" L Y R I C & A R T "

"Romantic poetry is a progressive universal poetry.
Its vocation is to unite all separated forms of art again."
Friedrich Schlegel

An Unasked Question

Her portraits of some happy days with mountains in the background
And the cross: stowed in a box - also pictures of children -
One in my hand; and a discoloured shape on the wall, which reminds me
Of a mosque in watercolours, where her daughter now sits and cries.
So far away, so far, too far away from her,
What she didn't understand but never confessed.
The picture doesn't have to be found - hidden like
The doubts about her life, written on small folded papers.


The sea is a huge tear of God.
He's shed it into the darkness,
The blackness of space.

That's what the old women
Of our village say,
When they sit at the quay.
And with eyes wide open
They stare out to the grey water
The whole day.
Apart from that they say nothing,
They keep silent ~ they keep silent.

It had not been the sea
That robbed them of their husbands.
Those are just remembrances
Of their mothers' sisters.
And to him who knows the sea
This will seem like lies.
Of course it had been the wars!
Of course it had been the man's wars!
They have robbed them of their husbands:
Wars outside all over the countries,
Wars inside, within the hearts.

The sea, it thinks,
Yet, no-one can hear it.

It is not what the waves talk,
When they beat against the quay,
When they roll along the sand-beaches,
When they stretch and meet each other
With a splashing noise.

No-one can hear what the sea is thinking about,
Not out on the open sea and not on its bottom,
And even not on its bottom.

The voices which the women's husbands
Believed to have heard
Had only been the rumbling,
The rumbling of the earth
Inside their bosom.
And had never been the silent, flowing thoughts of the sea.

Just a misunderstanding,
A mistake
Like so many things
Man believes in.

Anyhow, God was amused by this,
So he hasn't shed any more tears,
So he hasn't shed any more tears,
In spite of the endless
Blackness of his space.

The sea, it thinks ~ the sea, it thinks.
But there must be someone,
Who can hear it ~ who can hear it.
What else could be the reason
For the old women of our village
To sit at the quay, day after day.

The sea, it thinks ~ the sea, it thinks.
What else could be the reason
For the old women of our village.

They sit there, eyes wide open.
Look, how they stare
Out to the grey sea.


Raindrops, here and there,
Touching the mirroring water.
Waving a picture of dark blue,
Green trees rising into depth.

This pond has always been a friend,
A confidant to our souls.
The face just shows the sky above,
Heavenly perfect in its part.

Is it true, what you dreamt,
That your father has
Wept for the first time
That you can remember?
Just one sign told everything;
Your mother
Stayed quiet, listening,
Knowingly she nodded.

Is it true, what you dreamt,
That your brother said
What he thought?
And you will always remember
All the huge moments of trust,
When your sister had
Broken all the lies on the walls.
Dreams, the pond told me...

Heavy grey clouds moving
Slowly across the woolly depth.
Raindrops everywhere,
Diving into the mirroring water.

Stupor Mundi

Nella notte
sulle mura
del nostro palazzo
guardo giù
sui tetti
di Palermo

E penso a Federico,
il mio amante,
mentre il mio sguardo
divaga lontano verso l'est.

Finalmente là: un chiarore sull'orizonte -
un nuovo giorno porta nuova speranza al mondo.

Molto lontano si coronò re di Gerusalemme,
che conquistò per sé senza guerra e che si divide con tutti.

Ed io penso alle sue poesie,
poesie in lingua delle persone di Palermo,
delle persone le cui ama come se stesso -
i siciliani, gli arabi, gli ebrei ed i cavalieri del nord.

Poesie sul tempo ai suoi castelli
sul altro lato delle montagne
poesie sul tempo in Arabia
sul altro lato del mare,

poesie su me ed il nostro amore.
Le sue poesie su tutti di noi dicono
che mi mostra ogni giorno:

Ci ama tutti, ci apprezza tutti ugualmente
Quando parlò con i suoi amici per notti intere,
furono sempre d'accordo.

Si capirono,
non capirono le guerre delle altre potenze
e non vennero ancora capiti da quegli altri.

Johannisnacht (Norenberc-Tryptichon - I)

Glasscherben auf gebrochenen Pflastersteinen.
Mit beiden Händen unter der Buche im Innenhof
Graben wir im Kriegsschutt
Mit kindlicher Freude an unseren Funden:
Porzellansplitterschätze und Löffelschmuck.

Amseln singen in der Dämmerung des Gartens,
An dessen Stelle früher Hinterhäuser standen.
Birken biegen sich im Wind und ich blicke stundenlang
In das sich bewegende Laub um darin zu lesen:
Gesichter, Figuren, die ganze Welt.

