I
Our home alone midsummer night party was memorable
as was to be foreseen Eventful even
not only did we have great fun (we also had a quarrel:)
I was delighted to have beloved strangers so close around me
Young Beautiful Humanoids Each One of Them
And some new faces even that were pretty
impressive like the curly artist Hannelore and Leonie.
an all-round democratic teacher no kiddin
(which always makes me violently happy ‘cause I love them
At first sight I fall again and again That makes it always
dangerous and I know full well it is not a good idea
But I can’t help it and I cannot and will not resist it
I resist enough in other things in other branches of the stormy worldtree
But anyway the wind blows we swiftly kick started the party)
Alex, the student that can be said to be really free,
came all the way from Germany (Yes from the fairest
of German cities Weimar I discovered to my amazement)
and he made, beside his usual enthusiast remarks, a gorgeous houmous
and Altan was sweet as always a gently tender steering presence
soft spoken almost silent but at the heart of the party
merely merely down the stream of conscience is he
a living proof of what to be a humane human being might mean
Melis was (and is most probably) mysterious as an aristocratic lady
from cosmopolitan Constantinople now deeply buried under Istanbul,
she carries that awareness as an aura she has
not to show off for it speaks for itself
Hristina spontaneously blunt and endearing in her walk and talk
with her deep voice and her volcanic Balkan grace
Discovered the garden and reappeared on the steps
of the terrace in the only snapshot that I have
We did think in passing about the project
The installation to be made on my poetry of incongruities
Leonie, our slender teacher with Egyptian hands
Suggested dancers in the buildings and that was only her first masterstroke
Dancers there will be naked promised in the sublime of building of the ruin
Because clothes as second skin hamper the meaning of architecture
As third skin all photography of buildings is always empty
Even if that makes no sense but naked bodies will reveal
The true meaning of architecture: to hide and
harbor the bare life of weak beings in the flesh
Everything is architecture stated Hollein
And he wasn’t all wrong
Medium means milieu not means
But that everything is or can and should be poetry
That is rock science just under the waterline
[alles is architectuur zei Hollein
En hij had niet helemaal ongelijk
Want medium is milieu geen middel
Maar dat alles poëzie is of kan en moet zijn
Dat staat vast als een paal
Die net niet boven water staat]
Then we moved on to a haiku exercise
How to complete the fully finished by now almost well known slogan
(always ascribed to Gramsci but incorrectly for it is not the same
And not entirely his in any case for it is also ascribed to the
Great but forgotten Romain Rolland:)
Pessimism in theory optimism in practice
I gave my first guess: ambivalence in aesthetics
Then all joined in (with a little help from our friends
Like herbs that inspire better than wine):
female aesthetics was the first of leonie
I rejected not knowing in aesthetics was considered
Unbuilt, androgynous, queer, eccentric, play, negligent
Orgasmic and all that jazz but then I suggested we invert
The thing and suddenly leonie again with an ace
‘Aesthetics in between’
I was in awe and promise that it will be somehow immortalized
But alas a quarrel came from this
For Leonie with the egyptian hands was unhappy
when I said she was obsessed with feminism
(as can be seen from the list above)
so she said she could take me on on this
could she know what a ferocious warrior she was talking to
(light inflammable like all spirited substances choleric hysteric
A terror a true party pooper especially with booze in his guts)
So when she criticized his library no kidden he lost it and took her on
Guessing that her knowledge of postcolonial studies was maybe also lacking
But that this does by no means mean that she did not take colonialism seriously
(Well… what could we do – with such violently happy inhospitable host
For a brief moment we were all a bit lost )
But we more or less got back to business with
the wine and let the dust sink in the barrel
(I heard her whisper she would drop it for this time)
While me explaining that nothing is such good beginning as a good quarrel
That “touch ground” is the best of methods to start as it is always halfway
To true reconciliation or ‘verzoening’, literally ‘rekissing’ as we say
To really meet, get real and become mate and mime
The homerian laughter and embraces of the godforsaken gods
So Alex (him again) had the excellent idea
to put on music and I pointed to those contagious
irresistible talking heads so we were burning
dancing down the house before we knew it
The brandnew guests even changed to velvet
dresses to go with my purple jacket
Believe it or not but that was impressive,
that is what taking partying seriously means …
But lo and behold at 11 punktlich all went
like ghosts who heard the bell of twelve
Eleven 11 ELEVEN can you imagine
I thought I go after them and who knows get them red handed
in some café in the city or at least dance off my delight all by myself
At half past I was already ready with cleaning up
But then at 5 to 12 it started pouring cats and dogs
so I happily remained and stayed under my canopy
and thanked the gods and dreamed up this versification
to kill my empty handed nighttime home alone
I had my comeuppance I thought but was in resignation
In joyous transport as Frederick Händel would sing
dear dear Leonie, you made a great impression on me
If you are angry still, you are only halfway as we say
Please call again with that marvelous friend of yours
We all deserve a second coming for Christ sakes
A redeeming party of that endearing little squadron
that we somehow form a salivating salvaging young
beautiful band of nomads gypsies wanderers and philanderers
(with myself in the preposterous role of savage messiah
in the gatherings of the stay behind forces
may the force be with you if you cross me:)
like a workless Hercules I wrote this tribute
to the utterly useless art of partying
as primordial ritual of all Mankind oops humanity
a fart on the dance floor of the cosmos
legless are we by essence
invaluably flawed infallibly floored
and are were united in our differences
