Saturday, October 3, 2009

            All Things will Die

    Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing
            Under my eye;
    Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing
            Over the sky.
    One after another the white clouds are fleeting;
    Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating
            Full merrily;
         Yet all things must die.
      The stream will cease to flow;
      The wind will cease to blow;
      The clouds will cease to fleet;
      The heart will cease to beat;
         For all things must die.
            All things must die.
      Spring will come never more.
            O, vanity!
      Death waits at the door.
      See! our friends are all forsaking
      The wine and the merrymaking.
      We are call’d–we must go.
      Laid low, very low,
      In the dark we must lie.
      The merry glees are still;
      The voice of the bird
      Shall no more be heard,
      Nor the wind on the hill.
            O, misery!
      Hark! death is calling
      While I speak to ye,
      The jaw is falling,
      The red cheek paling,
      The strong limbs failing;
      Ice with the warm blood mixing;
      The eyeballs fixing.
      Nine times goes the passing bell:
      Ye merry souls, farewell.
            The old earth
            Had a birth,
            As all men know,
            Long ago.
      And the old earth must die.
      So let the warm winds range,
      And the blue wave beat the shore;
      For even and morn
      Ye will never see
      Thro’ eternity.
      All things were born.
      Ye will come never more,
      For all things must die.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

Part Four: Time and Eternity


BECAUSE I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste, 5
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring; 10
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible, 15
The cornice but a mound.
Since then ’t is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity. 20

Monday, September 28, 2009


Friday, February 27, 2009


Monday, February 2, 2009


The heart ask pleasure first
And then,excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes

That deaden suffering;
And then,go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,

The liberty to die

Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began,or if there were

A day when it was not.

It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realm contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.

Friday, January 2, 2009


'Tell me exactly happened to us,
Now you are to me an absolute stranger,
Why do I not feel the same good?
As I lay in your hands?
Will it not matter what the future promises us

Where are you going?
You are good as gone,
Will we keep asking each other everything?
Maybe we have betrayed each other,
It's a fading believe that this love could survive anything,

The Symphony,
Is it now, as it is then, about us?
As I stand in the rain,
Having nothing to give,
Better yet if you leave,
it is time,

That you have some understanding,
For this will not do,
What more is there to say?
What more is there to give?
Letting go is best

The silence between us is deafening,
The words from your mouth is incomprehinsible,
Have we tired from trying?
Why didn't we foresee this?
Anywhere is this LOVE vulnerable;
The way it is,
The end was written since long,
And that is our Symphony.

'Ich setze mich in traenen nieder

thanks to a.k-dusseldorf,germany