the words
we whisper to each other
   of love  of comfort
   longing  and desire
cross separating oceans
with the speed of light

your voice so close
that I can  
   almost  
feel your body next to me
and catch myself
not to give in
to the temptation
of touching air

      * *

there is an ache

it cuts
at moments
through your heart

   strong as the wind
   that makes the desert move

it stays with you
for all your life
until you breathe your last

  and even then
it will not be enough

time is
the space in which we grow
   without awareness
   in our early years
structured by meals
   arrivals and departures
   light and dark
   hot and cold
   school   studies  play  adventures
   celebrations
and by waiting
   anxiously or not
for things to happen

time is
that feeling
that we may not have enough of it
in our later years
busy with jobs and family and travel
covering long distances in order to
achieve and educate and care

time is
what starts to rush by us
with increasing speed
in our final years
making us wonder
what it really means

that space
by which we measure
our lives
   our universes
      our worlds

time is

making love
suspends gravity
   and time
seconds expand
   into eternity
we are
   on top of the universe

floating
   in the fourth dimension
feeling  
   the birth of a new solar system
      amidst convulsive explosions
   whose brilliance
      light years into the future
   may be observed
   by keen astronomers

we do not mind

our system
radiates and shines
in its time

nothing else matters

over the years
when the signs of time
begin to show
   on your brow

you look into the mirror
and think that
   maybe
you can actually learn
to make peace
with the face
that looks back at you

not easy
though

it happened once
upon a time

a place with a piano
   much wine
  & cozy talk
they left late
   tied in an amiable hug
heading for their separate quarters
   each knew
   the other shared
   with someone else

passing through the old library
she gently pulled him down
    upon a persian rug
    and lifted her skirts
    quite irresistibly

they melted in bliss

knowing it would happen
   only once
in their time

         * *

now and again
I tend my heart
leave facts and figures behind
and enter the realm of feeling
where
   like in a primal ocean
float beings about to become
   not easy to classify
   almost before words

somewhat like a school
   of amorphous translucent jellyfish
   good vibes float towards
   a loved one
predatory shapes speed by
   to attack unfriendlies
bright orange-blue flowers
shine in the wake
   of good food and company
a bright red coral reef
   hovers like a loving kiss
tumultuous slashing of the waves
   feels strong and overwhelming
   in blue-lit foamy white

I float back to the surface
and
looking at the sky
   whose blue is as deceptive
   as that of the waters
I wait for my heart
to tell me
which one
to trust

       * *

seeing
my father waste away
is painful

not so much
because I may look through a window
into my own future

rather because
his dignity has become
so frail
dependent on body functions
he has trouble controlling

it was difficult enough
to live with aching joints & back
and only one third of heart power

after the stroke
breath is even shorter
eating has become a challenge
walking is impossible

no go at all
without the little pipe
that blows oxygen into your nose

he tells me
he appreciates my daily visits
I am glad

trying to cope with the pain I feel
watching his deconstruction
smiling through unshed tears
trying to encourage him

to get up to eat
and grip his spoon
firmly

        * *

naming the world
is our daily task
temporary and forever new
challenging and ambiguous

   like the name of the rose

only few names last
most are forgotten
the young ones usually
do not understand

   a rose is a rose is a rose

names can move masses
   Oedipus Napoleon ****** Ghandi
   Jesus Stalin Mohammed Rockefeller
or just a few
  or one or two

names are what
remains of us
   aids to some fleeting thoughts
   in the dear memories of friends
imprinted on official pages
   and electronic discs
strange signs for future generations

to name
   against the flow of time
   what we see hear feel taste smell  and do
   our dreams and visions and desires
   the thoughts we have and those
   we do not dare to think
   and to name those we love and hate
fills our lives

  the rose is

             * *

the chandelier in the Venetian Room
   crystallized tears, perfectly shaped
   and transparent
alive with the glow of ancient candles
   reflected on mirror walls

I hear the mirrored gaiety
  of well-clad people

  imaginary music playing softly
    ancient tunes
  keen flashbulbs working
    to transfix the moment

I remember the separating laughter
  in the downstairs hall
  bland smiles and secret glances
words unspoken
occasions pass into history
  possibilities remain
forever

"And how rewarding to have had all
  of you here with us!"