like an unemployed poetaster I sung the praise
I mumbled zegedronken drunk in a midsummernightsdream
(house)(party)(poop)
‘and thank you all for coming out’
as Marshall Matters shouts violently
happy at the end of his ranting on Encore
please keep coming even if some unlucky
shots may detonate and risk to ruin it all
for even the gods on the Olympic meal
quarreled a great deal [especially with fresh flesh:]
come on please come again and again
for feasts are momentous rehearsals of faltering fraternity
[and sisterhood, sorority!:] feast are and should be
excruciating rimes and misdemeanors ludicrous
a symposium (Yes, Aristophanes, we are hermaphrodites)
feasts are tentative monuments of trance and transience
superbly superfluous in their utmost necessity
Tiny Repetitions for Eternity
II (the art of metamorphosis)
I took pictures of the renmants
Of the primordial houmous Alex made
Almost a week ago so it went crusty
On the rims of the bowl in neo-Aztec Airlines style
Appeared an entire cosmos
Metamorphosis is the one thing
That always fascinated me
(I tried to transcribe Arachne
The spider into the tale of Icaros
In one of my first failed masterpieces
Of too many things at once I tried to talk And that
is still up to the present day my problem)
But this time transience turned
into an artwork All by itself
turning houmous into humus
Seems easy but simplicity
is first and last of any art
Waw what a thaumaturg he is
(Alex that is)
taumaturgy beloved students (dear children) is the art of wonders
Like making rain and more of those tricks
Empedocles the philosopher who wrote in verse
was particularly Good at it He made a scandal
he jumped into the crater and the volcano spit out his sandal
wow that was cinematic! But one wonders what he meant
Translating everything to everybody
in all possible languages is my trade
my dammed job and my doom but
do not underestimate my desire
If I am a lover it is of language in the first place
Sayed the schoolmaster but he Went
Mad unfortunately he imitated Diogenes
For Christ’s sake ‘a Socrates gone mad’
as Plato wrote in an apocryphal epigram
to honour him in an oxymoron of reason
I hope one day not only to write
But also to speak only in verse
Now That would an image of perfection,
a gesture of ‘epic grandeur’
A living proof of I du no Watt
I do know all allen watts ways of zen
Shockproof waterproof idiot proof even
Opening again and again uneven
the doors of perception
Born to be wild
Raised to be a white knight
Called to become a barbarian
camel, lion, child in eternal return
zarathustra’s or was it zoroaster’s wisdom
It was not for nothing Nietzsche:
first load yourself with luggage Camel
then fight for a cause, move mountains Lion
finally play in your sandpit and look at the world in wonder child
In one of his most beautiful pages Foucault
makes a distinction between the savage
And the barbarbian and it boils
Down more or less to this
The savage is wild by nature and therefore
Innocent The barbarian knows but rejects
culture And is therefore mighty dangerous (Oh Lord)
Help us when the ferocious warriors strike
But be blessed when the chief of the natives invites you
To his not so humble hut, his almost palatial tent
Even I you all hate me I all love you
With a passion that scares me too
For an instant for the time window is closing
In the paradox of Russell all sets are united
The set of all sets has bel et bien itself as an element…
(As usual the after party ended somewhere in limbo
Came a flat lying laying 8 to symbolize End and Infinity
Mating Einstein’s brains with the guts of a bimbo
The coincidence of opposites lies in synchronicity)
III (mail to Melis)
Thank you Melis, all that jazz is more or less
nothing less or more than juggling with too many balls
in thin air balancing some beautiful extremes
I simply try to translate everything into verse
a ridiculous attempt to immortalize the futile
As an exercise to amuse myself with a great work (for a while)
How to Turn mud into gold is the way
of the alchemist & poetaster for ever and a day
why I am if I am not versatile? (While it lasts
the entire art consists in living as if in extra time )
And may be it all boils down to simply this
Singing brings us to the essence of things
Bathroom songs are echos of our soul
To sing about mere existence is
not much but it is enough for me
The old time religion on the other hand never was
Oh dear Mozes why did you steal the idea of the one god
From Achnaton? You confused the sun with the warrior god
And that his name was forbidden did not help
Pantheism and animism should be restored urgently
In their old glory not to believe it all really but
To relieve us from the curse of one god who is first revengeful
And then all knowing (pretty annoying bad while you have fun in bed)
And in the end All loving (believe that after his hideous crimes
entire cities he destroyed A true terrorist he was
in Egypt with his mass killing of the first born)
Jaweh was a bastard and Allach is not that much better.
God is love said the Christian priests and terrorized the children of man some more. All a bit of a bad joke and a tremendous yoke we might never escape
But Atlas unshrugged is a dangerous dream too as we know
Ah what am I ranting against religion and why bore you of all people
With this, I don’t know really but it just came to me because I feel
You feel the same about it maybe. And moreover It is not funny when you realize
That some verses of this preposterous mailbox poem might get me killed.
It goes to show you how dangerous religion really is. Even Hinduism
I fell in love with due to a brahmanian princess Ranjani has now its
Murderous identity extremists who kill Muslims by the dozens
That is why we should get together across cultures in a party
Full of culture shocks to prepare for the future shock of globalisation
A movable feast is the name of game without frontiers
The slogan could be: Party pigs and bar flies of the world unite
The old drunk of my childhood babbled
In the first days we will land, today
in love tomorrow in the coal sacks
That is what he said, that is what he sang.
The mantra of love or whatever we call it
Of commons of sharing and caring
the so called practices of Commoning,
Of coming together and sit and eat and drink and dance
together in a primordial Anthropological gesture
can maybe somehow save the world.