|
|
|
|
Best Poems From
ERHARD HANS JOSEF LANG
(January 8,1957)
|
|
| |
|
|
21.
|
In Bird's Manner (translation)
By words potent with wings flapping
I release thoughts of mine to be free,
I express the things that have come to be
the keep-sakes of my mind's cage.
I let my pen go flying by the wire of thoughts,
After winds of change I am striving,
I am testing for my high-flying undertakings the wings of birds.
Of stories I recount that got caught up in my traps
there in the backyards of our lives
between earth and heaven.
Nothing will be allowed to remain hidden in between those spaces.
written in the Finnish language by German poet Bastian Fδhnrich
style-adapted translation by Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
22.
|
In Creation Visions Always Come First
In creation visions always come first·
First you picture a thing,
Scheme it out in your mind,
Fancy a novelty that could be fun and feasible,
Then only, after the envisioning is done,
The world one day might get the chance
To marvel and enjoy
A new Variegation that will have made a difference
And mattered in creativity's due time, for
In creation visions always come first·
Except for that Primal one, as modern science contends,
If those dwarf nest thinkers had been right with
That theory of blind chance evolutions of theirs
But, of course, they are not! , since
In creation visions ALWAYS come first·
This has been witnessed throughout all spheres eversince
And it shall always be the same:
Mind is the gatherer of the stack.
No gorgeous fruit and rich harvests in the fields
Without virile people to tend to.
No grandeur and splendid castles in the countryside
Without royal clans in the country.
No majestic sports arenas
Without heroic competitors to stride in, for after all
In creation visions always come first·
Every single thought I bear in mind
And all that I do
A continuation of the inexhaustible,
Stuttered grand Boom of Primal Creation -
Likewise so with all other tings in the world,
Be they the crudest matters on Earth,
Or the most heavenly under the sun.
All are born in and out of mind.
Therefore it is our privilege to
Conquer and enhance this world through mind, as
In creation visions always come first·
© Erhard Hans Josef Lang
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
23.
|
Inroads Inside Outside on One Globe
There once was a man from far abroad -
Two and a half days of a crow's flight away -
Who settled in
With gleeful comfort to attune his high-flying currents of life
To a simple sustainable rhythm that would swing forever on with 'soul'
In a haven, insular
With natural born amiable hearts of friends
On lush green fruit-laden shores
Far east of Eden.
And yet there was the tinkling of accursed money, too, heard
In this island paradise of rich soils and heavenly brown beauties
Where he, the stranger and sunny boy, came to be admired soon
As Caucasian from a country of never-dwindling Sabaean riches,
Who had a complexion of spotless Parian marble.
And yes, he did his best to be accommodative to each and
Everyone he came to acquaint there -
A bit too much even so, at times -
Inviting, in the end, also such human characters as
The crabs in the guise of men hanging on
Adhesive to another's poor shoulder, for
Deemed strong enough to carry one's own miserable self through cumbersome life.
But where other foreign settlers in the same predispositioning state -
With their financial securities of livelihood at risk of becoming the spoils of crabs -
Succumbed to attitudes of the more exclusive snotty sentiments,
Living lives behind high inner walls of haughtiness -
Outwardly even also drawn around some of their very houses -
And, thus inaccessible to the natural spirit of love that is there in the air everywhere,
Call only upon such hearts of heads of families
In despair and misery and without means
Who know to make also use of the delinquent's crow-bar
For the love of their own wretched selves,
He only believed in the good of all people, after all, also in those
Who happened to be going a bit out of a good friend's ways -
While driven by utter needs and ignorance of how to make ends meet -
His own simple heart never lost its basic confidence in man and
Still ever stayed on to be true to his own
Unalloyed pure principle of working out a happy human
Co-existence with whoever they might be.
And he learned to understand and speak the language of the natives
In the country where he had settled down.
And he came to know also such words of poor human characters as the
'Greedy or miserly or stingy' - called the
'Kuripot' in the tongue of the island folks,
Civilized to a high level of Asian humane morals.
And once upon a time, years into his happy life in the chosen paradise
On a longer journey once abroad
To the hoary ethereal lands of glittering Worldmother India -
Whose lofty mind is ever akin to all youthful spritely spirits such as his -
On a longer ride inside a fast-moving, fuming train of rattling heavy Indian steel,
Halfway into his 1359-km-trip from southern Tamil Nadu's Chennai
To northeastern West Bengal Kolkata,
There in this voyage compartment of his -
Two rows of benches, six passengers seated on each, facing one another -
Amongst the other decent looking Indians, mostly women,
Happened to be one man that had entered the compartment
With a trail of different padlocked suitcases and plastic bags in his wake
That he stowed away underneath and on top of his seat that
He had taken right opposite of our chap from the story.
