Merci, Monsieur Marceau

In autumn 1986 he gave me about an hour of his life. We talked about Auschwitz and love, about language and absolution, about Chaplin and apartheid, about poetry, Picasso and power, about resistance and reconciliation, about . . .

At one point he said: Shshsh, and now let's five minutes talk without words.

Magic? Eyes talking. No ears needed. Silence. Thoughts flowing, waving. Question and answer dancing. Dreams. Understanding? Yes. It is possible. Magic!

May the one and the other think I am (too) sentimental: Afterwards I felt these had been very special moments in my life. I had personally met a wonderful wise human being.

So, what could I say about this poet who did not need words?

With the implicit understanding that James will take it as what it is thought to be - a compliment for his wonderful idea - I do ask you to visit him at nourishing obscurity:

There you will find all the words which right now don't come easy to me.

. . .

. . .

The importance of being E(a)rnest II

New chapter in the most thrilling case Ernest Chambers vs. God.

In a letter signed "God" the accused invokes immunity from "some earthly laws".

Read more here.

My closest friend says he feels reminded of certain human mass murders who would not accept the International Criminal Court by choosing almost the same reasons.
But he says also that he is sure Mr Chambers will insist on the defendant's appearance in person. "And he will focus on the tiny word some, argue that immunity from some earthly laws implicates that for some earthly laws the defendant does not invoke immunity."

Obviously to be continued.

Another Lip Service Day (for Peace)

As said, today is another Lip Service Day: The so-called International Day of Peace.

What's about Famine-Day?

Or will all the actions fill but one little stomach? Today? Right now? The stomach of any child soundless whining at its mother's breast which has no milk?

What is yoga as peace in action but naively acting for the sake of acting?

Peace Day? Or just another day for wheeling and dealing?

Pay Day?

Did you already order the Better World Shopping Guide?
Its FREE ... ehem . . . With your tax deductible donation of $20

Or the better world HANDBOOK?
It's even a bit freer . . . With your tax deductible donation of $50

- - -

Ah, perhaps today I am a little unfair with some nonprofit organisations.

Therefore: only those feeling blamed and insulted by what I wrote above ... only those are meant.

And now for something not completely different.

Today's Peace Day reminds me of the first poem in many many years that I spontaneously wrote in February 2003, when heinous warmongers pulled the strings and let their illiterate puppet threaten the "alliance of the unwilling" by saying "You're either with us, or against us."

New World Order

Those
pleading for peace
without diplomacy
are being taught:
You are an enemy.

- - -

According to Tetrapilotomos the puppet, which barefaced claimed to be a "peaceloving person" could have also declared: "Peace is not of vital interest to my masters. God bless me ... eh, them."

"To tell the truth", Tetrapilotomos went on, "I'd rather prefer that one day will be said about these and other masters, their puppets and other useful idiots, what in 1588 was a dictum in England: 'God blew his breath, and they were scattered.' Of course, absolute peacefully, and it needn't be a celestial being; a tiny little butterfly in the Amazonian rainforest would do."

Much ado about doing not much

Coincidence?

Yesterday, I quoted my closest friend, Tetrapilotomos:

"Sometimes I think: Past is. Is presence. Impossible to let bygones be bygones or even forget about. It’s there. Is presence. And maybe herein lies the reason that we remain unable to learn from the past."

What I had not been aware: Yesterday was so-called Children's Day. In Germany.

At night I read one of these BBC-Listeners from 1959, which - to my great delight - I had only recently rediscovered in a "forgotten" box.

And I found this advert.

Yes. Past is. Is presence. Nothing changed.

Why?

It is not due to any existing or not existing God's will. It is a - perhaps ... probably the infamy of mankind.

And today is another Lip Service Day . . .

And tomorrow . . .

Nazim Hikmet had a dream

Nazim Hikmet had a dream:

Yaşamak bir ağaç gibi tek ve hür
ve bir orman gibi kardeşçesine,
bu hasret bizim.

To live like a tree and at liberty
and brotherly like the trees of a forest,
this yearning is ours.

- - -

Thus spake my closest friend, Tetrapilotomos:
"Sometimes I think: Past is. Is presence. Impossible to let bygones be bygones or even forget about. It’s there. Is presence. And maybe herein lies the reason that we remain unable to learn from the past."

- - -

The following poem by Hikmet is dedicated, especially to those being in power in Turkey, pretending to love the(ir?) country, pretending to be the most democratic democrats ever on Turkish soil and under Turkish sun, pretending to be guarantors of free speech and guardians of freedom of opinion, and who - like most of their predecessors - have banned Nazim Hikmet’s books from public libraries.
I LOVE MY COUNTRY

I love my country :
I have swung on its plane trees, I have stayed in its prisons.
Nothing can overcome my spleen
as the songs and tobacco of my country.

My country :
Bedreddin, Sinan, Yunus Emre and Sakarya,
lead domes and factory chimneys
are all the work of my people
who even hiding from themselves
smile under their drooping mustaches.

My country.
My country is so large :
it seems that it is endless to go around.
Edirné, Izmir, Ulukıshla, Marash, Trabzon, Erzurum.
I know the Erzurum plateau only in its songs
and I am ashamed
not to have crossed Tauruses even once
to go to the cotton pickers
in the south.

My country :
camels, train, Fords and sick donkeys,
poplar
willow
and red earth.

My country.
The trout which likes
pine forests, best freshwaters and the lakes
at the top of mountains,
and at least half a kilo,
with red reflections on its scaleless, silver skin
swims in the Abant lake of Bolu.

My country :
goats on the Ankara plain :
the sheen of blond, silky, long furs.
The fat plump hazelnuts of Giresun.
The fragrant red-cheeked apples of Amasya,
olive
fig
melon
and of all colours
bunches and bunches of grapes
and then the plough
and then the black ox
and then : ready to accept
everything
advanced, beautiful and good
with the joyous admiration of a child
my hard-working, honest, brave people
half hungry, half full
half slave...

tr. by Fuat Engin

The Importance of being E(a)rnest

Mr Ernest W. Chambers once again proves the importance of his being: The 70-year-old Senator of Nebraska (U.S.A.) sues God.

My closest friend Tetrapilotomos first reaction: "I am relieved Mr Chambers did not sue God's wife, too. The more I am looking forward to the trial. It would be interesting to see how Mrs. God manages the earthly affairs, while her husband is living behind bars in his own country."