Stars over Germany (Selected German Poetry; reedited: 4-2010)

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Stars over Germany

Advance: I spent perhaps four years of my life in West Germany, and saw many castles, up and down the Rhine and Mosel Rivers (and Valley’s), to mention a few locations. There are perhaps 20,000 castles, palaces and ruins in West Germany alone. The History of Germany goes back to the time of Caesar, the conqueror of Gaul, when the Roman Empire was being expanded: Augsburg perhaps is one of the oldest cities in West Germany, dating back to somewhere around 58 BC. In the Middle Ages (450 to 1450 AD) and the Dark ages creeping out of these, around the 10th century, we see such towers like the Dieburg Tower in Dieburg, throughout Germany per se; I lived across the street from the Dieburg Tower and wrote the book, “Cold Kindness,” which involves the ancient tower.
Here are a few poems I did on Germany, the only other poem or poems I did are in the first book I wrote in 1981, “The Other Door.” It was a golden time for me during those early years in the ‘70sº.


The Old Roman Wall
(In Augsburg, Germany)

In Augsburg there’s an old Roman wall of stone
opened to the sky’s sapphire blue—; homeless looking
is this old ruin: soundless, secretive it stands,
unmovable under the sombre sun:
no doors, no locks, just mortar and rock
perhaps, — with a cryptic past…unceasingly
I cannot answer why, but it’s sublime.


#1181 2/7/2006 (Revised and Reedited, 6/2007) to my understanding it was built around 50 BC or so



A Lazy Day in Augsburg
[West Germany—1970]


Against a big oak tree I rested
A lazy day in Augsburg I guess
No work and no place to really go:
The sun is warm, seems jealous also
But I got no protest—
Just weaves of golden sun beams
Upon my brow and chest…!
And I’m thankful for that.



Notes: looking at an old pictures I had taken of myself during that summer of 1970, here I was resting against an old tree, and I remember the day quite well, it was a lazy day indeed, and I was but 22-years old, and life was so simple. I spent much time in Augsburg, Germany, as an American Soldier, in 1970, rambling about when I got free time, and I remember this moment so well. Written 2/2006 revised and reedited 6/2007. #1178

Note: Of the original nine-poems written for “Stars over Germany,” here are four that have been revised and reedited, 6-8-2007. I feel with more sensitivity; originally written 2/2006.



Awakening along the Mosel
(Along the banks of the river in the Mosel Valley, 1976)


There’s a stirring, an awakening,
walking along the banks of the Mosel;
and high above its surrounding hills
are ancient orchards fresh and mild
—castles with a valley breeze!

Wondrous views seldom seen...!



Note: among the many places I have visited during my two stays in Germany, the Mosel Valley, its river and castles were among the greatest highlights. It is seldom a poet can go back to the moment to capture the event. It took me 30-years to write the 12-poems I did on Vietnam, and when I wrote them, it was in less than a week. Here again, is that magical moment in my poem on Germany’s Mosel Valley, 36-years ago. (Revised, reedited 6/2007))Originally written, 2/2006))



Limerick for Cochem,
(Along the Slopes of the Mosel)


Cochem commands the Mosel´s steep slopes
Formed by volcanic upheavals, long ago
Here the towering Reichsburg Castle bows
Bows to the Valley River below
Bows to its mighty volcanic slopes…!



Note: This is the new poem (No: 1872; written, 6/9/2007) The Reichsburg Castle at Cochem, sits on top of a hill, looking town upon the Mosel River. I remember it quite well; my son Cody along with his twin brother Shawn back then, but three years old each, chased a big goose and it turned on Cody and seemingly stunned him for a moment. as Shawn looked on. The slopes are believed to have been formed by volcanic upheavals, in the far past. It is a most beautiful place. In the middle ages, the builders of many of these castles used animal blood and hair as a mixture to reinforce the mortar used in the cement and plaster; thus, the result is, they lasted.

Heidelberg Castle
((Fortress on the Hill) (1975))


It was marvellous in all senses
To have walked on those ancient stones
And now to carry memories of this marvel
That shed light on me so long ago…

I recall, standing tall in its ancient courtyard
(insignificant things happening at the time);
Wandering through its medieval laboratory;
A painting depicting terror and confusion;
An old 16,000-gallon wine cask…in the cellar;
Its destruction! Walls and halls battered.

It was marvellous in all senses
To have walked on those ancient stones
And to have carried those memories back
(to now, so many, many years ago).