Now, that man, as smart-looking as podgy as he was, had
Displayed one unique, outstanding character feature on his part:
Every now and then he used to get up from his seat,
Taking up one of his smaller suitcases, unlocking its padlock,
So as to take out some sniff and other powders and
Spliced spiced nuts and gums and leaves to chew on
To gratify the various vices of his tongue and other senses, then to be
Closing, locking up and placing back the coffer,
Only to repeat the same procedure after just half an hour or so.
Same thing he also was seen doing time and again,
To his plastic bags, each time tying them up with a string in place of the lock.
While on the long journey sitting together with the others,
The others from their viand took out fruits,
layed opened up right next to them,
To be shared with anyone but the one who had the many bags and cases,
Who seemed to be so fully contented with his very own closed device there,
But who, sadly, was as ungiving and
Stingy and miserly and greedy as
Only anyone can ever be,
As a person who in the island paradise of our chap in the story
Were given an appalling name like 'kuripot'.
A but even stranger observation with regards to that man
Was yet soon to be made:
All the shopping bags of that 'kuripot' on the train,
With his sly, impressive moustache there,
Seemed to have stemmed from boutiques for the wealthier classes:
The bags were of various colored plastic with
The addresses of the shops they come from in thick print.
According to the letters
On all of his three or four tightly filled shopping bags,
Our 'kuripot' had originated from
A town in central Eastern India
That goes by the name of nothing else but 'Kuripot'!
Are all people in Kuripot then maybe as kuripot as
That miser from Kuripot on the train?
Since in that pacific paradisical island country of the story,
Which as early as in the 12th century once already had come
Under the cultural sway of India's erstwhile Sri Vijaya period of expansivism,
The name kuripot curiously has been and still is being given exactly to such a person?
Had it already been, during those early days of history,
Commonest saying among the sea-faring Indians,
That someone found utterly stingy reminded one of
Anyone from the town of Kuripot in Orissa, with a
Bad reputation for its townfolks' exceeding miserliness?
As it had been widely known then?
As that trait in people from there,
As seen at least in one of its locals,
Even to this very day seems to exist!
This story is a live history lesson of the hidden inroads
Underneath, above and across the borders of cultures.
The good chap in the story, I think, could well have been you,
As well as I, too.
Isn't that what we more like are?
(Dedicated to 'The Second Coming of a Minnion in April')
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
|
| |
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
24.
|
Intricacies Of The Gay Versus The Twain - Germinated Along A Track Of Tongue
Related to the German word of 'schwόl', that is to
Describe a hot and humid summer day,
It is in the rarefied modern German speaker's
Distinguishing vernacular, ripened on
A good dash of standard human common sense,
That another, similar term, 'schwul',
(German slang for the gay homo) ,
As far as the implied straight use
Opposite the unstraight U is concerned,
By token of its being an altogether other class of
Extreme hot weather scenarios,
Two-dotted upraised as an outstanding thing as
Which hardly any dude-haughty appraised
Counterpart versus all in-ventile double-matchers could be,
Which the latter, in their school of studying
Mysteries of the twofold feel of sex in life
Sense like some outlandish blending's bread for
Passionate animal glands gone sexually bland,
Were but highly fertile sour dough,
Fermented solely for the creation of one single one-fruit tart,
Unleavened dough as it were to the sensors on tongues which are
Customized to an easy-quickening baking by a
Deep down holed-out two-way deli oven heat.
The perception of sensations
Of the free-styled lover,
That one who's into the one on one among men only, clearly
Felt rather as lame an achiever,
A homey inversion of our foremost of playmates on earth, by
The one, a lover of wholly another one, who is
Synchronizing the inner secreting with the pairing of another's secret total -
Even if as basic and schwόl as only
The rarest good old-timey school of schwul could get -
Self-bespeakingly defines none else -
All along the many favourized playgrounds for
Life's tandem-energized riders and their beridden -
But a species of outspecializing specialists:
The gender of the
Hut homid(e) ,
Drowsy-eyed short-time huts hoppin' fawn,
A subclass within the races of homo sapiens,
Who, for the most part of them, ever are dying to be living the
Happy gay at their fragile trick-tracked congresses
In their reclusive huts
With the unchecked middlemost organs of
Their very own likes.
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
|