Montag, 25. April 2016
To Apollo
To you, ever-changing god, I pray!
Oh, that you, the soul of passion,
The heart of music, the eye of art,
Would direct your rays to me,
That you would grace my searching thoughts
With the fleeting glance of inspiration!
Oh, Apollo, beautiful, desperate luminary,
You magnet of metaphors,
You synopsis of symbols!
How much ink have you swallowed in your long days,
How many chords have your holy ears heard?
The most wretched of us humans,
Artists, Musicians, Poets,
We sing your praises, day and night.
Can you not hear our strained voices,
Our devastated pleas?
How many hours have we not spent searching,
looking,
praying,
wishing,
hoping
For you!
Because, knowing of your inexistence,
We can't help but depend on your absence.
You are our blue flower,
Our promised land,
Our holy grail.
And we will not let you go,
Unless you bless us.



A search, a question
Fluid motion in old patterns, you and I.
See, I even used the polite form.
Not that you'd appreciate that.
Do I know you? Do I even want to?
Will your spell be strong enough?
Will your promise keep it's word?
Or will you wither and die?
Will you bend with the remover to remove?

What ever is it I want from you?
I want you to be my muse,
Be my inherent poetry,
Draw from me my last breath,
Pull on my last string of words,
Make my written worlds crumble and fall
And help me live out of nothing but love and red wine,
Space and poetry,
Beauty and verses.

I want you to tell me of blue flowers,
To give me a motive
And tell me to expand upon it.
Be my resistance,
Be my impediment.
I want you to make me waver,
Make me shake with the sheer power
Of poetry,
Make my skin itch with tortured sentences,
Make my imprisoned words dance,
Make my verses restless,
With the promise of freedom.
Make me
unhinged
and derailed.



Dienstag, 27. Oktober 2015
One last time,
raincleaned Beijing-streets
through the windows of a bus
Blue and white.
You're th incomprehensible,
wild and untamed pulse of this city,
beating my heart
to race your rhythm.
Chinese men between street lamps,
hitting, sitting, fighting, laughing.
Your many women,
Cut ups.
Feverishly pulsing their way through you.
There is a girl,
drowning in your stream.
With freshly cut hair and wordless feelings,
she's pulled with you
and watches
and loves
even herself.

Alles Liebe,
Mer-Yan



Donnerstag, 24. September 2015
To Venus
https://art.famsf.org/sites/default/files/artwork/dawson/0815201416110020.jpg

Why,
You, goddess of youth and beauty,
inspire the hearts of men (and women)
throughout the centurys that follow you
Is not a question often asked.
They search perfection, all of them.
(And, saying "beauty in the imperfect" they, too, search for that same perfection.")
But you, in easy grace,
flaming body,
with your striking looks,
Your eyes, desiring and desired both,
are only ever seen for that:
Your beauty and your love.
Does it ever bother you, Venus?
Your missing personality?
And that they all,
all,
are made so stupid by your beauty?
Their foolishness.
In your heart (that flaming heart),
Are you not jealous of virtous Athena,
Her strength and wisdom,
that bring to her the men
that in their hearts and heads
So far exeed the brainless mass of your uncounted followers?
Are you stupid, Venus?
(Or are they?)
Or are you just beautiful?


Ich weiß selber nicht, was das sein soll.
San Francisco, de Young Museum.
Alles Liebe,
Mer-Yan



Montag, 21. September 2015
Ursprungsalphabet nach Nora Gomringer
Als Aufgabe für unseren Literaturkurs gab es heute ein Alphabet.
Das hier ist für Lamea ;)

