julius dreyfsandt zu schlamm - Prosatexts in different languages
21-06-2024
With heavy words or playful chords, the poet lays a carpet for the the nearness of being.
He is of such weight that his ego is often shrouded in the fog known in London. He describes his hazy sins with great ease.
With dark vigour he often declares his own mirror.
in
21-06-2024 om 19:43
geschreven door juliusdzs
My Mokum is tuned into a grey existence by a drizzle of rain.
As I look over my lukewarm coffee, I can see the rippling water of the canal passing me by.
There is no bustle of colourful people today.
The Through me pass the wishes of the past and a hope that is heavier than lead.
21-06-2024 om 19:42
geschreven door juliusdzs
Walk with me on the way from here to there, and from there to where?
Let us seek and find. Let us discover and experience what may bind us.
We are silent aloud. We hear only ourselves.
From As if in a resounding vault where the unspeakable is echoed.
You through me, I through you, mirrored through both of us.
the spring is alive and the passion is our drive
21-06-2024 om 19:41
geschreven door juliusdzs
No one sleeps or consciously closes their eyes, the silence of this night can scream or wonder again.
It is not in my power to isolate the silenced feelings of this moment in a simple way.
Unconsciously, my heart is seized by past thoughts of Latin chants, but also by the dream of waiting again.
But
21-06-2024 om 19:40
geschreven door juliusdzs
Join me in playing the solo, an important part of the soul in a human score.
A quatre mains for an unattached couple playing at the same time and side by side.
They come together in the Andante, but find each other again in the rapid Presto. They do not allow themselves to be robbed of their freedom by the solo constant.
21-06-2024 om 19:39
geschreven door juliusdzs
Born from the paradise of warmth and abundance
with the loss of essential connection, I became dependent and burned, and my soul separated. I lost the sense of oneness.
This is where my loneliness was born. It is so human and fundamental. It awakens the inevitable feeling of desolation in death.
I My authenticity is close to my soul. It can blossom only if I am willing to grow towards the other and if I am willing to share myself in the garden of unconditional affection.
Only then, yes only then will I be led to a restorative, pure connection.
21-06-2024 om 19:38
geschreven door juliusdzs
It's not that the light goes out quickly when there is fog on the windows.
But you feel every sound that comes in differently. It is more stripped of the earthly.
It is usually a slower song from your own heart also is the noise from outside that closes the auricle.
The In silence, everything solidifies and changes colour. It mocks the impure, it lifts boundaries.
You become soft and invulnerable. In perfection there is only the scent of roses.
But then you already dwell in eternity, waiting for the liberation of the senses and the soul from gravity.
21-06-2024 om 19:37
geschreven door juliusdzs
For a long time I closed nothing
no doors
no mouths.
I sometimes through the grey.
And I listen to the sound of you,
the other,
still cold as stone
or as soft as a feather.
No, I don't close.
I open when you let me smell
the scents of your soul.
And then sometimes detect the moisture,
again and again,
of the tender child within you.
Where fear has always sought you out
and you have fallen over the thresholds
The dawn has rarely been tender to you.
21-06-2024 om 19:36
geschreven door juliusdzs
Suddenly, the departure presents itself.
And soon I am going to leave the interior
of this foreign country.
An I have moved further in the resignation of my sparkling spirit.
All of this in a reflective and humorous connection
with the people who are close to me and to my heart.
But also the depth and the openness of some unexpected "
passers-by" and so called "local friends".
A precious sharing of diversity and respect.
Unintentionally or automatically, layers of the soul
were in touch with each other,
with the useful reflection of common sense.
They were rare gatherings.
There were silences or sounds at tuned frequencies.
21-06-2024 om 19:35
geschreven door juliusdzs
Jetzt, wo ich wieder zu Hause bin
steht mein Atem still.
jedes Mal suche ich nach dem Sinn
und darüber hinaus zu sehen.
Ich brauche mindestens einen Tag,
um Raum für die Wellen zu finden
die durch mich gehen
21-06-2024 om 19:34
geschreven door juliusdzs
I had forgotten how big your eyes were.
how playful they could be.
saw them again for a moment.
I the passion I felt.
had forgotten how beautiful you were.
you knew how to play with my world
with your smiling flirtation
that I could read on your lips.
what you said caressed my heart
as I imagined that you belonged
only to me, like the first time,
I went through it again and got lost.
21-06-2024 om 19:29
geschreven door juliusdzs
Still now allready, you might say.
at over seventy years of age.
should I continue to concentrate only
on the conservative poems
or should I put down a recital on the stage?
something that lingers on from oatmeal to oatmeal,
during the grip around the microphone on stage
I try to crush short intriguing poems or as prose in length.
something that must also have a permanent taste
of an endless chocolate bar and an aura that draws
the listener to you as I cut my words without trimming,
even if I let them roar loudly from a passionate crater.
will my poetic writing now stagnate in history?
it is like floating in polluted water.
I am no longer writing about the later,
am bound by my own fetters and so I linger on
as yet another crisis that wants to interfere with the passage.
yes, the wordless view is in sight.
the bilge is close by and is not moving,
that is what the 'reality' is illuminating;
I am a man of few words, nor of endless artistry
and address myself more as a bricklayer
who has to limit himself to his core in a short time.
I have sufficiently explained my limitations.
and have landed back on earth:
the scope of my work is defined
by the space available on paper.
I wonder if this is the way I still love to write,
if this is the end or a new beginning.
