Schwarzwaldlyrik (Satis Shroff)

Schwarzwaldlyrik:

AUTUMN LEAVES IN KAPPEL (Satis Shroff)

Autumn leaves dancing in the sky,

Gleaming as the sunlight

Caresses them.

Out in the distance,

The blue Schwarzwald,

With its melange

Of conifer and decidious trees,

Bursting out in autumnal rhapsody.

Guarded by the tall pine trees,

Like sentinels,

Overlooking an amphitheatre.

Its spurs and hidden valleys,

Inhabited by Allemanic denizens,

So long as time can tell.

To the south

The four languidly moving white blades

Of modern windmills,

With their blinking lights

Overlooking Rosskopf.

And far to the East,

The fairy-tale towns

Of Buchenbach and St. Peter.

Is this not Heaven on Earth?

The lush green grass in the meadows,

Has long been cut,

The hay already stacked in the barn.

I gather Löwenzahn for our rabbits,

Tasty salad for humans,

A delight for hares and rabbits.

Frau Frutiker greets me warmly,

Offers Schwarzwälder specialities.

She plays the flute,

Her husband Clemens

The trumpet

At the Buchenbacher Musikverein.

Autumn in Kappel,

A personification

Of serenity and tranquillity.

CHIRPS IN MY GARDEN (Satis Shroff)

Ach,

To lie in bed

And listen to the birds sing.

I peer at the pine trees above,

Heavily laden with fluffy snow,

Like sentinels of the Black Forest.

I espy something moving:

Three deer with moist noses,

Sniffing the Kappler air,

Strut among the low bushes

In all their elegance,

Only to vanish silently,

Into the recesses of the Foret Noir.

I hear the robin,

Rotkehlchen,

With its clear, loud, pearly tone,

As it greets the day.

Just before sunrise the black bird,

Amsel,

Which flies high on the tree tops,

Delivers its aries early.

The great titmouse stretches its wings

And starts to sing.

The brown sparrows turn up

With their repertoire,

Rap in the garden,

Twitter and chirp aloud.

All this noise makes the bullfinch alert,

For it also wants to be heard.

It starts its high pitched melody

With gusto in the early hours.

The starling clears its throat.

What comes is whistles,

Mingled with smacking sounds.

The woodpecker,

Specht,

Isn´t an early bird,

Starts its day late.

Pecks with its beak,

At a hurried tempo.

If that doesn´t get you out of your bed,

I´m sure you´re on holiday,

Or thank God it´s Sunday.

Other feathered friends

Who frequent our Black Forest house,

Are the green finch, the jay,

Goldfinch which we call ´ Stieglitz,´

Larks, thrush and the oriole,

The Bird of the Year,

On rare occasions.

Glossary:

English, German, Latin names

Robin (Rotkehlchen): Erithacus rubecula

Black bird (Amsel): Turdus merula

Titmouse (Kohlmeise): Parus major

Bullfinch (Rotfinke):

Greenfinch (jay): Chloris chloris

Starling: Sturnus vulgaris

Woodpecker (Specht):

Stieglitz: Carduelis carduelis

Oriole: Oriolus oriolus

THE WIND FROM THE VALE OF HELL (Satis Shroff)

On a hill in Kappel

You feel free and elated.

The stream that bubbles below,

Like an incessant lyric,

A monk´s chant in a monastery.

The cherry tree hangs

With bloom on its sagging boughs.

Ah, to look at trees in all their splendour,

In this Black Forest idyll.

The blue Schwarzwald range,

Makes poetry out of the dying sun

Around the house,

Like an arena in the Himalayas.

The tulips in bright colours are everywhere,

The lovely lilies are swaying,

So are the gladiolas.

As I walk along a mountain stream,

I smell hyacinths.

The marigolds are in full blossom,

And a wave of nostalgia sweeps over me,

For marigolds and Tagetes grow

When it´s Dasain and Tihar,

Festival time,

Far in the Himalayas.

From the Himalayas to the Black Forest,

What a long journey.

The evening wind whispers gently

From the Vale of Hell,

Der Höllentäler,

As we fondly call it.

The birds are coming home to roost.

I discern the attentuated tone

Of my little daughter Elena

Playing on her violin.

My feet take me home

With tardy steps.

I feel at peace

With myself

FRIENDS (Satis Shroff)

I sit on my chaiselonge,

Serving Darjeeling to my friends,

Strengthened with masala,

And Sahne.

There´s Murat from Turkey,

Rosella from Italy,

Frau Adolph from downtown Freiburg.

Rosella has brought North Italian flair

And cakes that I relish,

From Milano.

Pannetone with Mascapone,

Champagne and Tiramisu.

A kiss to the right,

A kiss to the left,

Settles down and says:

´Isn´t life wonderful, Satis?´

Hubby Samuel has expanded

His aerospace factory.

My friend Murat,

The personification of Miteinander,

Hands me a new novel,

With his signature,

Written despite the protests

Of his family,

Keeping late hours,

To finish his Opus magnum,

A story about the Allevite folk.

