Zeitgeistlyrik: Summertime in Europe
Satis Shroff
March 31, 2011
Zeitgeistlyrik: SUMMERTIME (Satis Shroff)
My German Grandma
Is an early bird.
She discerns the birds,
Chirping and tweeting outside her window.
It's six O'clock.
Feels the rays of the morning sun,
On her parched skin.
Her Siam cat Sirikit
Jumps out of the bed,
Stretches itself and yawns.
The old grand lady shuffles
To the bathroom in her blue gown.
Later she goes to the bakery,
To get her croissants and buns.
She hasn't read the Sunday Zeitung,
Hasn't heard the radio,
Watched no TV.
The bakery is closed,
She notices.
Has the baker gone to Mallorca,
The Teutonic grill?
The street is empty.
No tram, no bus,
Not a soul.
She turns around to walk back home.
Unverschämt' shouts Grandma.
She's ill-tempered this morning.
Time seems to drag at a snail's pace,
For an octogenarian.
It's the last Sunday
Of the month of March.
Middle European Time began at 2 am,
When she was dreaming in her cosy bed.
The clocks were turned
From two to three am.
The world was synchronised.
Globalised.
But not Grandma's biological clock.
An hour later Frau Fruttiger greets her,
Guten Tag' she replied.
Her keen eyes see that her neighbour
Has a paper bag with hot buns
In her basket.
The bakery was closed an hour ago,' she says.
Frau Fruttiger smiles benignly and says:
It's open now.
We have Summer Time.'
Grandma mutters inaudibly:
Sommerzeit. Winterzeit.
So ein Unsinn.'
SPRINGTIME IN EUROPE (Satis Shroff)
The winter has been banished,
It vanished with much ado.
Springtime is here.
I hear the birds singing,
Praises to May,
The blackbird in the garden,
The finch in the nearby forest.
Flowers are blooming in the garden,
White Snowdrops, crocuses, violets, anemones.
I see the toads stuck on each other,
Hopping to the stream below the bridge.
It's communion-time.
Ursel is making paper-flowers
For the Easter decorations.
Maren and Elena are playing with the sheep,
In the nearby lush meadow,
Huddling and cuddling them.
Now and then they emit a 'bah.'
They bleat again and run away
From human hands.
Flori's helping in the neighbour's garden.
And she?
She's bought a lot of fruit saplings,
Flowers in plastic pots.
There are no dandaleons in the meadow.
The farmer's machine has given them
A crew-cut.
The grass still looks green
From a distance.
The blue sky is laden
With fluffy wandering clouds,
Like on a Tibetan tanka.
My thoughts wander
To the wide world.
War in Libya,
Fallout in Japan.
The adamant French,
With their 'safe' Fessenheim,
India's Trombay,
Merkel's moratorium.
Crematorium.
Crematorium.
Atomkraftwerk.
AKW,
Nein Danke.
Om shanti.
Shalom.
Friede sei mit dir.
My German Grandma
Is an early bird.
She discerns the birds,
Chirping and tweeting outside her window.
It's six O'clock.
Feels the rays of the morning sun,
On her parched skin.
Her Siam cat Sirikit
Jumps out of the bed,
Stretches itself and yawns.
The old grand lady shuffles
To the bathroom in her blue gown.
Later she goes to the bakery,
To get her croissants and buns.
She hasn't read the Sunday Zeitung,
Hasn't heard the radio,
Watched no TV.
The bakery is closed,
She notices.
Has the baker gone to Mallorca,
The Teutonic grill?
The street is empty.
No tram, no bus,
Not a soul.
She turns around to walk back home.
Unverschämt' shouts Grandma.
She's ill-tempered this morning.
Time seems to drag at a snail's pace,
For an octogenarian.
It's the last Sunday
Of the month of March.
Middle European Time began at 2 am,
When she was dreaming in her cosy bed.
The clocks were turned
From two to three am.
The world was synchronised.
Globalised.
But not Grandma's biological clock.
An hour later Frau Fruttiger greets her,
Guten Tag' she replied.
Her keen eyes see that her neighbour
Has a paper bag with hot buns
In her basket.
The bakery was closed an hour ago,' she says.
Frau Fruttiger smiles benignly and says:
It's open now.
We have Summer Time.'
Grandma mutters inaudibly:
Sommerzeit. Winterzeit.
So ein Unsinn.'
SPRINGTIME IN EUROPE (Satis Shroff)
The winter has been banished,
It vanished with much ado.
Springtime is here.
I hear the birds singing,
Praises to May,
The blackbird in the garden,
The finch in the nearby forest.
Flowers are blooming in the garden,
White Snowdrops, crocuses, violets, anemones.
I see the toads stuck on each other,
Hopping to the stream below the bridge.
It's communion-time.
Ursel is making paper-flowers
For the Easter decorations.
Maren and Elena are playing with the sheep,
In the nearby lush meadow,
Huddling and cuddling them.
Now and then they emit a 'bah.'
They bleat again and run away
From human hands.
Flori's helping in the neighbour's garden.
And she?
She's bought a lot of fruit saplings,
Flowers in plastic pots.
There are no dandaleons in the meadow.
The farmer's machine has given them
A crew-cut.
The grass still looks green
From a distance.
The blue sky is laden
With fluffy wandering clouds,
Like on a Tibetan tanka.
My thoughts wander
To the wide world.
War in Libya,
Fallout in Japan.
The adamant French,
With their 'safe' Fessenheim,
India's Trombay,
Merkel's moratorium.
Crematorium.
Crematorium.
Atomkraftwerk.
AKW,
Nein Danke.
Om shanti.
Shalom.
Friede sei mit dir.
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