Hugs, taxis, kisses, busses
  early breakfast
"Write to me", " Send me
  the photographs"

  "Of course"

wind is my friend
blows my thoughts
into lines
like fish jumping for dragonflies
on a hot summer afternoon

rain is my lover
falls into me
in steady gentle drops
fills me till I am
about to burst

sun is my brother
warms my body
with orioles of ancient light
among dark shadows
struggling to maintain
their shapes

moon is my other
casts a spell
over the cricket’s song
the smell of honeysuckle
the silhouettes
of a silver world

wind goes on
to blow on other ones
rain gathers its clouds
and soaks someone else
sun goes down
into darkness
moon turns so wan
it hardly shows
between the stars

I do not take it personally

nature is
like that

* *

in september
the shadow of the arcades
is almost too cool

on the plaza
before the Romanesque church
children play soccer

their shouts
   pierce
the quietness

that radiates from the castle
   to the church
   and into the old town
   envelops the few
   customers of the osteria
   makes me want to write
   about us
   and the love in your eyes
over wine & ham
   & white bread
under vaulting walls

* *

in Duino
no access for us
to rainer maria's view
across the sea
from the castello

a servant of
il principe
   who owns the place
   and whom we happen
   not to know
bars our way
beyond the open gate

therefore:
no elegies

a strong bora
sends the boats in the port
rocking and clanging

people keep clutching
their hats
tightly to their heads
their skirts to their thighs

we take windblown photographs
of each other
before the harbor bay

the wind is not as wild
as on the funny drawings
on those picture postcards
that show everything flying
   through the air

but things are bad enough
to bring tears to your eyes
and to make us turn our backs
on the rest
   of Trieste
and dry our eyes
over coffee and coke
in a small bar
   around the corner

           * *

why is my love so far from me
   why can she not be here
why do I live in a separate world
  and she in another sphere

why can we not walk hand in hand
  and frolick when we please
why do have to wait in pain
  for time to bring release

why did we fall in such fierce love
  that ties our hearts so tight
why did we not resist the pull
  of that immemorable night
  which filled our lives
        with sudden bliss
  and made the world stand still

why do we ravenously miss
  each other's eyes,
             our smiles, the kiss
  that seals our love
             and shrinks all space
  and joins us close
  as long as we just
                will

the graveyards of Verdun
are full
with summer flowers

children are playing
hide and seek
among the crosses

their parents
   coke in hand
keep looking for the names
of their grand fathers
on the wooden beams

verifying the family album

swallows dive steeply
under darkening clouds
slowly approaching from the west

you try your best
to give them shapes
and faces

them
who in grey noisy nights
fell out of life
   bright red leaves
   flushed prematurely
   by sudden frost

* *

to hold
the other's happiness
higher than your own

to lie in each other's arms
trembling with joy

always tell the whole truth
even though it may hurt

try to really listen
to each other's words

stand by each other
in times of sorrow

love the children
like your own

love each other as
you love yourselves

say it
when you need time for yourself
before the world falls apart

escape from the quotidian
with a sudden caress

on doors closed for a while
   rap gently

tell tenderly
each other's fears
and smoothen the frowning brow
with kisses

think of the little things
at breakfast

understand contradiction
as the sign of life

   only the dead
   contradict nobody

   not even themselves

my lover's eyes
   are island seas

changing their colors
   to the wandering of clouds
lit by an inward sun

at times
   a brilliant hard shine
   of greenish gray
   with tints of brown

at other moments
   the sad grey
   of pastel slate

and then
   some times
   a dark green velvet

drawing me in
on endless gentle waves

it is
one of the tantalizing
   fascinating traits of life
that in its myriads and myriads
   of shapes and images and truths
   nothing is certain