21-06-2024 om 19:25
geschreven door juliusdzs
Der Ritter und der Tod liefern sich einen Kampf um den Auftritt.
Es kann auch sein, dass mein Verstand der Spieler in diesem Kampf ist.
Sind sich die anderen dessen auch bewusst?
Oder Sind es meine eigenen Hormone?
Oder nur mein materieller Drang zum Überleben?
Was will mir mein - ich - immer wieder und immer mehr
mir als Endlosfilm zeigen.
Alles deutet darauf hin: Die Nacht zeigt den Untergang
aber auch, dass der Tag in meinem Atem noch am Leben ist.
Es ist eine Spaltung, in der ich mich manchmal zu erstarren scheine,
und dass ich weniger in Balance bleibe.
21-06-2024 om 19:23
geschreven door juliusdzs
Liebe wächst, wo Licht ist. Wo es leuchtet, blüht sie auch.
Auch wenn du aus meinem Blickfeld verschwindest. Oft wird sie in der Nacht gepriesen.
Manchmal ist es ein leiser Seufzer. Manchmal sind es einige Momente, die sich aneinanderreihen.
Im Es sind Zählungen aus der Zeit des Jahres, die man den Frühling nennt.
Wo Hoffnungen und Sehnsüchte groß, herrlich oder klein erscheinen, es kann nicht in Zeit und Dauer gemessen werden,
oft nicht in Maßen.
Und lässt sich nicht mit einer Hand fassen oder mit Sprache erklären.
Sie überwältigt dich. Sie färbt deine Wahrnehmung. Manchmal am Ende einer Betrachtung, in der Tiefe, in der Stille...
Die Liebe als Trägerin der Herausforderungen.
21-06-2024 om 19:22
geschreven door juliusdzs
L'amour croît là où il y a de la lumière. Là où elle brille, il s'épanouit aussi.
Même si tu disparais de mon champ de vision. Souvent, il est loué dans la nuit.
Parfois, c'est un léger soupir. Parfois, ce sont quelques moments qui s'enchaînent.
Dans Ce sont des comptages de cette période de l'année que l'on appelle le printemps.
Là où les espoirs et les désirs semblent grands, glorieux ou petits, cela ne peut pas être mesuré en temps et en durée,
souvent pas dans la mesure.
Et ne se laisse pas saisir d'une main ou expliquer par le langage.
Elle te submerge. Elle colore ta perception. Parfois au terme d'une contemplation, en profondeur, dans le silence.
21-06-2024 om 19:20
geschreven door juliusdzs
ένας ποιητής αναζητά
τον δικό του πόνο
να εξηγήσει τη δίψα του για λέξεις
Ή μήπως εκτροχιάζεται
της δικής του πραγματικότητας;
Όπου ένας γυαλιστερός καθρέφτης
τον παρασύρει στην ασημαντότητα.
21-06-2024 om 19:19
geschreven door juliusdzs
un poète à la recherche
de sa propre douleur .
comment peut-il faire
ou va- t il dérailler de sa propre réalité ?
là ou un petit miroir
poli insignifiant le séduit.
21-06-2024 om 19:18
geschreven door juliusdzs
Erzähl mir nichts von fallenden Blättern, wenn ich von meinem Herbst spreche.
Mein Denken ist darauf ausgerichtet, zu verstehen, wie sich die Schöpfung nährt und wie das Universum ständig neue Verbindungen eingeht.
Lass mich - so denke ich dann - meinen eigenen Weg gehen.
Dein Weg ist nicht meiner. Er liegt auf einer anderen Seite.
Suche dort nach den Sternen, die im noch Unbekannten verborgen sind. Sie sind wirklich da,
und strecke deine Arme aus, ohne nachzudenken. Greif nach dem, der auf einer deiner Schultern landet.
Erzähl mir nichts von fallenden Blättern, wenn ich von meinem Herbst spreche.
Frag mich lieber, wo ich deine Gladiolen finden kann, um die Liebe und den Geist des Kampfes zu sammeln.
21-06-2024 om 19:17
geschreven door juliusdzs
Και ο άνεμος μου λέει να ακολουθήσω αυτό το μονοπάτι
Ακούω το λιβάδι να τραγουδάει, νιώθω το δέντρο και το βλέπω να κουνάει ένα φύλλο
Ακόμα και το ρυάκι ξέρει το πιο όμορφο όνειρο εκεί
Και είναι οι καλαμιές που οδηγούν τη σιωπή στο όμορφο θαύμα που δεν απαιτεί απάντηση και όπου ένα πολύχρωμο πουλί μεταφέρει το ψαρωμένο του θήραμα στην ψηλότερη όχθη
21-06-2024 om 19:15
geschreven door juliusdzs
.
Връща ли се тишината около мен и всичко извън мен се свива?
И моята вътрешна същност също всеки път, всички хора ли имат това общо?
"В края на краищата това, което е добро, е добро и за мен!", възкликвам, за да се успокоя
Сумракът оставя романтиката добре скрита в моята наивност, но аз продължавам да разказвам истории
И неведнъж ме призовават да се оправям, изглежда, но от кого, какво и с какъв авторитет
Само природата може да ме постави на колене: земната вечност е грубо ограничена, човече
може само да свързва спомените
Вследствие на това една горчива усмивка понякога се подиграва с крехкото ми его
21-06-2024 om 19:12
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)
UN LEGADO PROSAICO
Ik ben , en gebruik soms ook wel de schuilnaam Julius V.E. Dreyfsandt zu Schlamm.