emily Dickinson, poem 479

She dealt her pretty words like Blades —
How glittering they shone —
And every One unbared a Nerve
Or wantoned with a Bone —

She never deemed — she hurt —
That — is not Steel's Affair —
A vulgar grimace in the Flesh —
How ill the Creatures bear —

To Ache is human — not polite —
The Film upon the eye
Mortality's old Custom —
Just locking up — to Die.

Overlong morning haiku

A tingling headache
extending into
imaginary greenery
behind my head

– Iself (© one December morning in 2007)

An annotated sailing poem

What shall we do with the sober sailor?
… so early in the morning?

He missed his boat oh no!

He’s been missing a number of boats
Truth be told

Like the rum boat*, the hum boat**,
the society boat***,
the boot boat**** and the new boat*****.

Thank God there’s the old boat

To which he is used
At least that

– "Sloop" John B. (© 2007)

* Otherwise there would be no complaining about sobriety
** Otherwise there would be song
*** Otherwise there would be company, including three marvelously gilded lilies most likely
**** Always good for a kick in the you know what
***** That is yet to emerge

Snail survival stratagem

The snail
with its stalked eye
spied a boot
which was walking by.

“Oh no,” he thought (or she),
“this big loud thing
is bound to bring
death or misery!

Down with my eyes!
What I can’t see
will never do
any harm to me.”

Narrow escape
and lesson learned:
If you close your eyes
you won’t get burned!

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2007)

Product liability disclaimer
Successful application cannot always be guaranteed.

Ringelnatz on silence

Silence

There are some people who bow
To those given to extended silence
With a serious brow.

And then there are those who resent
Contemporaries with a silent bent.

All in all, noone should confuse
Silence with a statement that is of much use.

– Johannes Beilharz

An attempted English paraphrase of the following poem by Joachim Ringelnatz (1883-1934):

Schweigen

Manche Leute verneigen
Sich gerne vor Leuten, die ernsten Gesichts
Langdauernd schweigen.

Manche Leute neigen
Dazu, zu grollen, wenn andere schweigen.
Schonet das Schweigen! Es sagt doch nichts.

Robert Frost: The Road Not Taken / Der andere Weg

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as l could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.

– Robert Frost

Der andere Weg

Ein Weg trennte sich im herbstlichen Wald
In zwei, doch ich war leider allein.
Als zaudernder Wand'rer sah ich kalt
Dem einen nach bis dort, wo er bald
Sich krümmte ins Gehölz hinein;

Dann sah ich den And'ren, genauso fein,
Und hatte vielleicht das bessere Ziel,
Da sein Gras wollte begangen sein;
Obgleich, und das galt für mich allein,
Entweiht hätt' ich beide ebensoviel.

Beide an jenem Morgen gleich lagen
Ohne Spuren, von Blättern belegt.
Oh, ich schenkte den Ersten späteren Tagen!
Weg führt zu Weg, so wollt' ich's wagen,
Auch wenn's mich hierher nie wieder verschlägt.

Ich werde ergriffen Dir davon singen
In fernen Jahrzehnten als mein Lied:
Am Scheideweg nach kurzem Ringen,
Nahm ich den Stilleren unter die Schwingen,
Und das war der große Unterschied.

– Übersetzung von Peter Morisse (2001)

Morgenstern zoology

The wingambat

The wingambat haunteth
through weerowarowood,
the ruby fingoor taunteth,
and cruelly laughs the drood.

– Christian Morgenstern (1871-1914), translated by Johannes Beilharz (*1956)

Note
This is a translation of Morgenstern's "Der Flügelflagel" (see preceding post).