At my window

Single cover (Telefunken, 1977)
At my window

Once to know this here lasts forever
Is not frenzy that soon bemoans the night
Is not color gleam nor candle glimmer
Chased away by the morning's blight.

Once to hold, to feel deep in my veins
This is mine and only shines from you.
Not to cool my head on a window's pane
As heavy fog is wafting through.

Once to hold, to feel deep in my veins
This is mine and only shines from you.
Laments a bird: All my feathers
Wets the rain when I fly across the land.  
Am Fenster

Einmal wissen, dieses bleibt für immer
Ist nicht Rausch, der schon die Nacht verklagt
Ist nicht Farbenschmelz, noch Kerzenschimmer
Von dem Grau des Morgens längst verjagt.

Einmal fassen, tief im Blute fühlen
Dies ist mein und es ist nur durch dich.
Nicht die Stirne mehr am Fenster kühlen
Dran ein Nebel schwer vorüber strich

Einmal fassen, tief im Blute fühlen
Dies ist mein und es ist nur durch dich.
Klagt ein Vogel: ach auch mein Gefieder
Nässt der Regen, flieg ich durch die Welt.

For me, the year was 1978. My friends in school, all were listening to this song. In a way, it was the only song from an East German band, to which we would admit listening. Well, most of us. We would have it on a cassette; today you get it on youtube. This song has been playing for years; and I aged with the band CITY . The lyrics are by Hildegard Maria Rauchfuß, who was 60 years old, when I heard the song first.

And if you like the little texts — written or translated — they are, in no particular order, under Just texts.

Troubled trickster

Photo by Kaique Rocha on Pexels.com

then I thought I stand to steer
on the backseat watching out for her
playing thimblerig with my marbles
whirling wayward off my cozy cushion 

lying in her desolate sedan 
on roads running close sinking in
potholes bumping in bends bare
trees too swiftly swished away 

troubling tricks jolt my ejection
seat unseeded in the race restless
moves on no avail ability now
the motor stalls still in the dead-end

The prompt in my writing workshop was, you guessed it, trickster.

The organizer of the writing workshops here in San Diego has contributed two poems to this blog: Ashen grey and The flower of thought.