Sunday, November 15, 2009
dimanche matin
Die Sonne scheint. 11 Grad. Morgendlich verquollen an der Tastatur, sehr viel vom herrlichen, sizilianischen Rotwein gestern abend. Zwei spontan schlecht gesungene Lieder, aber mehr Mut als die anderen, die es nicht wagten sich zu blamieren. Perfekter Truthahn und eine nette Zusammenstellung der Gäste. Heute kommen Jon und Dieter zum sonntäglichen Gulasch. Nächste Woche das Kantorei-Konzert in der Stiftskirche: Elgar, The dream of Gerontius. Davor Chorsitzung und Vorbereitung auf die Vollversammlung Anfang Dezember.Auf dem Balkon blühen noch Rosen, der Erdbeerbaum wird von Hummeln besucht und vor einigen Tagen sah ich noch Schmetterlinge, aber das Jahr stirbt langsam vor sich hin. Noch leuchten die Überreste in gelb, braun, rot. Ich sammle die herabgefallenen Blüten und stelle sie in Gläsern auf die Fensterbänke. Guten Morgen.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Winterblüte
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
Und tiefe Furchen deiner Schönheit ziehn,
Sinkt deiner Jugend Kleid, von allen Blicken
Bewundert heut, zerfetzt und wertlos hin.
Wird man dich dann nach deiner Schönheit fragen,
Wo all die Pracht der frohen Jugend sei?
In deinem eingesunknen Blick zu sagen,
Wär' größte Schmach und leere Prahlerei.
Ruhmreicher hättest Schönheit du verwendet,
Dürftest du sprechen: "Seht dies holde Kind,
Das mich entschuldigt, meine Rechnung endet,
Da sein als Erbe meine Reize sind."
Dann bliebst du jung selbst in den spätsten Tagen
Und fühltest warm dein kaltes Blut noch schlagen.
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
Wenn vierzig Winter deine Stirne drücken
Wenn vierzig Winter deine Stirne drückenUnd tiefe Furchen deiner Schönheit ziehn,
Sinkt deiner Jugend Kleid, von allen Blicken
Bewundert heut, zerfetzt und wertlos hin.
Wird man dich dann nach deiner Schönheit fragen,
Wo all die Pracht der frohen Jugend sei?
In deinem eingesunknen Blick zu sagen,
Wär' größte Schmach und leere Prahlerei.
Ruhmreicher hättest Schönheit du verwendet,
Dürftest du sprechen: "Seht dies holde Kind,
Das mich entschuldigt, meine Rechnung endet,
Da sein als Erbe meine Reize sind."
Dann bliebst du jung selbst in den spätsten Tagen
Und fühltest warm dein kaltes Blut noch schlagen.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Wochenende!!!
An solch trüb herbstlichen Tagen träumt man lieber vom Meer, von Sonne und Strand. Das Wochenende ist da. Heute abend Konzert in der Sonnenbergkirche und morgen Thanksgiving-Truthahn bei Amadeus und Thomas.
Monday, November 2, 2009
these foolish things
Oh will you never let me be?
Oh will you never set me free?
The ties that bound us are still around us
There´s no escape that I can see
And still those little things remain
That bring me happiness or pain
A cigarette that bares a lipstick's traces
An airline ticket to romantic places
And still my heart has wings
These foolish things remind me of you.
A tinkling Piano in the next apartment
Those stumblin'words That told you what my heart meant
A fairground's painted swings
These foolish things
remind me of you.
You came,
You saw,
You conquered me
When you did that to me
I knew somehow this had to be
The winds of March That made my heart a dancer
A telephone that rings But who's to answer
Oh, how the ghost of you clings
These foolish things
Remind me of you
First daffodils
And long excited cables
And candle lights
on little corner tables
And still my heart has wings
These foolish things remind me of you
The park at evening
When the bell has sounded
The Isle de France
With all the gulls around it
The beauty that is spring
These foolish things
Remind me of you
How strange,
How sweet,
To find you still,
These things are dear to me
They seem to bring you near to me
The sigh of midnight trains
At empty stations
Silk stockings thrown aside
Dance invitations
Oh how the ghost of you clings
These foolish things
Remind me of you
Gardenia perfume
Lingering on a pillow
Wild strawberries
Only seven francs a kilo
And still my heart has wings,
These foolish things,
Remind me of you
The smile of Garbo
And the scent of roses
The waiters whistling
As the last bar closes
The song that Crosby sings
These foolish things
Remind me of you
How strange
How sweet
To find you still
These things are dear to me
They seem to bring you near to me
The scent of smoldering leaves
The wail of steamers
Two lovers on the street
Who walk like dreamers
Oh how the ghost of you clings
These foolish things
Remind me of you.
Oh will you never set me free?
The ties that bound us are still around us
There´s no escape that I can see
And still those little things remain
That bring me happiness or pain
A cigarette that bares a lipstick's traces
An airline ticket to romantic places
And still my heart has wings
These foolish things remind me of you.
A tinkling Piano in the next apartment
Those stumblin'words That told you what my heart meant
A fairground's painted swings
These foolish things
remind me of you.
You came,
You saw,
You conquered me
When you did that to me
I knew somehow this had to be
The winds of March That made my heart a dancer
A telephone that rings But who's to answer
Oh, how the ghost of you clings
These foolish things
Remind me of you
First daffodils
And long excited cables
And candle lights
on little corner tables
And still my heart has wings
These foolish things remind me of you
The park at evening
When the bell has sounded
The Isle de France
With all the gulls around it
The beauty that is spring
These foolish things
Remind me of you
How strange,
How sweet,
To find you still,
These things are dear to me
They seem to bring you near to me
The sigh of midnight trains
At empty stations
Silk stockings thrown aside
Dance invitations
Oh how the ghost of you clings
These foolish things
Remind me of you
Gardenia perfume
Lingering on a pillow
Wild strawberries
Only seven francs a kilo
And still my heart has wings,
These foolish things,
Remind me of you
The smile of Garbo
And the scent of roses
The waiters whistling
As the last bar closes
The song that Crosby sings
These foolish things
Remind me of you
How strange
How sweet
To find you still
These things are dear to me
They seem to bring you near to me
The scent of smoldering leaves
The wail of steamers
Two lovers on the street
Who walk like dreamers
Oh how the ghost of you clings
These foolish things
Remind me of you.
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