julius dreyfsandt zu schlamm - Prosatexts in different languages 
								 
							 
						
 
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					22-06-2024  
				 
				
					 Untitled 
				 
				
					
					
					
His chair was empty. It was so nude he sank into it. 
into his world with the silk pillow; down to the wire worn and dilapidated, its seat still held together by two straps, soft with lost lustre 
 
I  feel he is not gone. I smell the scent of his skin, his unwashed hair, and share the sadness of his lost bride, with the tears through the years.  
 
I can still see his smile on his face. His lips curled mischievously and words formed, sometimes spoken in silence. 
 
He's still here. Isn't he? 
 
					 22-06-2024 om 10:45 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 elegance 
				 
				
					
					
					
My celebration of the joy of grapes, the sweet feast along your tendrils 
 
caressing the leaves with the tips of my fingers, while a summer wind witnesses the sound of sighs 
 
my  velvety lady plucks the ripe fruit with delicate elegance  
with delicate elegance she touches my mouth 
 
					 22-06-2024 om 10:44 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 blinding light 
				 
				
					
					
					
.
I lost the future in finding 
 
sought to fill the past to re-bind me my old soul bound 
 
and  promised me golden mountains, dreaming of pure happiness.But the truth above all wanted to terrify me opening my eyes with a compelling pressure  
 
I carry the emptiness under my arms like an invisible encumbered weight, but still take my breath consciously constantly focused on blinding light 
 
					 22-06-2024 om 10:42 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 Channanja 
				 
				
					
					
					
.
With budding vigour she plays the old Stradivarius 
 
When she plays, her strings sound like words with sparkling letters scattered into an aging man's heart. 
The violin, carved from gilded wood, trembles with joy under the fingers of this white lily. She is a girl with a still earthly past. 
The  old master of sound has also been given patience by the Creator: He waits for a miraculous maturation. It is always shrouded in mystery.  
 
					 22-06-2024 om 10:39 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 the blue butterfly 
				 
				
					
					
					
how lovely and light my blue butterfly goes. 
she floats fluttering around in my mind, flapping her delicate wings along leaf and flower. 
who will not silently yearn for that. 
when  I see her and give her a smile she feels as it were the joy of a human being. in a silent wink she connects some happiness in an unspoken wish.  
with her sparkling waving gestures she lights up hearts, makes me feel what no one can really explain but lovingly attaches tenderness to the other. 
 
					 22-06-2024 om 10:35 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 Be my bride 
				 
				
					
					
					
be my bride when the night comes and the sun of my eyes descends into my heart 
 
As I descend into the transience of created sorrow, be my companion. 
 place your hand on my shoulder and send me gently into the beloved woods. There the murmur of many souls will carry me 
into the passing cold. 
 
Be my bride, if only for a moment, a beat of eternity, 
Go beyond what was. Carry me to weave. 
 
Through the eyes of the angels the beauty will smile upon me. 
Only then do I feel the greatness. Only then do I know what I am losing. 
Be still for a moment, my bride. Such is life when I ring the bells irrevocably. 
 
					 22-06-2024 om 10:33 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 the anticipation 
				 
				
					
					
					
my window is behind soft green tones of woods and trees. i already have a sense of what is to come. 
I dream of autumn colours, of misty scents that will gradually herald the end of summer. 
I am picking the last fruits. Before nature stops growing. 
So  my thoughts drift to the field of expectation, where farewells are so normal and falling leaves may soften the landing.  
 
					 22-06-2024 om 10:31 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					21-06-2024  
				 
				
					 I no longer cry out 
				 
				
					
					
					
I sometimes pile barren flowers on my field of feeling. 
there was first blind hope to radiant expectation 
like bees rashly sniffing a honeyed bush node. 
in  truth, however, gradually came the rigid image of the acidic desiccation in a silent watercourse.  
words have long since ceased to count as they pile up on shards of broken glass, cutting me into carnal parts, not once, but again and again, again and again and so on of incessant convulsive resistance. 
here I stand aging and see around me the missed opulence, drifting far away in dying fatigue. 
i look back, i can't, it was life that robbed me. 
Even the only reaching hand waved away my longing. 
the indispensable has been crucified. i no longer call. I walk away into nothingness 
 
  
					 21-06-2024 om 19:51 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 like circles in the ditch 
				 
				
					
					
					
I feel in the peace of your womb 
and dream of timeless pleasure 
spreading like circles in the ditch. 
 