nothing
   to still our desire
   for knowledge definite

even the certainty of death
   evokes yet more vague expectations

we do not know
where we go
when we leave this world

the lure
of the full moon’s light
in a frosty December night
is almost irresistible

it beckons to you
its pale radiance
   casts deep shadows
   full of unknown possibilities
that grow by the moment
and struggle to turn into words
   trying to grasp the cosmos
   the mystery of life

   amazing how the mere reflection
   of the sun’s brilliance
   can affect one so

it seems to ask you
to set a cool-hearted deed
make definite decisions
explore the blueprint of the universe
turn into a werewolf
dance with the dead

you look at the glimmering stars
   dotting the darkness
   left by the moon

delayed messengers
always too late

even with the speed of light
they only make us
   see the past
   mistake it for the present
   and build our future on it

the thoughts of a man staring at the sky
   in a frosty December night

deciding
to love on

* *

you see a video in which
the bad guys hold the floor,
   where helpless people die
a dime-a-dozen death

and you forget
it is just a magnetic tape or disk
has brought these figures
to their nameless destiny

the bad guys may be amiable actors
   privately

in your illusion's grip
these people really die
and you
   do nothing
for their lives, their souls

not even push
   the saving button
   on your remote control

              * *

love came to me
in quiet
   gently
and found me
unaware of

how
   over the table
   of a conference lunch
I must have taken
to your ways

how
   sitting next to you
   in drowsy silence
   on the bus that took us
   to some wind-blown ruins
   of antiquity
your presence was
like that of a close friend
with whom I shared
a silence comfortably safe
knowing
no words were needed

only when
   on that merry evening
you looked
and moved
like happiness incarnate
and put your hand
spontaneously?
upon my knee
I recognized

how
   much
I wanted
   you

      * *

morning mists
along hilly country roads

the sun
   not quite awake yet
struggling to rise
above a drowsy
   Sunday landscape
sends out occasional
left-footed rays

we speed along
   quietly
images of the past
time together
on our minds

   walks on the beach
   and through old lanes
   dinners at the ocean
   wild nights
   lovely late mornings

we keep passing early churchgoers
in stirring villages

the sun keeps gathering strength
the world turns clear

the mists of our memories
dissolve into
the moment of parting

* *

the past casts
a long shadow
on our life

to unveil its mysteries
to trace
how we have
become what we are
demands a leap of faith

acknowledging
the nooks and crannies
of a life
that took its turns
not by strict logic
but at times
followed coincidental paths
   leading nowhere
& then retraced its steps
to surge ahead
sure of its goal again

running the wide road
to its predictable end
yet vaguely aware
of alternatives
that remain possible worlds
outside the choices
we made

meandering through life
at one corner of the labyrinth
we notice we have lost the string
that could have led us back
had we ever wanted

we do not worry much

to have it all
requires time and space
beyond our ken

looking back is fine
going back impossible

lost in alien space
Italians
posted their home culture
and worked for it

today

the Americas
     (and the whole western world)

would starve to death
   without pasta  pizza
  
and Michelangelo

nights are wonderful
softening all shapes
taking off daylight’s sharp glare
we walk into
   a fuzzy unknown
   full of possible suprises

nights are terrible
turning familiar shapes
into threatening demons

nights are sensuous
in beloved arms
never to end
cozy and warm
times to remember

nights are strange
we spend them
doing things
for which the day
has left
no space

reading
   a trivial book
establishing the illusion
   of control
   over our daily lives

   nights are
   the dream world
   where we act out
   what we not dare to live

   nights
   are the backstage
   of our souls

where we rehearse
the visions of our life

the cast changes
the plot
   or what we take for it
remains the same

   we muddle on
   in darkness

taking for granted that
daylight
will come again
and show us
that the dark is
just
the flip side of the coin

forever waiting
until
one bright sunny day
you embrace it and say
“Come with me!”