Notes by the author: I visited Heidelberg Castle one afternoon, in 1975, this 13th century castle, with 16th century buildings here and there, with my twin boys Shawn and Cody. I stayed for what was called the ‘Illumination,’ where they light up the castle, and had fireworks, a most inspiring event. In its ancient, and most gracious looking courtyard I relaxed and took the day in, my son Cody and Shawn at that time was with me (about three-plus years old),they were running here and there; thank God I was young); it has a slope, or walkway, or rampart, to its top, a long walk it now seems, as I look back, perhaps because I had to carry each of the boys up that long ramp. #1182 2/7/2006 Revised and Reedited 6/2007



Polirritmo of the:
German Winter Shower
((A memo of 1970, in Augsburg Germany) (multi rhythm poem, while in the Army, a Private First Class))


I have an arch-enemy here in the barracks
it tries to eat me, slowly, it works on the mind
it has one big eye, looks down upon me like God
in this case perhaps the devil…
it lives to be my thorn,
I know this as plain as the nose on my face.

I slant to my sides, right and left
the water is running, running in one spot
warm, barely hot, can’t seem to get enough of it
old showers, rusted old showers, half thrust
weak power push, as if someone’s sucking it all out
before I get it, leaves me only enough to wish I had more.
I wonder how the Nazis contended with this.

Slap my face, slap my face, the chill of the air seeps
seeps through the windows…cold breeze on my feet
(the blood in my veins not yet circulating)
old and worn showers, my face is hot
my torso cold, my feet hot my face cold
my belly warm, my arms cold…can’t have it all;
the top of my head is chilled; cars car-tires I hear
outside alongside, flanking I think, the building,
the barracks…horns, it is just first light…
a pale form, from the window (dribbling on my head)
my steel chrome teeth are shuttering, I hear them
like a galloping race horse.
I wonder how the Nazis contended with it.

Cold as a cat’s meow running from a mouse
down this old World War Two Hallway
quivering and dodging the green saggy walls
trying to get to my room to warm up
before formation, before the brass horn sounds
(to salute the flag, run around the buildings
as if my heart wouldn’t be pumped up already)
my heart humming like a purring car engine
my eyes flashing like windshield wipers bobbing
the barracks is like a beehive—full of unthawing life!
Like fish half frozen, coming back to life, snapping
flapping their flippers, jumping to kick-start their hearts!
This winter’s cold stretches my neck veins,
my internal guts, like pumping pistons,
where’s my, my—blanket? (a question to the mind
the big eye doesn’t like);
slowly, slowly I coil it around me like a cocoon!
I wonder how the Nazis contented with this!

Up, down, up down, up down…
I feel like a clown jumping like this
as if I was a confused bullet…:
plunged heart into the pumping, pumping!
I stop, I have to come down…
Bodies walking by, down the hallway—
slow down I say, down, down, down...
They already got their engines started
perhaps didn’t take a shower…?
Breathing better, reflexes not sputtering,
motor functions operating,
everything’s back to normal…liberty!
my body’s inflamed with heat again,
a spirit filled heat;
the eye didn’t get me today, no not yet.
I’ll never get used to these winter showers! Never!
I wonder how the Nazis contented with it!



No: 1925 8-2-2008. Moving and condensed poetry, poetry that captures the movement and spirit of the theme is seldom done, and can usually be done only by someone who has experienced the motion, the condensed actions, and here we have a trip to a German shower (yes just a simple trip, the things life are made up of), in 1970, in the city of Augsburg, West Germany, when I was a soldier, a Private in the Army, USA, when I was 22-years old, something’s never leave you…simple things, but perhaps to certain people, in this case, me, it is no different than a motorcycle ride, one that lasted for 10-months, and in the cold deep of the winter the shower was my arch-rival, it the sense of, it seemed to have its own life. I like the poetry of Juan Parra Del Riego, I enjoy it, it tells you the real moment of action, when it is taking place, and so I try to capture this moment in a multi rhythm order, called Polirritmo. I thought about doing this poem for many years, but was not sure how to produce it without losing its value, its character, its theme, premise, and so I do it the only way I know. And I dedicated this poem to Juan Parra del Riego, for his works have inspired me. This style of poetry has several rhythms to it. Reedited 9-22-2009/reedited, 4-2010.




Legend of the:
The White Lady of Kulmbach
(A West, Germany)


Prologue - with the advent of the Middle Ages and onto the Renaissance, progress had come to Europe, and important men took the seat of familiarity, it was the time of: William Tell (1306 AD), Edward the III of England, Louis the IV of Bavaria (1333 AD); the Othman Empire was founded 1299 AD; this was the time the first clock came into existence, 1348 AD; the first time the French used the cannon in 1308 AD; and the Compass, 1320 AD. Window glass was introduced in around 1300, and the Dark Ages were over, and on came Martin Luther, 1521 AD; William Shakespeare, 1546, ended up reading his plays to Queen Elisabeth. And then there was growing legends in Kulmbach, and its Castle called Plassenburg.