What  I am writing about are the loving looks   
and the caressing fingers that run over my questioning body. 
 
I spread my letters over silent thoughts 
and imagine myself for a moment in your paradise 
What more can I expect on this restful journey. 
 
					 21-06-2024 om 19:48 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 in the air, so spacious 
				 
				
					
					
					
almost I go 
Or am I already gone 
No, as I say 
 There is still a journey to go 
Longer than the long linden avenue 
It is more like flying over trees 
no oceans but wide streams 
that is 
on the way to the other language 
the most beautiful but unintelligible 
that is a double story 
I notice while doing 
I write myself away 
into the future, which 
also lies behind me. 
I won't interpret it any further 
That's already let that bell ring 
though a heavyweight 
that sounds in the sky 
Yes, only conceivable in thought 
Or tangible in feeling 
It is also like waiting for a past 
that beckons permanently 
a single soul knows what I mean 
but I won't go there 
under the blue roof, perhaps grey 
I carry a symbolism in stone, 
metaphorically speaking 
I seek a bridge in the sky 
with an illuminating sigh 
blowing or in a rumour 
it's about, I call it 
the slow gait of 
a shuffling toad 
he knows no better 
doesn't think either 
is not a man after all, not even looking 
for the know-it-all 
his existence goes on 
inch by inch 
he goes as he should 
his way is continuous 
how lucky he is, he doesn't know any better 
 
					 21-06-2024 om 19:47 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 in plain sight 
				 
				
					
					
					
condemned to insight is my time of present, 
suddenly a boundary is marked to the past. 
I still think of the roof terrace so close and near your dying. 
we  feasted a few more times on the brown bump we adored.  
are you cold, you asked and gave an imaginary warmth. 
it helped ward off the cold of the moment outside, and outside our ring. 
 
we shared, clearly, a moment of opulence 
 
					 21-06-2024 om 19:46 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 I invite you 
				 
				
					
					
					
Come, look, you are so welcome in my eyes 
Experience the gentle gaze that looks at you. Colouring you through fine sparkling crystal. 
Come to me, give me your hand. My touch will be fleeting as my fingers play upon the skin of your body. 
 Feeling the rhythm of the tune we will make. 
Listen to the sound of the voices that sing of the silence. 
the two of us, enveloped by one another's breathing. 
 
					 21-06-2024 om 19:44 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 The poet 
				 
				
					
					
					
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  which the reflection, untamed, disappears into the coffee pot.  
 
					 21-06-2024 om 19:43 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 Mokum (Amsterdam) 
				 
				
					
					
					
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  city seems dead. Even though the tram calls and the shutters open hospitably.  
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  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 Eternal spring 
				 
				
					
					
					
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  head to belly to toe, everything swirls through the body, through marrow and bone.  
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  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 Nessun Dorma 
				 
				
					
					
					
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  above all, it is the indefinite hour after midnight, when emptiness is revealed again and again. It is not the child that is born again, but melancholy.  
 
					 21-06-2024 om 19:40 
geschreven door juliusdzs  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 Quatre mains 
				 
				
					
					
					
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  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 The birth of loneliness 
				 
				
					
					
					
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  seek it often, but I am not always able, blind and ignorant, to find the way to eternal love, and I am captivated by all that is earthly. Sometimes I am lulled to sleep by contradictory dreams, both day and night.  
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  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 Light 
				 
				
					
					
					
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  full mind then seems to shrink - that is the appearance - and the environment loses its power, as if you are speaking without words.  
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  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
				
					 
				 
			
			
				
					 
				 
				
					 The rumour of the sigh 
				 
				
					
					
					
For a long time I closed nothing 
no doors 
no mouths. 
I  have an eye for the colours  
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  
 
					
					 
					 
				 
				
					
					
					
					
					 
				 
			
			
			
			
			
		 
		
		
			
			
			
			
			
			
				
				
					 
				 
				
					 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 
77 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