Three new poems grow in the nights of winter. And here they are:
Shadow of the Boy
Yes, my children were never born,
And so I am not responsible for their failure.
And I am not accountable for the fact
That they maybe will destroy the world,
Because I did not teach them to be selfish,
Self-serving and striving for success.
I have never believed in the private utopia
That the world is exhausted in self-fulfilment
– and I have not passed on this misconception
To the next generation.
However, and this makes me a little apprehensive,
I was also unable to pass on
What was dear to my mind:
An understanding heart, patience, spirituality
And kind imagination to create a favourable future.
What the heck! It’s none of my business
What happens in a time after me,
And without any inheritance.
* * *
Happiness, the unknown feeling,
Light-hearted, different, but alien
To my life and what is with me:
Well, I can see the full sun on white days,
But its light is too bright and its flame too strong.
There is nothing to it and
There is nothing more to come.
That’s why the delicate moon, the crescent,
Despite all its heaviness,
Is more familiar and less strange to me,
Saturday, the day of pain,
More truthful than Sunday.
You have experienced it,
But you have not felt it,
Seen, but not recognised,
Heard, but you did not understand.
And so no salvation was with you
And you yourself, despite all your beauty,
You were not to be saved.
* * *
The Secret Garden
Of a secret garden I know, so far away, far from here.
– faithful pines, yews, deep beeches and kind limes –
By the water birches and willows stand, deep in the deep ground,
Clear springs bubble up into gentle streams,
Ponds and pools fill, so rich in refreshment,
Within colourful blooming, shining under these wise trees
Entwined with blossoms: Lilies, roses and cosmos,
Borders of blue-rain, laburnum and coneflower
Delighting thousands of butterflies there.
And all the birds: the birds beguile with their lively song
At any time of day. Oh, and the nights smell full of sweetness.
This is truly a place to dream, a lucid way of life,
Enchanted with holy power and magic
And no man’s deceit threatens it, it is pure,
For it is guarded by those who are good of heart.
And from this cordiality the place blossoms
And everyone who is in this garden
Can only become healthy and whole again.
Yes, I know about this garden,
You may have all my knowledge of it – but
Knowledge alone is powerless. Wisdom is impotent:
Cause the way ahead is not so easy to take:
You cannot shorten it, you cannot avoid its obstacles.
You will only find it when you are ready.
You have to walk it yourself, with all your own strength,
Your heart will be tested on the way, every falsehood must fail.
– because the path is the only one that leads to the gate,
And there is no other than this one.
Listen: You must be aware of that at all times:
Once you turn back, it is left forever.
No, you can’t take anything with you,
Because nothing that enters this garden
Will ever be lost again.
And those souls who have entered it,
Are charmed forever.
* * *