Zuweilen übernehmen wir neue Techniken,
weil jemand von aussen zu uns vordringt,
der oder die versprechen, unsere Schätze
in neuem Licht erscheinen zu lassen.
P, der Europa einen neuen Blick auf dessen Schätze ermöglichte,
bot, konnte
neue Blicke im Dienst alter Verhältnisse bieten.
Krümmende Sorge,
eine, die sich dem Kommenden entgegen krümmt,
sich von ihm bereits verändern lässt,
bevor es eingetroffen ist.
Es treffen und es werden eintreffen:
Menschen, Wellen,
Ströme von Menschen mit konkreten Verlangen nach
Nahrung, Schlafstellen, Verdienstmöglichkeiten.
9.
I’m on morpheme today.
*
A word so fierce it refutes the break.
The dusk is mine.
Child of sleep, raiser of ghouls, take the hurt.
*
No sense in rupture.
*
Morphing one into the other
Crystalline analgesic anaesthetic
The numbing narcotic of loss.
In der Mitte des Lebens
Verliert sich die Neigung zur Faulheit
An der Zither.*
Being in the midst of ones life,
the inclination towards doing nothing
gets lost
at the lute.
This sounds funny because something that tends towards nothingness gets lost at something that does not implicate by itsself something, but only when it is played. So something nothing achieves more nothingness by something that does not exist properly. This is something.
Zitiert nach Tanizaki Jun’ ichiro: Über die Faulheit. In: Merve (Hrsg.): Hannes Böhringer zum sechzigsten Geburtstag. Berlin: Merve, 2008.
I = shit (Dieter Roth)
I = something that matches (misst) itself with the gods not unluckily (Friedrich Hölderlin)
I = ?
8.
The naming of Hannibal’s elephants.
*
They strode out of the Atlas,
flat-headed, fan-eared,
fighting with tusk and trunk,
smelling bad enough to drive the horses mad.
Historians, naturalists, archaeologists fussing
over a single Carthaginian coin.
Snow, and black
trumpeting rock.
*
Names invincible enough.
Names with war in their throats
and a dying hunger.
Spearheads entering flesh.
Mountains being scaled.
*
Only one survived.
Surus, the Syrian.
Indian elephant reaches Carthage from Syria via Egypt.
Names the colour of flint.
*
Their mouths turned blue.
In their brains the names still whirred,
thirty-seven bar one,
whispered by poets
in the form of birds that fell.
The gasp of the last big secret.
7.
I could call you Q, she said.
Like Q for quill, or Quasimodo.
Almost like you, that name.
Or that other, that supplier of miraculous gadgets.
“Nice to know old Q can still surprise you…”
There’s a line worth having, second only to
“If he’s Q, does that make you R?”
*
Renaming him rapidly,
she falls from consonant to vowel,
a white-water rafter
kayaking from fear to exhilaration at the speed of a sudden shout.
*
Between Q, and A, no questions, nor answers.
Just this summoning, simple
as only one syllable can be.
(Abir Karmakar: I Love Therefore I Am, 2006-07, oil on canvas, 30 x 30 cm ( 12 x 12 inches))
Erst Else “sprechen”: Das nagt
am Band, Ballast periskopisch
es sei Partisan
sein Projektil sollst stillen
du Husten aber dass es
der tot tritt die
Spange lebt in deiner Hand
aus Schotter
mangelt dem Projektil
du Else: bare Ballustrade
als Ast verdengelte
deine glatte Leib-
din minigliche
bohrt es Ohr anders
las “spitze Pessare”
als schläfe
durchschlag
