julius dreyfsandt zu schlamm - Prosatexts in different languages
21-06-2024
Слухове
любовта пламва за кратко, докато кръглата топлина потъва зад засмукващия трюм
но как мога да я възхваля, когато гласовете ни са насилствено угасени
и с дълбока въздишка, на отворения прозорец, студът на раздялата се изтласква напред
мълчанието ли е накърнено с ръжда и разстоянието заплашва постепенно да се сгъсти в затворен възел?
докато аз отново крия желанието зад разрошената си пушаческа кашлица
Тази сутрин обаче зората се появява отново. тя носи износена светлосиня роба
така че времето е преодоляно и отново рисува въпросителни очи, ориентирани към бъдещето.
Вчерашният ден също страда, изглежда, от мимолетен слух
21-06-2024 om 09:08
geschreven door juliusdzs
un saludo casual
agita tu sombrero de ala ancha hacia mí como un guiño que tiene muchos ritmos.
veo tus dedos extendidos enviando una ráfaga de verano que también es sensual y nos complace a los dos.
tus faldas en capas bailan sin cesar
es común un saludo aéreo que traiciona brevemente la curva de tu boca.
*
de repente aparece tu amor con un traje a medida
*
veo tus ojos brillar de sol
un ligero escalofrío recorre tu cuerpo mientras bebéis la cercanía del otro.
21-06-2024 om 09:02
geschreven door juliusdzs
Κάτω από το ουράνιο τόξο
Βιώνω όλο και λιγότερο ότι ο ορίζοντας επιβραδύνει και η γη φέρνει αύριο φρέσκα λουλούδια.
Και ότι το τραπέζι στο οποίο τρώω κρύβει πάντα μια ακόμα καρέκλα.
Είναι σαν να ανεβαίνω ένα βουνό του οποίου η θέα, αν και βελτιώνεται, με αφήνει ολομόναχο στην κορυφή.
Θα συναντήσω τότε την τελευταία μου αγάπη; Το ονομάζω θάνατο.
Το πώς η αναπνοή γίνεται τελικά θολή είναι σχεδόν άγνωστο σε πολλούς.
Ο χειμώνας μοιάζει με μια φήμη που περνάει με τον καιρό.
Ωστόσο, δεν υπάρχει τίποτα παράξενο σε αυτό. Είναι η διαδρομή ενός ουράνιου τόξου που μας δείχνει τη γήινη ζωή με το στραβό του σχήμα στον ουρανό.
21-06-2024 om 08:59
geschreven door juliusdzs
Megszabadulás egy sötét álomból
A viharok megállíthatatlan erővel űzik a vizeket, és nem csak a visszatérő éjszakai álmok támadják meg a lelket.
De ma sok elsöprő erő hatol be a sejtjeimbe anélkül, hogy üdvözölném vagy odafigyelnék az egómra.
Mintha összeesküdnének, hogy elriasszák a bolondokat, és szándékosan bólogatnak a nyitott elme javára.
De beleolvadnak a testembe, és mégis hordom a szárazságomat.
Hogyan történhetett ez, ki vagy mi okozta, hogy a megfagyott ellenállás hirtelen megszakítás nélküli melegséggel újra gondolkodni kezdett.
(Így sír a kora tavasz, miközben az én télem még mindig ásít).
Múzsám felszabadító ürességet idéz vibráló, fénylő képekkel pávatollas ágyamon.
21-06-2024 om 08:56
geschreven door juliusdzs
20-06-2024
The walk
Following a devotional path means passing several Stations of the Cross
I long had the impression that there was something peaceful about the park, but how and what?
Statues and an altar stand there day and night.
The altar is protected by a large niche. It was once used for Holy Mass. Faith once showed the event.
With my dogs, two barkers on leashes, this place partly occupies the walking route and like the old writer, I make a modest round every day.
The joy lies buried there, however, more than the living greenery can tell.
The desire to choose a tall tree overwhelms me. I want a relationship.
To touch for a moment, to say a word. as if it were a human being sharing my existence and asking for affection. I cannot resist.