The Ghost of Plassenburg

Perhaps the ghost did it, so many have said, in the past, or perhaps it’s been bad luck or poor leadership, for Plassenburg Castle, but everyone knows it started with Agnes.
I have myself heard many a ghost stories in Germany, even heard one evening mysterious footsteps in an old Babenhausen building back in ‘73; a World War II story, legend says: someone was thrown from that very window, four stories above me: supposedly, those old footsteps still recalling a past tragedy.
But the ‘White Lady,’ of legend, of Plassenburg, still haunts its dark corridors; I saw her one morn. I’ve heard her called by many names, Agnes is one, and the ‘White Lady’ of Kulmbach, another.

And so the legged goes, something like this: —by a scorned heart and depression, she killed her two children, in cold blood, for the love of this fashionable young Count; and when he washed his hands, clean of her: she committed suicide, but with a dying curse, upon her last breath, that she’d comeback as a ghost, and Kulmbach would have no rest. Thus, in 1553, Kulmbach and its castle were under siege; and for thirty-year Kulmbach would not rest, an extended war upon her breasts. Napoleon besieged it in 1806, blew it to bits: ill-fated—bad luck, which’s to say, but it all started, after the death of Agnes…!
Notes: This writer has lived and traveled in West Germany for five-years, in the 1970s, and traveled it extensively, and seen many of its castles, rivers, Abbey’s or Monasteries and the spirit of its land still haunts me, its legends and lore still have moisten my spirit to were I seem to crave more of its spectator design. Written: 7-22-2007 (No: 1914)


Enchanting Dieburg
((By Muenster) (1974))


While I stood here, near the tower of Dieburg, West Germany, in ’74, lived across the street from the Tower door, I must have looked a long time, at the little creek that runs through the park down the street beyond the buildings and small houses, old white walls. Now looking back, after forty years, whatever it was

I seem not to have lost, whatever I had longed for back then, I still have: a gentle, wild feeling, with dark eyes, loving my secret, that it is here, at this very moment I must cherish, while I’m alive. It is here, in the reach of my hand, the space and air filled with delicate life, from the world around me I must grab...

No: 2719 (7-3-2010)


Laughter from the Park (Babenhausen, Germany—spring of 1975)


Birds fly over head—cars running by going nowhere

a kid’s laughter is heard, echoes throughout the little park

a siren goes off—the boy doesn’t know why—
(at the military base nearby)

it sounds again, soldiers smiling with their marching

arrangements

and life goes on, on, on…

as always.

The little boy runs, tries to whistle, escapes and hides
(under some bushes near by)

hiding from those flying birds, and creepy crawlers

playing in that deep green, with its soft soil
(anxiously waiting for something—but who knows what?)
and from the swings and teeter-totter, drama under the blue

the little boy with straw white hair, blond and fair,
looks about this mysterious world, with three-year eyes.

"All is clear” his eyes tell me.
Flowers budded above the bushes, light from the sun

a warm wind and a view that puts a smile on the boy’s face
as I look down on him—
It’s life at its best, yet, it will not be remembered, for him,
not at three;
and life goes on, on, on…

as always.

The boy’s hands, mind and body are mixed with geometry

he is living in a magic world, merrymaking his revelry

with the dome of the earth overhead, as his silver throne

looking for that golden trumpet that sounded a while ago!

From the park to the Old Babenhausen Tower we walk

Cody and me, and his brother Shawn, it is 1975;
to both the twins, the sun is a ball above their heads,

but they don’t say a word, their vocabulary is just forming;

the just think….

Our apartment is down the street some,

I reveal a secret as we walk:
that evening is coming and that the moon is a ball,
colored like the sun…but neither one quite understands
because the moon seems to follow them,
I tell them: it just seems so!

They keep their secret smiles—looks up.

They are living in fog, with multiple wings…

and Shawn’s mind is racing like those park swings,

and life goes on, on, on

as always.

Note: Dedicated to Cody Siluk Sir; No: 1941 (8-17-2007); the author lived in Babenhausen, Germany for several months in 1975, out of close to five-years he spent in West Germany throughout the 70s.


Bavaria’s Harvest
[Augsburg, Germany] A Sonnet

Your enchanting rivers, with earth-bearing decay;

Your picturesque cathedral, weather tarnished;

Your citadel-worn clocks—Bavarian *time;

The city’s fountain of regal design;

Your ancient, thick walls of Roman descent;

Your houses of pleasure, with red lights of tinge;

Your burial grounds, where all must lay in time;

Your lost and hidden beauty undefined.

Your houses of schnitzel, † and guesthouses** of brew;

Your rural potato pickers worn old.

(Ah, Augsburg! Ay, me! Your texture, your cover.)

Your festivals of tents, with flavored birch—I feel your medieval songs,

Your harvest gold,Past, but still present inside my soul.


Note: Poem extracted from the author’s first book, written in 1980, published in 1981, under the title of: “The Other Door, Poetic Exhortations…” © 1981, Dennis L. Siluk, by Exposition Press, New York. [The Sonnet is about: Augsburg, West Germany, 1970, during his first stay in Germany]