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Best Poems From
ERHARD HANS JOSEF LANG
(January 8,1957)
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65.
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One-liner: The Mind Is One Network
How could one imagine what it
sounded like when starting to
learn a foreign language,
merely from the books, and had
never been to the place
where they speak that tongue,
nor had heard it spoken
at any time otherwise?
Might one still know, just by
way of approximating imaginations,
how it sounded like?
'But it's only so in your imagination! '
the voices of your close-by,
echoes of mind, come reverberating
back to your ears
from the ignorant world.
By any means,
could it be true
what they'll be telling you,
that you're imagining things - only -
and this would have nothing to do with
reality? !
I, for one, can't believe anyone
to have a right to say he or she
be a sole owner of mind,
though I do hold there's some secret about mind.
Does any scientist know what it is?
- Are we then well-advised, therefore, better not
to be telling anyone about the greater things,
in for being cooked in mind,
but not yet full done? ? -
I, for one, want to express
that I strongly feel that
we - all of us -
as we stand and fall -
are all connected up together,
connected by one and the same mind,
and I strongly feel,
that one may well listen in,
listen in to this one mind
- way through the distances,
and even way through time
and the times.
So, why wouldn't we be able to
innerly hear, factually true,
another's speak,
be it even that the speaker were
on another stellar galaxy's
enlivened global planetary? !
How much more so with innerly
hearing your next-door woman,
or the unknown soulmate
out in the open
wide streets of life?
And even all the dead got
all their seed minds, I feel,
left there behind,
out in the far lanes of
vast stellar memory planes
of landscapes and plains
in the cosmic mind,
all units being more or less safely
stored away there,
for the future accesses,
by their living partners, or
of those yet to live,
in mind.
If only we the living
were more acknowledgable
of the unique oneness
impressed on our
own most precious one mind,
beyond all the minded
objects of realized materializations -
in mind.
This is a one-liner: the mind is one network.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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66.
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Personalized Overflow Of Three Rivers' Mighty Confluence
Threefold is the source of the fluid-liquid element.
The flow of rivers on the Earth
Are but imitations of the flowing principle and
The tides in cosmic spheres, as it is,
On the planetary plane.
The streaming of the fluid elements in all of this station Earth's waterways,
In its unseeable, though most widely spread momentum
Is kept aflowing with its fuel for the rover's mobility ever self-generated
From the deepest gurgling in the underground plants of
The Earth's cisterns and caverns
Through Nature's raingod-supervised complex recycling machinery,
Working in between the laden skies,
The catalyzing agents of the air we all breathe, and
The solid soiled grounds below our feet,
Way up and way over, for all of them, in the end,
In most tremendous onslaughts of power in Nature at work,
Jointly flowing in unison of biggest nature,
Grandest scene of all times and
Throughout the three worlds of current elements in the universe,
Yet to be gushing
Into these most paleo-ontological and hugest ocean beds of ours
On the surface of this planet earth of oddmost spinnings.
As in some instances the mystic triad of the many-layered cosmic fluidum
Comes to even manifest itself,
In moody display of a weaponry of arms of an ordinance
Higher than the plainly disorganized physical
And organized human plane,
A show by spirited gods with a naughty interest in making certain matters coincide,
As a figure of three-in-one, in the very landscapes
Where divine Nature's human think-tank heads sport about -
'Hey, can't you really, really remember me any more, after all? ' -
While a traveller through Southern India's highlands, and
The only third-party member in a group of
Otherwise British and local Tamil girls and boys,
I was about to break away from so I'd be
Free to take a different route more appealing to my personal interests,
As I was standing on a corner,
The hushed voice of a deep and long, silent stare into my eyes
By a foreign face, which came out of the blue,
Spoke to me
The face of a young traveller, another German, like myself,
Who had come near where I was standing to meet with me.
Only after eventually lending speech to what
His eyes fixed on me could not reveal
It became clear to me that the young tourist was
My one-time chance lodge mate in another South Indian
Highland spot, not all too far from where we then met again,
Some two years prior to our renewed seeing each other.
During our first short time together
I had become used to be looking into the face of a companion
With long shiny hair billowing down onto his shoulders,
With whom I then had gone on one day
On a long walk-about out in nature through forests and mountain villages
Within the range of the hillstation where we both and his then girl-friend were lodged,
Whereas the young man's mane from times before
At that second instant of our meeting one another had been no more.
My unexpected newly met friend from before,
In addition to the travel company in whose hired van
I had come up to that very town there
With me, myself, thus was to make up for a set of three -
Who, each of us, then had happened to be, at the same time,
At a place of confluence of three rivers
In a highland town - called Three Rivers -
'Munnu aaru' in the language of South India,
Named so after three rivulets that
Unite into one stream of current
Right there at Munnaar,
In the borderland between the Indian states of Kerala and Tamil Nadu.
Three of a kind swept onto the same shore
On the brinks of chance with the flow of time,
Is a deep cosmic event that
Hails from spheres higher than our small world's,
As such an engaging source of inspiration that reminds us also to
Get the world moving on by resolute leaps of triple strides.
Causes and reasons, pleadings and reasonings,
Decisions and intentions,
When only the gods are in a mood to be smiling on us,
Will work themselves out at once
In Three Rivers, flowing together.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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67.
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Prayer (translation with its original in Finnish)
Show me your face close-by, O Life.
Grant me to touch it with eyes,
For I love it, yes I do,
although it were ugly.