Suddenly I discovered a swastika in the bark, almost invisible. it had been there for a long time.
It amazed me, in this place, why such a hateful thing had been conceived here.
20-06-2024 om 22:03
geschreven door juliusdzs
Love
Love grows in the light. Where it is shining, it blossoms.
Even when you are no longer in my field of vision. It is often sung at night.
Sometimes it is just a soft sigh. At other times it is a few moments in a row. Consciousness cannot experience eternity.
They are counted from the season called spring.
It cannot be measured in time and duration, where hopes and longings seem great, wonderful or small, and often not even in measure. It cannot be grasped with one hand and cannot be explained in words.
It's overwhelming. It colours your awareness. Sometimes at the end of contemplation, in depth, in silence...
Love as a bearer of challenges.
20-06-2024 om 22:00
geschreven door juliusdzs
Shoelace love
Before I pull them tight, I make a loop around them (or untie them from yesterday).
My fingers cradle them both and caress them. I give them a kind of hand kiss.
Sometimes they have missed a shoe eye. Then I bend deeper towards it.
and when I have found them between the sock and the leather, I feel myself coming closer.
I want to catch them, hold them
I like a soft one, not too young, not too old, not too doomed.
Sometimes things get in the way. The belly or the knot of yesteryear is too tight.
Suddenly I see holes in my socks. I keep quiet about what I say.
For a while intimate love has left me.
20-06-2024 om 21:53
geschreven door juliusdzs
Wishful thinking
When my heart begs for a resounding melody, sometimes I just want to hit the keys for capital letters.
It seems that black and white doesn't want to echo in my soul. I don't hear the translated echo, I only see it in a string vibration.
It is this muse that is also the driver of my inner self, and more often than not demands lyrical attention, but then through the fingers of creation.
From which only I myself expect something to emerge. I might dab feelings into a Swan Lake.
For me it is like life, as a human being alone.
Where especially the universe will understand me, it is good what I do and has no coldness and may be there and will mature freely in expansion
Should you experience me less on the hard white, know this: My muse and I dream in silence.
20-06-2024 om 21:42
geschreven door juliusdzs
The earthly sky
.
The open doors of my garden give me a glimpse of the green of the world.
I have never had hands of this colour. There are kindred spirits who do it.
In accordance with my character, nature goes its own way.
I feel at home there. I have never had any conscientious objections.
And now, finally, a shower of light is spreading over my property, which is putting a protective layer on my soul.
It's like looking without glasses. Everything looks more beautiful, sometimes mysterious, sometimes an inner glow.
through the ever-expanding grey, seeing deer and foxes and neighbours at their best.
Yes, these magnifying glasses do act like a sunny valve at times.
One of the walls is lined with soft moss. I think.
Behind it lies a part of the rest of the world, and it gives me a free way of being.
And it is a pleasure not to be disturbed by the chirping of birds in the sky.
Seeing blind and hearing deaf is something I can cope with well.
These things give me a well-deserved sigh.
20-06-2024 om 21:39
geschreven door juliusdzs
Eternal fame
What I will become: I'll keep it short;
untouchable on the top
Looking down upon you all
Enjoying all the stars that have gone
before me
You see, I try to reach the highest.
It is a great comfort to me to know that even after my death you have not forgotten me.
That time has not yet come!
It is true that there was a long search before Vondel was found....He was a foundling, it is still unclear to me, but he was found and is a star.
He is a fallen star, so he is back on earth.
You naturally thought of a falling star as someone who rises and falls.
That is obvious, after all most disappear forever in the Dutch dung....too many cows, pigs and poets.
Even my next-door neighbor is on the poets' path.
It's a long way (Pieterpad) but he's doing it.
He writes about those wretched nettles. Yes, it doesn't sell.
My dead father's words : Julius, if you want to write poetry, you have to do great work. And I did great things.
I bought the most expensive fountain pen. I looked for a room under the eye of Simon Vinkenoog.