Ich war
Achilles Ode an Patroclus,
Berlins Trümmerfrau, die sich grau leuchtend aus der Trauer erhob.
Ich war Lucien
Carr, der Geliebte, der nie geliebt hat.
Demian, der uns allen die Schicksalsergebenheit lehrt,
Eric Lensherr, und seine tragische Liebesgeschichte mit Gerechtigkeit.
Ich war Turings
Fuckboy, der leugnete,
Grindelwald, der für das größere Wohl kämpfte,
Helena, die Rationalität für Schönheit tauschte,
Ich war das
Inferno, das Sodom und Gomorra dem Grund gleich machte,
Jack, der seine Frau an Neil verhurte und Tagträume an Allen und Lucien schrieb,
Ich war
Kafkas untreuer Freund, der seine Werke nicht verbrannte,
Luna, die Thestrale fütterte.
Ich war
Merlin, der durch die Wälder lief und mich Gewitter lehrte,
Neil, der nackt am Mittagstisch saß.
Ich war
Orpheus Lautenlehrer,
Und
Paris stumme Stimme der Logik,
Ich war der
Qualm über Troja,
Der
Richter, der Danton verurteilte,
Shakespeare’s Sommertag,
Tucholskys Waffenknecht, der seine Sprache brav polierte
Und Uranos, der Eunuch, der Venus aus den Wellen blutete.
Ich war
Viola, die nur zu genau wusste, zu welcher Liebe Frauen fähig sind,
Ich war
Walt Whitmans Notizbuch, das in den Hudson fiel,
Xanthippe, die nur Aufmerksamkeit wollte und die nicht vergessen wurde,
Yoko Ono, die Bilder aufschrieb und Lächeln in Boxen einfing,
Ich war Odins
Zögling, der Gott des Chaos.


Alles Liebe,
Mer-Yan

P.S: Ich lege Blumen auf mein Grab für all die Tode die ich starb -Staubkind- ;P



Sonntag, 20. September 2015
San Francisco
Wiederbelebungsversuch hat wie immer super geklappt... o.O
Hier auch mal wieder was von mir, jedenfalls ;D

Ode to San Francisco
Bay City,
You
heaven of hasty minds,
You
haven of looming words,
In your beauty you're drowned in red and gold
likeness, in colour and intensity (density) of the poets blood that flooded heated veins,
50 years ago,
heartbeating.
Your fogs are almost lifted,
This evening.
How nice of you to great me with such clarity.
I thank you,
home of madmen
you hymn of mental illness
in your prime.
You are
only briefly
indulging my imagination
With the promise of old rebellions,
which, come the time,
will be rebelled against
by me and those of my blood,
If rebellion is to stay the peak of art.
Your spirit is old,
San Francisco,
Swallowed by the gold of those hungry minds, of those
who can not afford to be poor.
The time of your decease,
in red and gold glory,
is coming.
We will burn you down again
and wait for the repeated
rise from the ashes.
It may come
or not.
You,
fantastic capital of rebellion
manifestation of anarchy,
will shine again.
The light that will make
you,
though,
is yet to be found.


Alles Liebe aus der Stadt die immer träumt,
Mer-Yan



Montag, 2. Februar 2015
Biologie
Fensterschneeblicke zeigen
Waldgestöber
Und das Schweigen der Bäume.
Kleidweltradierungen, die das Weiss ins Negativ gezogen hat.
Französischflüsschen
Aus Sedimenten
Tafelbilder in grünrotschwarz
Aus Kreuzen und Pfeilen
die sicherlich einmal
Einen Sinn ergeben haben.

Alles Liebe,
Mer-Yan



Kurze Grüsse aus Frankreich
Weltenöffnung am Rande des Blickfensters.
Musternehmen vom Unbekannten
Sortieren. Verarbeiten.
In kleinen, gut verdaubaren Bissen
hinunterschlucken
Und als Sprachfetzen
wieder ausschneiden.

Alles Liebe,
Mer-Yan



Freitag, 5. Dezember 2014
Recovery
Wish,
chases dreams
to catch them
before.

Castle of Iceillusions,
cracks
Under pressure of plans for happiness.

Strings,
they swing,
pulled by the winds
a small replacement
for your push.

Alles Liebe,
Mer-Yan



Sonntag, 16. November 2014
Another rooftopnight
It's another rooftopnight,
I'm Standing in the clouds,
Fist around your heart
But falling all the same
And underneath, the world's a mess.

There's only one strong world,
I have one heart alone,
But when cut, we bleed
And our blood is poisonous.

In a rooftopnight I stand,
I'm staring in the silence,
Just a mind today,
But a soul forever.
And underneath, the world's a mess.

There's only one strong world,
I have one heart alone,
But when cut, we bleed
And our blood is poisonous.

Peace is a song
And I'm singing it,
Even if my voice is hoarse.

There's only one strong world,
I have one heart alone,
But when cut, we bleed
And our blood is poisonous.

The last rooftopnight is here,
I am standing in the rain,
Fist around your heart
That's falling down with me,
And in my heart, the world's alright.


Eine etwas andere Art Songtext, gehört zu einer bisher unveröffentlichten (weil unfertigen) Story über einen Sänger.
Hoffe, es gefällt euch!

Alles Liebe,
Mer-Yan