Neogotischer Wirrwarr aus geschwärztem Sandstein -
Das einzige alte Haus in unserer Straße, welches die Bomben einst verschonten.
Aus meinem Fenster sehe ich an seiner Fassade die Kopie einer alten Kreuzwegstation:
Christus, der sein Kreuz die Straße hinunter zum Johannisfriedhof trägt.


Feuerbach (Norenberc-Tryptichon - III)

Hier oben und mit dem Rücken an das Denkmal Feuerbachs gelehnt,
Blicken wir auf die Stadt. Bäume werfen lange
Schatten auf die Grasflächen des Parks.
Sind wir zu dritt, zu viert oder zu fünft? Zahllos?
Einer fehlte immer - nun alle. Irgendwo verstreut dort unten.
Und das Lachen meiner Kinder, wie sie um das Denkmal rennen,
Erinnert mich an unser Lachen damals.
Doch die Schatten der Bäume
Waren immer schon im Hintergrund.

Konnte Feuerbach lachen, als er hier oben stand,
An das Beste für uns alle zu glauben versuchte
Und doch seinen letzten Glauben verloren hatte?

Void (Magenta Emerald I, act 1, scene 3)

The path to the end of the island
Leads to a landscape
Which arises from the idea
Of pure nothing:
Just a hint of land -
Fragmentary, meagre -
The end of the island.

And everything is surrounded by sea,
Penetrated by sea,
And the water mirrors the sky,
That huge sky dome.
So water and sky merge to
Pure nothing -
They merge into a void.
Emptiness is surrounding me,
At the end of the island.

And now she's standing
Here alone -
In this void.
And now she's standing
Here alone -
In this void,
In this void...

And then the moment comes
When I cannot distinguish
Between world and image,
Surrounded by nothing
But sky and the mirror image -
Unclear, indistinct -
This eternal void.

Appearance (Magenta Emerald I, act 2, scene 1)

Peace - perhaps that is what we're longing for.
If we could ever name that longing.
But we never can reach that feeling.
That peace we are longing for
Is not from this world.

Peace - that peace I think we are longing for,
Is no condition but a feeling
Which controls us, which is revealing
The secret we're reaching for
Detached from this world,
Which we barely touch.

Peace - that peace we are always begging for
We try to demand by shouting,
We try to demand by beating.
We hope some-one will hear us.
But peace disappears,
The more we rage.

Water (Magenta Emerald I, act 5, scene 3)

Rain, rain falls down,
The waves wash
Round my feet.
Everything becomes one again,
And water, you surround me
With your strength...
How to give birth to hope,
If we are not able
To believe anymore?
And so we just try to believe,
To hold us tight, instead of real faith -
With our fear.

Sulamith & Maria

Koro, mi estis mortonta cent fojo kaj lernis:
Kiam via aromo venis, via aromo povis vivigi.
Mi donis la animon cent fojo kaj falis -
Via voko venis kaj via voko donis novan vivon.

"Es sind die beiden Elemente gleichsam,
die sich einerseits fremd gegenüberstehen,
die aber zu verschmelzen meine Aufgabe ist -
einerseits die Erinnerung an die Heimat
und andererseits der Reiz des Herrlichen und Schönen,
das ich in der Gegenwart genieße.
Damit ist die Sehnsucht gemeint,
die den Norden beständig zum Süden hinzieht -
seiner Kunst,
seiner Natur,
seiner Poesie."
[Friedrich Overbeck]


"Caritas abundat in omnia,
De imis excellentissima super sidera,
Atque amantissima in omnia,
Quia summo Regi
Osculum pacis dedit."
[Hildegard von Bingen]

For all times
Hedges, enclosing the garden,
I look upon.

For all times
I can hear and see no more
The horrors behind.

For all times
I won't leave this painting
On the wall,
I've dreamed myself into.

Gaining time - all stands
Still in numb colours,
But life does not end.

Gaining time till both
Reach each other's hand,
Anytime - all the time.

A flooding chime
The tide may break through the varnish.
The tide may break through the varnish.

"Kuru toprak nasil içerse
Her zerresiyle
Gökten inen yagmuru

Sen de öylesine ebediyete göçtün.
Ebediyete göçtün.

Gamli sözlerin artik bitsin,
Ama uyuma sakin!
Uyuma sakin!

simdi sen, seni seven
Ve esirgeyen dost´un
Kanatlari altindasin.
Dost´un kanatlari altindasin."
[Jalal ad-Din Rumi]

Im Licht der Vernunft [Albert Einstein - Tribut]

Du stehst auf und nimmst deine Geige und spielst gegen die Einsamkeit.

Die steile Treppe ~ hinauf in den Olymp ~ die Türe öffnet sich: Gleißendes Licht ~ hell, so hell, ~ doch kalt, so kalt.

