ST/A/R-50-54 (Seiteneindrücke)

6 ST/A/R/T +
Nr. 50/2016
Nr. 50/2016
+ ST/A/R/T 7
10
We ever try to fathom why some find love,
And the splinters a seif strews along its path.
The threads we weave to form a person
And those that have connected us expire.
Famili ar spaces now seem bleak and empty,
Cross ing them alone , without her hand,
She is the measure of every nook and cranny.
The smallest signs of her eat at my heart.
Mouth , hands, in search of her true nature,
The eve nness that marked her face , lines
of an icon, as Jaw lensky might have read them,
The comers of her mouth can still make me believe
That she's here. My mind and vision are
Partin g ways , our love beca me true, at last
11.
Partin g ways , our love beca me true, at last
Thu s - with pomegrana tes and all the sym bols
Wlio, as figures , called on her to become
More abstract, to haze the canvas , rattle
All the link s in this chain - I will gather
And weave into a shinin g wreath all she gave.
Wliil e the picture I draw Jacks her colors
The wa lls she painted on, the bru sh she used,
Her play of lines teemed with life that fo llowe d
A cause. She knew what she was fightm g aga mst
But painted flowers ove r thin gs she didn 't like ,
Wh atever drove her was cast into fresh forms
Even when she painted in the negative,
The card she playe d was one that she Jet go of.
13.
Is it blu e, red, or green I should have asked
Wlien they made the ball jump and ro ll from
Numb er to numb er. The formul as for
All that is to come will be connected so as
To relegate us to extra s, stochastic ones.
One last time she gently wave d her hand,
Holdin g the strin gs of our bond, then I saw
lt sink, with her smile, my love.
The flowing lines she painted onto wa lls,
Wh at she expresse d in posture s and masks,
Is now a relic, the game she playe d
Has ended. Every thin g she was
And could have been, the deals she struck,
The images she left us with won' t say.
14.
The images she left us with won' t say,
We can only wake the figures she disguised.
Wh at did she leave us, not to lowe r it
Into a grave but to see to at every turn
Her voice had already become wea k,
Wh en she spoke to all my senses, every moment
Free of anythin g that could tip the balance
Of figures, of expression. Asleep or awake
Situations that took shape tran slated into form
Wliere j aded signs will never find their way.
lt was the in-betwee n where she could soar.
Talk is cheap, but song, and pictures
Light up for falling eye lids, for the
The past that speaks of her today
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12.
The card you play is one you 're letting go of,
And she Jet faces trickle off, into themselves ,
And every line she drew to mark their features,
Beca me a part of all the sma llest strokes
Of her bru shes, chalk lines . She was out to
Unm ask pictures, fly them in the face of
Lun acy . Bra ving doom, defying fate,
She was devas tated. All were lied to
By beauty, but she saw the difference of colors
And bor e witness. No one knows the lucky
Numb er, every stroke will inflict scars,
They' re spread around the picture, take one for free
But ·1ook and choose . Haunted by images ,
Is it blu e, red, or green I should have asked?
15.
Better call it a wheel I' m turnin g round
Than refer to its spokes and their move ment,
The flying steps of their highest moment
Thal took them off their sei course . Outward bound ,
Lifewa rds, my mind is still lookin g that way ,
And only now formin g reme mbrances ,
Of time gone by, from growing distances ,
Tracing a maze of roads and shadow play
We ever try to fathom. Some find love
Parted by fate grows toge ther, at last
The card you play is one you're letting go of.
Is it blu e, red, or green I should have asked?
The images she left me with won't say
They are the past but speak of her today
)
Sketch for a translation by Matthia s Goldmann
Tam una Sirb ilad.ze, ,,no title" (20 15) Oil Stick on canvas 166 x 166 cm