I stocked up on booze and shag and could not sleep. I exhausted myself with poetry. ....
I used to be a regular wholesale customer of the Hema, they have a great range of notepads.
For years I dabbled and filled the sheets with, if I do say so myself, great work.
Then, as it should be, I hid out in Paris for a very long time.
That's how it should be, I became a tramp.
And lived on the generous handouts of the Dutch,
That was hard, those Dutch. They came with old coins with Juliaantje still on them. Well, that doesn't help in the age of the euro.
So I was waiting for people to find me, the real connoisseurs, and rescue me from mortality.
Unfortunately, I was the victim of a kidnapping by the French immigration authorities.
I was expelled from the country by the latter.
That is how I became a postman.
And I can tell you that I have never delivered so many texts. I know that when I pass by, people run to the letterbox.
Ah, it's nice to work, and grateful too, you know, people are waiting for you.....
And then, when I am in heaven, the people will say goh.... You remember old Julius: he always had something to bring.
They see.....that they will not forget me when I am dead!!!
20-06-2024 om 16:19
geschreven door juliusdzs
A moment
Sometimes you see someone looking at you. It's my eyes that understand the look.
Maybe I am sucked in by the distance. It teaches me to tolerate.
When my love finds no way, nails me to the ground, binds me to the irrevocable. While the soul continues to search, even as the evening fades.
Then sometimes you suddenly meet the deepest in the other, who in a moment, unasked and without words, proclaims the memory.
No, my longing is not dead, it is a value that is alive, for a moment I felt as if I had heard you.
20-06-2024 om 16:15
geschreven door juliusdzs
SHADOW
When I can't see your eyes, your soul slumbers in the shadows.
Do you choose to make yourself stiff for me?
Do you prefer to stay away from me? Or are you an elusive shy one?
Somehow, you seem to draw the night closer and closer to you.
I collide with your smile that reveals a "dark" power that says:
Leave me alone, I have nothing to show you, just my shadow,
That's enough, that's my feeling
20-06-2024 om 16:10
geschreven door juliusdzs
Thoughts in old age ( 1 )
In my subconscious, I have to carry piles of archives. One day is a drop in the ocean, no exaggeration. It seems to me to be made up of chaotic layers.
Of knowledge and feelings, let us say all the ups and downs, innumerable experiences are interwoven in body and mind up to the moment of the present and I seem to be already far into my time, I dare not say how far, but I can already say that my image is slowly decaying or quasi immortalised after the still unknown last moment.
I admit that I don't need to write a memoir, it would be a sum of virtues that would remain with a smile. There are blind spots, too. But people are used to denying them.
Of course they will surface somewhere.
Besides, not long after my deepest sigh, all of the present will disappear from me and everyone else, or be absorbed into a rumour, individual or otherwise, or a commonplace, perhaps with a watered-down photograph.
The thing is, having come this far, at least in years, and this is called modesty, I seem to be part of something I cannot know, so big and wide, but I do not feel like denying myself.
Yet I do not have a complete picture of myself. Nor have I ever really known myself.
I am passing from something to an indeterminate nothingness, from being to oblivion. And where no one takes precedence or stands out from the other.
It is in a fit of complete contentment that I make this observation.
The earthly is often addicted to power and honour.
Or surviving to oppress
Surely I too have known much happiness and pain
and therefore now know of my relative insignificance.
This is a real relief, and I say this only once.
... Thoughts in old age. ...
20-06-2024 om 16:06
geschreven door juliusdzs
Thoughts in old age. ( 5 )
.
Is it the body or is it the mind?
Which is most in touch with slowing down?
As if a heavy sleep presses on my back
and suppresses the power of the day?
Is it unearthly and invisible?
I look for it and think about it and declare
that it is the blisters that leave the sun
and talk my summer into autumn, each time and uncomfortably again
Every living creature knows what I'm talking about
and yet I am surprised again by the gesture that seems to fit this time.