Nourish me with a spirited fire, O Life.
Step inside of me through mouth and nostrils.
For such a man, whom life's never-ending flood doesn't get on the move
along with it onto its journeying to the ocean of eternity,
he's just a pool of stagnant waters rotting away.
Teach me, O Life, that I would be able to open my heart unto you,
when you speak in the burning shrub.
For Your voice means death and life to hearts.
There is no pitying that heart which is being nailed to a cross
by Your own hands or
which will break down under Your iron sole:
For such a heart's measure will be full.
Pity only to that heart, a thousand times:
pity to the heart, that has never tasted of you, O Life.
Delicious food of God's worms.
by Finnish poet Uuno Kailas (1901 - 1933)
translated by Erhard Hans Josef Lang after its original
in Finnish:
RUKOUS.
Näytä minulle kasvosi läheltä, Elämä.
Suo minun koskea niitä silmilläni.
Sillä minä rakastan niitä, vaikka ne olisivat rumat.
Ruoki minua henkesi tulella, Elämä.
Astu suuni kautta ja sieraimistani sisään.
Sillä se ihminen, jota ei elämän sammumaton tulva tempaa mukaansa matkalle ikuiseen mereen,
hän on vain seisovaa vettä ja mätänee.
Opeta minua, Elämä, että minä osaisin avata sydämeni sinulle,
kun sinä palavassa pensaassa puhut.
Sillä sinun äänesi on sydänten kuolema ja elämä.
Ei ole sääli sitä sydäntä, jonka sinä ristiinnaulitset omin käsin
tahi joka musertuu rautaisen anturasi alle:
sillä sen sydämen mitta on täysi.
Voi sitä sydäntä, tuhannesti:
voi sitä sydäntä, joka ei koskaan maistanut sinua, Elämä,
Jumalan matojen ihana ruoka.
* * *
Uuno Kailas
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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68.
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Stefan Zweig (translation with the original in German)
Fulminating, irradescent, roaring,
life takes leaps onward to,
tears away to come along,
and it lets go again of none,
it renders hot, and renders bold,
and makes one joyous and great,
shakes one up and makes one be
more alert with a powerful nudge,
never it allows the tidings of splendour to ebb away,
no it never does -
it seizes you and holds you,
gushing towards onto you,
a torrent takes hold of you,
with you speeding away,
what no wild creek, no whirlwind,
no flood waters can do,
this breathing has done it already thousands of times,
this hot, searing, crystal-clear word.
Cool then and still like a Nordic lake,
glistening and soft like snow falling fresh,
it comes to stand vis-a-vis us,
like a multitude of primeval gold,
that is rolling through the fingers heavy and of an aged red,
beautiful like otherwise only an unspeakable dream,
that looks at you with deep shine from out of a darkening space -
and rises then up, as if reflecting on itself,
and again takes to seizing,
tears away to come along,
yells at you, laughs at you, weeps at you: that am I!
And what takes you into its grip is a longing-for
that is sweet and hauling,
a longing after people, a hot: 'Promise! '
and then it is fading away sounding like a nightingale song.
by Selma Meerbaum-Eisinger (1924 - 1942) , Jewish descendant of German settlers in Romania, deported & liquidated on December 16th 1942 by the Nazis during WW II
translated by Erhard Hans Josef Lang after its original in German:
STEFAN ZWEIG
Selma Meerbaum-Eisinger
Leuchtendes, glühendes rauschendes Leben
springt an und reißt mit und läßt keinen mehr los,
macht heiß und macht kühn und macht freudig und groß,
rüttelt auf und macht wacher mit kraftvollem Stoß,
läßt die Fluten von Glanz nie und nimmer verebben -
packt dich und hält dich und sprudelt dich an.
Sturzflut erfaßt dich und rast mit dir dort -
was kein Wildbach, kein Wirbel, kein Hochwasser kann,
hat dies Atmen vieltausende Male schon getan,
dieses heiße, verzehrende, glasklare Wort.
Kühl dann und still wie ein nordischer See,
glitzernd und weich wie frisch fallender Schnee,
steht es uns an wie viel uraltes Gold,
das altrot und schwer durch die Finger rollt
und schön ist wie sonst nur unsagbarer Traum,
der dich ansieht, tiefleuchtend aus dunkelndem Raum -
und bäumt sich dann auf, als besinne es sich,
und packt wieder an und reißt wieder mit,
schreit dich an, lacht dich an, weint dich an: das bin ich!
Und es packt dich ein Sehnen, das süß ist und zieht,
ein Sehnen nach Menschen, ein heißes: 'Versprich! '
und dann klingt es aus wie ein Nachtigall-Lied.
Note: Stefan Zweig was a Jewish Austrian biographer, essayist,
short-story writer, and cosmopolitan, who advocated the idea of an united Europe under one government. Zweig achieved fame with his vivid and psychoanalytically-oriented biographies of historical characters.
He was born on November 28th,1881 in Vienna, Austria.
He studied philosophy, and then started writing poetry, dramas and translated many French works into German. Eager pacifist, he was dreaming of an united Europe; the First World War deeply hurt him, and was a turning-point in his career.
He started writing short stories, which had great success and made him very famous. But because he was Jew, he had to leave Austria in 1934. Unfortunately nowhere could he find peace of mind, and his despair concerning the war made him commit suicide at Petropolis (Brazil) , on the 22th February,1942, where he and his 2nd wife, his former secretary, who followed him, got a state funeral.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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