In der Ecke der Kammer ein wohlgepflegter Schrein ~ der Schrein des Patriotismus ~ auf den von den Herren des Hauses mit lauter Stimme hingewiesen wird ~ der all die moralischen Requisiten des Massenmordes birgt ~ welche all die Menschen ~ für all ihre Kriege ~ gehorsamst entnehmen.

Doch nicht bei dir ~ Nicht wie bei all den Anderen ~ Bei dir in der Ecke der Kammer ein wohlgepflegter Schrein voller Bücher, Gedanken und Ideen ~ Ein Schrein der Vernunft, der Hoffnung Europas ~ Auch das Licht in dem Raum birgt sie - jene Vernunft - und strahlt sie hinaus ~ durch runde Dachluken ~ über die Stadt ~ hinaus in die Welt.

Die Brechung des Lichts im Fensterglas relativiert Vernunft zu wahrer Weisheit ~ und ruft auf zur Liebe der Schöpfung ~ als ein Leuchtfeuer in der Nacht.

Du liebst die Menschheit ~ doch die Menschen um dich hast du alle verloren ~ in der Tiefe der Gedanken ~ Doch sie sitzen noch um dich und sehen zu dir auf.

Aber ich wende mich ab, sehe hinaus in die Nacht ~ Meine Blicke suchen in der Schwärze nach unseren Kindern ~ nach deinen Kindern, nach meinen Kindern ~ die ich durch deine Liebe zur Vernunft verloren habe.


C'est la ville d'or - comment sens tu
La douleur, le bonheur, la parole que dit tout?
Dans mon jardin tu plantes des fleurs.

C'est ma grande vie - ce sont les robes
Lumineuses, ombragées, qui flottent au vent,
Parlent des fleurs de la beauté.



In the borderland where we stand,
Close together - hand in hand.
In the borderland where we met,
Out of different worlds - common sentiments.
The borderland - just a photo
Of all the friends I've lost and left.
In the borderland...

Through icy snow we drew a trace,
On sunny days we laughed and played,
Those games we played, they always meant
Everything, our common land - the borderland.
So many dreams that we all melt,
So many things that we all melt
Together - to one world, to one dream.
Our thoughts met
In the secret land - the borderland.

[La Sanktigo ~]

È la forza creativa,
Il miracolo del ritorno interminabile,
Gioia entusiasta,
La speranza esaudita di generazioni innumerevoli.

È la partenza inarrestabile,
Nonostante ogni limite,
Il desiderio ardente,
L'illusione ingannevole di una gioventù eterna.

È il risveglio.


Je zima, je zima.
Kám pûjdeme?
Nechzi, nemohu.
Je uz pozdê.
Táje, táje.


I'm reading in the clouds like in books of fantasy,
I'm forming passing clouds into colourful paintings.

Lonely in the tower
I am on the rooftop,
I can feel the wind
Touching my skin.
And up there,
High above myself,
I can watch the clouds
Always changing:
I see faces
Of kings and queens
And monkeys, cats and
Wings of sphinxes, griffins...

I create friends in the silence.
I'm reading in the clouds,
I'm reading in the clouds like in books of fantasy.

I animate passing clouds.
No-one can stand this loneliness.

(English translation of 'Rettung')

When I'm looking outside ~ out of my eyes ~ into life - watching the world outside ~ I feel so dizzy ~ so dizzy ~ I notice myself drifting ~ in strange ways ~ I'm turning around and up-side-down ~ without any recognizable structure in these ornaments ~ I'm rolling and I stagger ~ within this storm ~ this chaos ~ chaos formed out of things, moments, happenings, all these events around me ~ all this whirling disorder ~ all this whirling disorder without visible frontiers ~ a storm of emotions, of pain, happiness and sorrow ~ a storm of colours ~ millions of colours ~ depressing destinies ~ destinies which destroy our world's order ~ and those destinies which occur every day...~ and when I'm looking outside ~ out of my drifting body ~ I notice the chaos storming and turning, and turning round and round again and turning round and turning and turning...

Now I'm standing in the middle of my room, and I take a step ~ and one step further ~ and one more ~ in a circle ~ and I'm bowing ~ bowing to the side ~ and more and one step more ~ and I start turning ~ turning around ~ first slowly ~ but then faster and faster ~ turning around and around and around ~ I'm dancing like a dervish ~ I'm moving like a spinning-top ~ around the axle ~ around my axle ~ and I'm turning and turning and turning around and around...

Suddenly the storming ocean surrounding me stands still! And the whirling chaos and the devouring swirls don't move anymore! And now, while everything is standing still and nothing keeps turning... I can see the ship! And I can feel the saving plank in my hands! The saving plank which I have given birth to myself!

Lyrics by Thomas Buchner, except marked quotations.
Lyric Consultants: Graeme Baillie and Matthias Reinwald

All paintings and graphical works by Thomas Buchner. Some works are still for sale.
For more information please contact us