Eyelids feel heavy like ripe grapes recognising themselves in a vague gesture
Pull back, someone deep inside you calls out
You create an interplay
prescribed by a natural order whose powers are so powerful
that only listening reminds me of years gone by
The experiences acquired are the accumulation of wisdom
20-06-2024 om 16:05
geschreven door juliusdzs
Thoughts in old age (4)
.Rebirth
.
I belong to the group of people who will never be able to reach the summit of the earth,
who, behind unconscious desires, have at first risen socially to certain heights.
With striving motives and an unwavering gaze into a naive distance, reality showed me the truth. I had to gradually orient my soul's goals.
It was obvious that I had to go this way, and that my first birth
did not correspond to my last birth.
More and more it dawned on me that a heaven does not expand in a vertical and material way for a horizontal one.
It was in my inner space that I came to understand the self. I belonged to the group of loners and at the same time to a human among humans.
In this rolling duality, I live my world in action and feeling, in almost everything. You know what I mean.
What's coming, and has been coming for a long time, are the courses of learning about loss. Here, too, a last heavy delivery will be indispensable.
Probably with relief after the pain of the soul, but it has to be said: the present is content to look back:
Obviously I was born for a balanced happiness of heavenly and earthly adversity.
20-06-2024 om 15:58
geschreven door juliusdzs
Thoughts in old age ( 3 )
.
I am what I am. So become and indulge or wean myself between coming and going.
in the moment when I am seen or when I am with you.
I console myself when I am called upon to remember (when I do not yet feel tomorrow's day, let alone the fact that in my
you and I and I come and go.
I weave my way through my existence and hope for a happiness that forces or sings with the letting go that is inherent in my existence.
And so I walk, like everyone who is surrounded by life, towards the great circle.
On the way I sometimes experience a peace within myself, created from dying and happiness.
Yes, this is how I gradually experience the time given to me. And I taste something of eternity, for which I stoop thoughtlessly and humbly on fragments of inner peace.
20-06-2024 om 15:55
geschreven door juliusdzs
19-06-2024
Thoughtful
I bought a pair of glasses, tinted black, so to speak, from the optician's range, where you can find a thousand and one different types. Before a knowledgeable lady offered her services or announced a temporary promotion or advertisement,
I already had the two nose rings in my hand. The lady was quick to say, "Yes, your choice is very much in fashion. My thinking had matured over the years. It was a contemporary look in black and white; Letters on white paper, my organ keys and not forgetting my own experiences; Even the country's government knows how A vision in which I do not dig deep. It is either good or bad, perhaps straightforward, but simple. and supposed to be civil Years of study preceded it. Every day I flick through my favourite newspapers, like the Daily Mail.
19-06-2024 om 22:50
geschreven door juliusdzs
The aviary
.
I'm not there yet, says the man. His lips are weathered.
I have left so much behind me and had to replace so many mirrors.
The road I walk has many bumps and holes.
There are also castles in the air full of longing and children's eyes that still speak to me freely.
What am I looking for? The years have told me everything.
Countless times my skin has been changed and my hair has gone from blonde to grey to bald.
My story has been changed countless times, the seasons have turned to pale as well.
My spine, too, has been reverently laid to rest, full of believing.
We walk the raked path around the aviary in the garden together, hand in hand.
Watching the fluttering colours and listening to the unintelligible whistles.
We sit and silence the silence. We share the vast simplicity mixed with fragrant scents.
19-06-2024 om 00:00
geschreven door juliusdzs
Over mijzelf
Ik ben
, en gebruik soms ook wel de schuilnaam
Julius V.E. Dreyfsandt zu Schlamm .
Ik ben een man en woon in
Nijnsel (Nederland) en mijn beroep is
proza dichter/poet .
Ik ben geboren op 14/07/1948 en ben nu dus
76 jaar jong.
Mijn hobby's zijn: Mijn hobby's zijn: music improvisations organ and other instruments. julius.dreyfsandt.zu.schlamm@gmail.com.
J.Tourbière de Sable - poèmes en français (schuilnaam Franse teksten) Johannes Revisius (schuilnaam impr. componist)
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