A pleasure and honour,

But I´m afraid,

I can´t read it:

It´s Turkish to me.

Frau Adolph, the pensioned lady,

Glows like the sun,

An infectious smile

Over her tanned face.

And tells of her adventures in Italy,

Latin-lover inbegriffen,

And of her Sudanese seduction.

An elderly lady,

A friend with style

And aesthetic intelligence.

Ain´t it wonderful

To have dear friends?

Home abroad,

Abroad home.

Shanti!

Shanti!

Peace which passeth understanding.

Glossary:

Chaiselonge: long French sofa

Inbegriffen: included

Miteinander: together, togetherness

Shanti: peace

Wechselrhythmus: changing rhythms

Bahn: train

Mumbai: Bombay

Bueb: small male child

Chen: Verniedlichung, like Babu-cha in Newari

Schwarzwald: The Black Forest of south-west Germany

BEYOND CULTURAL CONFINES (Satis Shroff)

Music has left its cultural confines.

You hear the strings of a sitar

Mingling with big band sounds.

Percussions from Africa

Accompanying ragas from Nepal.

A never-ending performance of musicians

From all over the world.

Bollywood dancing workshops at Lörrach,

Slam poetry at Freiburg´s Atlantic inn.

A didgeridoo accompaning Japanese drums

At the Zeltmusik festival.

Tabla and tanpura

Involved in a musical dialogue,

With trumpet and saxaphone,

Argentinian tango and Carribian salsa,

Fiery Flamenco dancers swirling proudly

With classical Bharta Natyam dancers,

Mani Rimdu masked-dancers accompanied

By a Tibetan monastery orchestra,

Mingling with shrill Swiss piccolo flute tunes

And masked drummers.

As I walk past the Café Bueb, the Metzgerei,

The St. Blasius church bells begin to chime.

I see Annette´s tiny garden with red, yellow and white tulips,

´Hallochen!´ she says with a broad, blonde smile,

Her slender cat stretches itself,

Emits a miao and goes by.

I walk on and admire Frau Bender´s cherry-blossom tree,

Her pensioned husband nods back at me.

And in the distance,

A view of the Black Forest,

With whispering wind-rotors,

And the trees in the vicinity,

Full of birds

Coming home to roost.

WINTER BLUES (Satis Shroff)

Winter blues,

Go away!

Season of short daylight,

Coughs and rheuma,

Wet, cold days.

Misty towns,

Snowbound Schwarzwald,

Season depression,

Winter blues.

This cold seasonal change

Influences your hormones.

The lack of sunlight,

Its warm and reassuring rays,

Reduces the endorphine

In your blood vessels.

Serotonin, which regulates

Our happy mental state,

Is sparingly there,

When we need it.

Daylight is the best cure,

For light seasonal depression.

You go for a walk,

Even when the weather

Is misty and wet.

You keep a balanced diet:

Fruits and vegetables,

To create good feelings,

And to avert colds.

But for those have

Endogenic depression?

Low appetite,

Weight loss,

Sleepless nights,

Increased melatonin,

Caused by a lack

Of sunshine,

Makes you tired:

Your activities are at a low.

If walks in the misty countryside

Or city parks don´t help,

You have antidepressiva

As a last resort.

Ach, winter blues

Aurora borealis (Satis Shroff)

The sky was bathed

In fantastic hues:

Yellow, orange, scarlet

Mauve and cobalt blue.

Buto dancing,

In this surreal light,

On the stage,

Was magnificent.

Your heart pounds higher,

Your feet become light,

Your body sways

To the rhythm

And Nordic lights

Of the Aurora borealis.

Akin to the creation

Of the planet we live in.

And here was I,

Anzu Furukawa.

Once a small ballet dancer,

Now a full grown woman:

A choreographer, performer,

Ballet and modern dancer, studio pianist.

´The Pina Bausch of Tokyo´

Wrote a German critic

In Der Tagesspiegel.

Success was my name,

In Japan, Germany, Italy,

Finnland and Ghana:

Anzu´s Animal Atlas,

Cells of Apple,

Faust II,

Rent-a-body,

The Detective of China,

A Diamond as big as the Ritz.

I was a professor

Of performing arts in Germany.

But Buto became my passion.

Buto was born amid upheavals in Japan,

When students took to the streets,

With performance acts and agit props.

Buto, this new violent dance of anarchy,

Cut off from the traditions

Of Japanese dance.

Ach, the Kuopio Music et Dance festival

Praised my L´Arrache-coer,´

The Heart Snatcher.

A touching praise

To human imagination,

And the human ability

To feel even the most surprising emotions

I lived my life with dignity,

But the doctors said

I was very, very sick.

I had terminal tongue cancer.

I´d been sleeping over thirty hours,

And stopped breathing

In peace,

With my two lovely children

Holding my hands.

I´d danced at the Freiburg New Dance Festival

Only twenty days ago.

I saw the curtain falling,

As we took our bows.

I bow to you my audience,

I hear your applause.

The sound of your applause

Accompanies me

Whereever my soul goes.

I´m still a little girl

In an oversized dress.

I ran through you all

In such a hurry.