God: A Biography, by Jack Miles

Eins der klarsten und schönsten Bücher, die ich kenne, und lustig. Eine Biographie Gottes als der literarischen Hauptfigur der Bibel. Wie er allein ist und, als er dies bemerkt und feststellt, dass er ohne Spiegel nichts von sich wissen kann, sich den Menschen schafft, als Ebenbild seiner selbst, um dann herauszufinden, dass der nicht Spiegel ist, sondern Widerspieler. Wie er sich distanziert, einläßt, aufspielt, straft, belohnt, geliebt werden will und der Liebe nicht trauen kann und dann schließlich im Buch Hiob, dem letzten Buch des hebräischen heiligen Buches, erkennen muß, daß er zum Schrecklichsten in der Lage ist und verstummt. Nach Hiob wird er sich nicht wieder "persönlich"zu Wort melden. "... wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein." - Aph. 146

Friedrich N. 
Keine Sorge es liest sich wie ein intelligenter Krimi, der Autor war Jesuit und ist somit ein schlauer Verticker von gemeinen Wahrheiten und er hat Witz zur Gelehrsamkeit.

T.S. Eliot

THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK

by: T.S. Eliot (1888-1965)

ET us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

 

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

 

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

 

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

 

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

 

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--

(They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!")

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--

(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

 

For I have known them all already, known them all:

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

 

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

And how should I presume?

 

And I have known the arms already, known them all--

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)

Is it perfume from a dress

That makes me so digress?

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

And should I then presume?

And how should I begin?

 

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

 

I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

 

* * *

 

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

 

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it towards some overwhelming question,

To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--

If one, settling a pillow by her head

Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;

That is not it, at all."

 

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--

And this, and so much more?--

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

Would it have been worth while

If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

"That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all."

 

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--

Almost, at times, the Fool.

 

I grow old ... I grow old ...

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

 

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

 

I do not think that they will sing to me.

 

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" was originally printed in Poetry, June 1915.

Edna St. Vincent Millay - Prayer To Persephone

Prayer To Persephone Be to her, Persephone, All the things I might not be: Take her head upon your knee. She that was so proud and wild, Flippant, arrogant and free, She that had no need of me, Is a little lonely child Lost in Hell,—Persephone, Take her head upon your knee: Say to her, "My dear, my dear, It is not so dreadful here." Edna St. Vincent Millay

Georg Büchner

Danton's Tod 2. Akt 2. Szene

Erster Herr.
Was haben Sie denn?

Zweiter Herr.
Ach, nichts! Ihre Hand, Herr! die Pfütze - so! Ich danke Ihnen. Kaum kam ich vorbei; das konnte gefährlich werden!

Erster Herr.
Sie fürchteten doch nicht?

Zweiter Herr.
Ja, die Erde ist eine dünne Kruste; ich meine immer, ich könnte durchfallen, wo so ein Loch ist. - Man muß mit Vorsicht auftreten, man könnte durchbrechen. Aber gehn Sie ins Theater, ich rat es Ihnen!


und noch eins aus "Lenz"
Müdigkeit spürte er keine, nur war es ihm manchmal unangenehm, daß er nicht auf dem Kopf gehn konnte.

Heinrich Von Kleist

Heinrich von Kleist
an Adolfine Henriette Vogel

 
Berlin, nach Michaelis 1810

Mein Jettchen, mein Herzchen, mein Liebes, mein Täubchen, mein Leben, mein Liebes süßes Leben, mein Lebenslicht, mein Alles, mein Hab und Gut, meine Schlösser, Äcker, Wiesen und Weinberg, o Sonne meines Lebens, Sonne, Mond und Sterne, Himmel und Erde, meine Vergangenheit und Zukunft, meine Braut, mein Mädchen, meine liebe Freundin, mein Innerstes, mein Herzblut, meine Eingeweide, mein Augenstern, o Liebste, wie nenn' ich Dich? Mein Goldkind, meine Perle, mein Edelstein, meine Krone, meine Königinn und Kaiserinn. Du Liebling meines Herzens, mein Höchstes und Theuerstes, mein Alles und Jedes, mein Weib, meine Hochzeit, die Taufe meiner Kinder, mein Trauerspiel, mein Nachruhm. Ach, Du bist mein zweites besseres Ich, meine Tugenden, meine Verdienste, meine Hoffnung, die Vergebung meiner Sünden, meine Zukunft und Seligkeit, o, Himmelstöchterchen, mein Gotteskind, meine Fürsprecherinn und Fürbitterinn, mein Schutzengel, mein Cherubin und Seraph, wie lieb' ich Dich! -

Aus: Deutsche Liebesbriefe. Eine kleine Auswahl von Goswin Peter Gath. Verlag Butzon & Bercker Kevelaer Rhld. 1951

Yeshayahu Leibowitz

Yeshayahu Leibowitz

Robert Frost

Fire And Ice	User Rating: 8.9 /10 (561 votes) - vote - 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Print friendly version E-mail this poem to e friend Send this poem as eCard Add this poem to MyPoemList
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. Robert Frost

e. e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your by e. e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body. i like what it does, i like its hows. i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss, i like kissing this and that of you, i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs, and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new

W.H. Auden

If I could tell you

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

W. H. Auden (1907 - 73)

The Bite of The Night - by Howard Barker

I stole this from Howard Barker via Samya Kaleb

They brought a woman from the street 

And made her sit in the stalls 

By threats 

By bribes 

By flattery 

Obliging her to share a little of her life with actors 

But I don't understand art 

Sit still, they said But I don't want to see sad things 

Sit still, they said 

And she listened to everything 

Understanding some things 

But not others 

Laughing rarely, and always without knowing why 

Sometimes suffering disgust 

Sometimes thoroughly amazed 

And in the light again said 

If that's art I think it is hard work 

It was beyond me 

So much of it beyond my actual life 

But something troubled her 

Something gnawed her peace 

And she came a second time, armoured with friends 

Sit still, she said 

And again, she listened to everything 

This time understanding different things 

This time untroubled that some things 

Could not be understood 

Laughing rarely but now without shame 

Sometimes suffering disgust 

Sometimes thoroughly amazed 

And in the light again said 

That is art, it is hard work 

And one friend said, too hard for me 

And the other said if you will I will come again 

Because I found it hard I felt honoured.