Poem No. 113: “Poems for Europe – 10 National Portraits in Verse” by various European Poets

Gedichte, Insights, poems, Reisen, Travel
Bildergebnis für i love europe

What happened when 10 European poets were asked to portray their home country in verse ahead of the European elections?

Well, the first thing some of them did was cheat. Then they all became a little melancholic…
Magazines across the continent – not necessarily within the EU itself – would commission a favorite poet to write four lines on their country. Frankly speaking, the majority of Europeans don`t regard Turkey as an European country at all.

Please forgive the glaring omissions – the result has been dictated by those who decided to take part – and instead worry for Europa. Clearly this is not a continent suffering from bombastic self-confidence & optimism; in fact, quite the opposite.  (Die Zeit & The Guardian)


Magazine Kosovo 2.0 
Poet Shpëtim Selmani

On the first day blood was created 
on the second day death 
on the third love was mentioned 
and then there were no days left for us


Magazine ZEITmagazin 
Poet Saša Stanišic

We’ve lost our secrets. Gave them away, like our well-built weapons,
only involuntarily. We shake babies, when Bayern lose a match, we are as beautiful as a bishop’s residence. We bet our beer will take over, a monument for Erwin
Rommel, our epics, our migrants in the theatre, our Russian energy


Magazine De Morgen Magazine 
Poet Maud Vanhauwaert

Small, but with a central location 
And with views aplenty. Belgium is a house 
With many rooms – where things get shuffled and pushed around – 
Behind curtains where all of Europe wanders past


Magazine Volkskrant Magazine 
Poet Johnny Ceres Jr

We from on top of each other
Are not like iron on iron
But are like slipping in
When nobody’s looking for a moment


Magazine Il Venerdì di Repubblica 
Poet Valerio Magrelli

On a Turkish Song to Italy

Dear Italy, At last you’re in my sight
I salute you, friendly shores!
The whole peninsula rests
Encircled by a craving necklace
Of the drowned.
Every one of them is a crumb
Scattered to find the way home
But the fish have eaten them 
and the clandestini [illegal immigrants]
Lost in the sea without return
Wander like Tom Thumbs
Sown in the water all around


Magazine ViMagazino 
Poet Dimítris Dimitriádis

The Buried Cradle

The crisis is not the same in Greece as in other countries. 
Everyone says, no matter how they say it, Greece is the cradle of Europe. 
Europe should consider its roots and reconsider its values. 
And see in Greece, and Greece in itself, the painful present, 
the raw material for a brand-new cradle

United Kingdom

Magazine Observer Magazine 
Poet Don Paterson


What country? And you try being so far adrift 
in this weather. Still, we have our two-edged gift 
of tongues to watch, and tongues we find to sing 
of London’s Babylon, Skye’s Wyoming


Magazine Radikal 
Poet Murat Mentes

The aliens sniffing the aromas rising from Turkish kitchens
The aliens hearing poems of Rumi, melodies of Mevlevis
The aliens seeing the brightness of the Bosphorus, of domes, of young smiles
Ask each other: “Those signals do come from the Earth, but which part exactly?”
One among them gives the answer: “From Europe, of course, where else?!”


Magazine Das Magazin 
Poet Jürg Halter

Pro Helvetia

As neutral as a cheese free of inhibitions
Thriving in a golden bank safe
In the shade of chocolate-covered mountains
Where every cliché becomes a shrieking reality: Pro Helvetia


Magazine Falter 
Poet Michael Stavarič

Barely have I closed my eyes 
and I think to myself
That I fit in there perfectly
In you, my beloved Austria
And everything is good
For 10, 12, 13 breaths
Barely awake again, I am asked if I will 
be writing an obituary to
you, my beloved Austria
And I hear myself say
Yes, yes, oh yes
And then that truly frightened me

Haiku No. 17: Tiger Moms (Tiger Mütter)

arts, Cartoons, Gedichte, Kunst, poems, Psychologie, psychology




Conditionally Love;
Provisioning without mercy,
Having a lock on. 


Tiger Mütter

Liebe mit Bedingungen;
Gnadenlose Versorgung,
Fest im Griff.


Poem No. 109: “Violin” by Elaine C. George

Gedichte, poems

She sleeps in her rose wood bed, 
under a blanket of velvet red; 
old and alone and forgotten, 
she dreams of the love she once had.

Once again she recalls his caress
on the curve of her hips
and her breast
as he moved his bow
on the strings of her soul, 
playing her sound
‘til his passion was spent.

They traveled the whole world over, 
to every city and town; 
the maestro, his bow and violin, 
bringing each curtain down.

He died in a cry of sweet refrain, 
clutching her strings to his heart; 
as he fell to the floor in a final encore, 
tearing her world apart.

So she sleeps in her rose wood bed, 
under a blanket of velvet red; 
her strings still filled 
with the song of her soul, 
etched by the maestro
that loved her
so long ago! 

Poem No. 21: “Geh Fort Von Mir – Go From Me” by Elisabeth Barrett-Browning (1806-1861)

Gedichte, Insights, poems, Technology, Uncategorized
Bildergebnis für aus dem schatten treten
Aus dem Schatten treten. (Stepping out of the shadow)

Geh fort von mir

Geh fort von mir. So werd ich fürderhin
in deinem Schatten stehn. Und niemals mehr
die Schwelle alles dessen, was ich bin,
allein betreten. Niemals wie vorher
verfügen meine Seele. Und die Hand
nicht so wie früher in Gelassenheit
aufheben in das Licht der Sonne, seit
die deine drinnen fehlt. Mag Land um Land
anwachsen zwischen uns, so muss doch dein
Herz in dem meinen bleiben, doppelt schlagend.
Und was ich tu und träume, schließt dich ein:
so sind die Trauben überall im Wein.
Und ruf ich Gott zu mir: Er kommt zu zwein
und sieht mein Auge zweier Tränen tragend.


Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand 
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore 
Alone upon the threshold of my door 
Of individual life, I shall command 
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand 
Serenely in the sunshine as before, 
Without the sense of that which I forbore, .. 
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land 
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine 
With pulses that beat double. What I do 
And what I dream include thee, as the wine 
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue 
God for myself, He hears that name of thine, 
and sees within my eyes, the tears of two.

Poem No. 94: “I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You” by Pablo Neruda

Film, Gedichte, poems
Tango Dancers

I do not love you except because I love you; 
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love; 
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

I cannot resist – and add the following “Santa Maria” Tango compilation for you…

Move your body and dance!

Poem No. 87: “Parting at a Wine-shop in Nanjing” by Li Bai (李白, 701-762)

Gedichte, poems, Reisen, Travel
Qinhui River at sunset in Nanjing, China

A wind, bringing willow-cotton, sweetens the shop,
And a girl from Wu, pouring wine, urges me to share it.
With my comrades of the city who are here to see me off;
And as each of them drains his cup, I say to him in parting,
Oh, go and ask this river running to the east
If it can travel farther than a friend’s love!