courting the sun
  after a cool June
  in my vintner's garden
close to the southern border

carefully sipping
  his latest selection
    a good year
    you can taste it

looking out from the hill
  across the river valley
  I listen to his children
  proudly telling how
only yesterday
  they filled 50 sandbags
just in case

the deafening roar
  of an interceptor jet
  splits the air
    just for seconds
    leaves my wine glass
    trembling
  
three helicopters
  slash their way south
  and come back later

over the winding road
  on the next hill
  the last tank of the column
   disappears

we can hear
  not far away
      over there
  sounds like explosions

we enjoy the sun

Helmut opens another one
  of his treasured bottles
  and tells me
  what he will do
  if They come across
  
   he is a good hunter
and an excellent shot

I sip the clear wine
  watch how the sunlight
  lends its brilliance
  to the half-filled glass  

I feel a little bit
  like Humphrey Bogart
  in the wrong movie.

fierce
   fierce
blows the wind
   across this island
   off the coast of Africa
  
sittting on the ***** of a volcano
I keep listening to the sound of things

street signs clatter to each other
empty beer cans roll noisily
   through midnight streets
doors keep slamming
   to make their presence known
plastic bags hiss airily
and fly away
   like they never thought
   they could

the ears
of the little dog that thinks
   I am his master
stand at odd angles
while he is grooming himself
   on my lap

warm bodies
in a blustery place

the patio chair
   scrapes its way
   across the tiles
   inch by windy inch

my wine slushes in the glass

I share fiesta music
   from half a mile a way
   coming to me
   in gusty fragments
and almost feel the rush
   of low clouds chasing each other
   under a star-studded sky

here I am
on the ***** of a volcano
listening to the sounds of the world

                  * *

I am the night owl
flapping its wings
stealthily through your dreams
with a soft  feathery touch
    you may remember
       you once imagined
like the figure at the end
    of the corridor
    whose face always remains
    in the shadow

I am the sower of images
   growing from the dark
touching your mind gently
tapping at forbidden doors
   closed to the brighter hours

I am the prowler of twilight thoughts
that lend shapes
     to your hopes
     and fears and desires
living their lives
     in between

I am the night owl
that shudders
    and folds its wings quietly
when the sun rises
    always too soon
patiently waiting again
until the day is done

* *

I smoke like a chimney
   my ashtray fills up
   like never before

I smoke like a chimney
   to fill the void
   that surrounds me
   with your absence

I smoke like a chimney
   and refuse
   to see my hopes evaporate
   like the fumes
   I inhale & exhale

I smoke like a chimney
   burning myself out
   draft by blue draft

I smoke like a chimney
   knowing I should not
   measure out
   my days & nights
   in cigarettes

   yet I do
   four   five minutes more
   time is running so fast

I smoke like a chimney

I am smoking for my life

with love
I have learned
not to ask why

feelings
have no reasons
the logic of thought
cannot explain

love is

happiness
as well as pain

gratefully
I accept both
knowing I am alive

even if you
do not love me

I simply am
   perhaps madly
in love
with you

     * *

decisive words
   take their time

they reveal their significance
   like buds unfolding
   nourished by the soil of doubt
   the rain of memory and meditation
gradually to the troubled soul

until the flower
   of loss

   suddenly
   in full bloom

makes you tremble
at its pristine
    relentless
    beauty

      * *

when I look up
   into a clear night sky
and feel
   the vastness of the universe
   touching me
it calls up
all the words
humankind has constructed
throughout millennia
so as to face the skies
   with dignity
and not go insane
   instantly
with this vague
   but almost overpowering
sense of helpless awe

neither
the most sophisticated machines
   we send to the edges
   of our solar system
nor the most complex theories
can calm me
when I look up
into a clear night sky

though I was happy
   I did forbidden things

though I did forbidden things
   I was happy

we may loose
each other
as suddenly as
we met
years ago
under a bluer sky

many steps
have already
been taken

rituals of complaint
that point
to deeper troubles

no talk
about certain things

a joking camouflage
for unspoken
sadness

gestures of weariness
of irritation
and withdrawal

embarrassed silence
across the double bed

seven billion people
in their separate worlds

the next step
may be

so easy

* *

poplar branches
embrace steel-blue clouds
so they would not
    driven by thunder and lightening
tear off their tender arms

the trees bend daringly
and you anticipate
to hear the hissing sound
of splintering wood

it does not happen
their postures grow ***** again
clouds disentangle themselves
and continue their wild chase
for other arms

survived once more

Some people know
how to surround themselves
with shields of rhetoric
appropriate to their time

they find believing followers
who take a while
till they are undeceived
and then grieve ever after
in somber disillusion

