drawing by marguerita When the child was a child When the child was a child, When the child was a child, When the child was a child, When the child was a child, When the child was a child, It had visualized a clear image of Paradise, When the child was a child, When the child was a child, When the child was a child, When the child was a child,Song of Childhood, Song of Childhood
It walked with its arms swinging,
wanted the brook to be a river,
the river to be a torrent,
and this puddle to be the sea.
it didn’t know that it was a child,
everything was soulful,
and all souls were one.
it had no opinion about anything,
had no habits,
it often sat cross-legged,
took off running,
had a cowlick in its hair,
and made no faces when photographed.
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just an illusion of a world before the world?
Given the facts of evil and people.
does evil really exist?
How can it be that I, who I am,
didn’t exist before I came to be,
and that, someday, I, who I am,
will no longer be who I am?
It choked on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding,
and on steamed cauliflower,
and eats all of those now, and not just because it has to.
it awoke once in a strange bed,
and now does so again and again.
Many people, then, seemed beautiful,
and now only a few do, by sheer luck.
and now can at most guess,
could not conceive of nothingness,
and shudders today at the thought.
It played with enthusiasm,
and, now, has just as much excitement as then,
but only when it concerns its work.
It was enough for it to eat an apple, … bread,
And so it is even now.
Berries filled its hand as only berries do,
and do even now,
Fresh walnuts made its tongue raw,
and do even now,
it had, on every mountaintop,
the longing for a higher mountain yet,
and in every city,
the longing for an even greater city,
and that is still so,
It reached for cherries in topmost branches of trees
with an elation it still has today,
has a shyness in front of strangers,
and has that even now.
It awaited the first snow,
And waits that way even now.
It threw a stick like a lance against a tree,
And it quivers there still today.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Peter Handke, and While I like a Bubble Bath with Him
Posted by marguerita.com@gmail.com at 2/15/2010 10:30:00 PM
Labels: art humor . Man Woman, ARTSlant, Peter Handke
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1 comment:
i can give you the germam, but also have the italian of this which links to a wonderful excerpt from WINGS OF A CHILD
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TAPje0QbP54
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MICHAEL ROLOFF
http://www.facebook.com/mike.roloff1?ref=name
Here some Handke drama sites for you:
http://www.handkelectures.freeservers.com/index.html
http://www.handkedrama.scriptmania.com/index.html
http://www.handkedrama2.scriptmania.com/index.html
http://www.handkedrama3.scriptmania.com/index.html
http://handke-drama.blogspot.com/
MICHAEL ROLOFF
http://www.facebook.com/mike.roloff1?ref=name
Member Seattle Psychoanalytic Institute and Society
This LYNX will LEAP you to my HANDKE project sites and BLOGS
http://www.handke.scriptmania.com/favorite_links_1.html
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