Some people know
how to excel
by crying 'wolf'
when all around
are only sheep
easily frightened
into trustful obligation

Some people build their lives
with shocking frankness
on the patience
of their fellow beings
claim for themselves
what they would not
concede to others

Some people!

frisky freckles frolick
over his fair-featured face
like a flickering fresco
of furious lusting frenzy

a vibrant flirtatiousness
fills all her fibers
she falls into his arms with finesse
foreseeing fond fantasies

******* with fearsome delight
after failure of foreplay
the foman farts in fectasy
his font flushes fondly

though he almost faints in the feat
for his front has become
far more fragile
than in former feasts

    fewer the forays
    more frequent the flops
    further away
    desires formerly frequent

yet his feelings
still flow to flowering females
forever fertile and fragrant

therefore
he never thinks
of a final
farewell

People that 'are'  
of those who still 'become'
speak lowly
treasuring the edge
they have
by luck or by some clever sleight of hand
gained in the race for 'being'

Sometimes I wonder
where I am
  am I  
or am I not
do I become  
  and if so
will I ever be
what others are
where others are
(or think themeselves to be)

Maybe
those who appear so sure
   of what and where they are
have at their backs
the everlasting fear
that when they are
   where they have liked to be
there always are
the others who were there
   some time before
and now
are somewhere else
happy again
that they are
where and what
others still struggle to become

Methinks
to be where I am
suits me fine
I do not care exactly
where
this is
if only I still see
a chance that I become
that is  
            I change
and not just be

There is
it seems to me
too little space
between to be
and
not to be.

      * *

my world of phantasy is one
where I can save the universe
by the sheer power of my will

my force of thought
deflects the course of meteorites and comets
from collision with our globe

I make rain forests grow
   back to their former size
endangered species
   thrive and multiply

my will turns greedy politicians
into statesmen caring for the citizens
that voted them into their offices

all military hardware
becomes food
to feed the hungry of our world

wars are duels
fought between leaders
of contending states
no young soldiers die
for ambitions of their elders

cars only need hydrogen
recycling is the way of life
water and wind and plants
provide infinite energy

people I hurt
do understand
it was not done on purpose

and I can even tell my children
how much I love them

alas
my world of phantasy

remains just that

under a thin new moon
a black car passes by
   followed by a yellow one

two identical business suits
   disappear into the alley

leaving me to myself
   on the narrow balcony
   of my third-floor hotel room

where the night wind blows
thoughts around the corner
like cigarette smoke

               * *

always there

and suddenly gone

too quietly
too fast
  to adapt to the absence
  of your presence

why did you not
go to your check-ups

why did you pretend
to smile
when you knew
you were dying

why

   why

      why

when I wake up from my dreams
   have to leave you
       then it seems
that the mornings are much colder
and I feel a little older
all these mornings without you

when I stumble out of sleep
   sad     because I cannot keep
loving images of you
           in my mind
and my body aches with longing
    for your warmth I cannot find
all these mornings without you

then I wish that time would fly
dream of mornings on which I
   turning over drowsily
find you sleeping next to me
happily can lift the cover
and come closer to my lover
oh, these mornings, loving you!

   * *

dragging our voices
through detailed agendas
paying meticulous attention
to points of marginal interest
to please bureaucrats
who most likely just
stamp RECEIVED
on the file
and lay it to rest
   quietly
in bottomless
desk drawers

we taught each other
to enjoy
a lingering kiss
   soft touches
     loving glances
the built-up tension unreleased
    but in secret solitude
       at night
a yearning for fulfilment
   never to be granted
as we moved out of school
and into different lives

I saw her last
only a few years after
  alarmed by news from mutual friends
two days before her death

she did not recognize me
   any more
as I stood terrified
beside her bed
in a secluded section
of the cancer ward

I had arrived too late

my loving stutter
   already out of reach
her blindly searching gaze
passed on through me

it hurt
like nothing else before

I cried my grief out
in long sobbing nights
yet still not long enough
to heal the pain
nestling since then
   quietly
in thinly calloused
wrinkles of my heart

            * *

most people
do not want to hear about
views different from their own

so
though you may think otherwise
if you want something from them
   love, attention, business, money, ***
you tell them what they like to hear
to fill their needs
to please

yet
after a while
you recognize
that with each time
you cater to the needs of others
you give away
a part of your integrity
and that you better
   watch out carefully
lest you become merely
the sum
of their reflected selves

           * *

sharing our duty
in ambulance cars
for several months
it took a masked ball
to make us meet

when I helped you
into your coat
in the wee hours
of a crisp December night
I just could not resist
to kiss the soft hair
on the back of your neck

you turned around
and held me close

though we did not
  share a bed that night
this was when we turned lovers
   without words

you were advanced in years
but not in love
so we explored together
a new world of sensations
love and pain and bliss
on benches hidden in the city parks
in my small Spartan student's room
and practically everywhere

our love and our bodies were
an endless source of pleasure
when I first kissed you
in a very tender spot
you simply fainted with delight

then came a perfect summer day
we horsed around in splashing water
when suddenly
   the world went still
our play arrested
   in a frozen moment
   a time warp
     to eternity
you still were close in space
    yet worlds away
distance engraved forever
    as one some Grecian urn



I knew then
I would always be
      alone
to face myself
    at my time's end

later you said
that I had looked
like I had seen a ghost

how right you were
took me some time to recognize

it was the ghost
of my most inner self
looked back at me
   out of the glistening surface
       of the pool
   out of the cloudless summer sky
   out of your loving frightened eyes  

a self that had not then
   and still has not
      I am afraid
the strength to bare
his softness
   to the one he loves
trying to save
a shining image
   crystal clear
but in fact
dimmed long time ago
along the roads of life

perhaps it was this ghost
that made us
   grow    apart

you wanted all of me
   and more of us
while I was still a student
   with a goal
not ready yet
   (would I ever be?)
for close menage á deux
determined but uncertain
   in his quest for ...
   well - in his quest

the flames were hard to quench
a whisp brought embers to a blaze
    by the mere thought of you

we broke
   made up
     only to break again
talked over issues
   faint with sleepless nights
embraced with desperate passion
   for the last time
and then agreed to meet once more

at last we were burnt out
         and
   looking at the ashes
knew that we must have learned a lot
yet felt no wiser

   only  very  
        very  sad

*  *  

was it the wind
who told me the story
of men who rose high
and fell mightily?

was it the cloud
that cast its friendly shadow
   across the land
   against a singeing sun
and gently veiled
things not to be seen?

was it the sun
whose glare laid bare
the doings of the world
so starkly
that it hurt?

it was the rain
that softened hearts of stone
and made them sprout
new life
in arid times

it was the earth
that from her center
gently whispered forth
the word that spread
across the globe
and made us thrive

          * *

the world is slowing down

a mist of milky gossamer moves in
between
my will and things to do
the clear shapes of objects
are growing soft and dull
the moment's urgency
yields to my ponderings
   of possible decisions
abstract rigidity arrests the words
things stay forever as they are

   is it a sense of death
   that delicately touches on my neck
   and steals from me the comfort
   of continuous change?

life seems to walk away
in long and measured stride
the kitchen clock has never been so fast

it measures time
from here up to the stars

it counts
and blows
the moments of my delicate eternity
one by one
into the past

* *