CAPUT VI
127
Düsseldorf, artificial diamond
whose colour’s like the constellation of
Taurus medio January, now
a centre for ladies’ fashion, supplies
and numerous industries. Although in
Nagel’s Enzyklopädie, Reiseführer
on Germany the name Heinrich Heine
is not mentioned, even though it was here
bbbbbbddddddddddddddddddddeeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeefffggggghhjjjjjkkkkk
llllmmrrrrrrrrrrrsssssssssssssssssttåååå
in Düsseldorf, Bolkerstrasse 10, he
came into the world. Oh dark genius
your light is so strong it is mistaken.
128
Your light is strong it is mistaken
for advertisements on Königs Allé,
and the esoteric gleam coming from
the large offices from where it’s controlled
and administered, in whose windows the
sun sets in a glorious plumage of
scarlet feathers. It’s quiet once more a
round Rote Armee, but for how long has
aaaabbbbbbbddddddddddddddddeeeeeeeee
eeeeeeeeeeeeefffjjjjjjkkkkmmmm
ppsssssssssssssssssssttttttttyyåå
the silence now or in the past been ab
le to compete in any way at all
with the Good, or with that which is the truth?
129
With the Good and with that which is the truth
things are in a bad way in the Feder
al Republic, here in Doctor Oetker’s
gigantic pudding empire, which is not
basically any different from Her
bert Quandt’s automobile kingdom full of
friction and radial engines. I see
things apparently as they were re
is is is is is is is is is is
blinding blinding blinding is is this this
blinding blinding blinding blinding circle
flected: the evening’s big tycoons, its ma
tadors and card-decks’ kings of clubs in this
mirror that marks out dazzlement’s circle.
130
Mirror that marks out dazzlement’s circle:
not even the spirit of immortali
ty can mist up its surface, while at the
death of the three partisans it is crushed
or cracks like a human mind that sudden
ly collapses into schizophrenia
and leaves behind the cliffs on the Rhine like
the precious stone from the picture by Max
mirror mirror mirror blue blue blue self
I I I I I long loving-kindness
long long long long long long from mean mean mean
Ernst: after me sleep comes. But I myself
long so terribly for loving-kindness.
I do not know what it’s supposed to mean.
131
I do not know what it’s supposed to mean
that Heine’s name is almost taboo here.
Perhaps just because he was a jew or
because he criticised the German Reich.
The swamp of sympathisers was alrea
dy deep back then. – Aber der Rechtsstaat dürfe
sich nicht zu einer Habeas Corpusak
te für Terroristen verkürzen non
der der der der der der der der der ler ler
now now now now now ler ler ler ler yet
bank bank bank is is only from from der
sense general secretary of the CDU
Geisler says in Bonn. He does not know yet
that I am sitting by the Rhine’s blue banks.
132
That I am sitting by the Rhine’s blue banks
beneath an exact Uranus oppo
sition is a fact. I imagine I
can hear a faint sound in A minor which
perhaps is coming from the first snowflakes
that are gathering above the river.
And I do not know if it is possi
ble to live after having heard this fi
der der der der der and and not not der
from from from not not not not and waters
and sleep sleep sleepless gogo go go
nal and total music which causes me
to drift out onto the sleepless waters
where I almost wish I could go under.
133
Where I almost wish I could go under
I wrote, but that of course is merely co
quetry. Nobody clings to life more than
I do. But as everyone knows he who
wishes most to die is the one life binds
most strongly. The sun stands behind naked
branches which are white with frost and carbon
dioxide snow. I confess I am in
love love love love love love could could could could
shipwreck shipwreck shipwreck shipwreck it it
shipwreck shipwreck shipwreck which which binds binds
two minds when it comes to ideals. I
could only suffer shipwreck against love,
like the seaman against Lorelei’s cliffs.
134
Like the seaman against Lorelei’s cliffs
In Clemens Bretano’s poem or Heine’s
full of the madder lake of gloom, the par
tisans of the Rote Armee Fraktion
also end up going under, because
they follow the heart more than reason, be
cause they elevate themselves above rea
son and because evil has far deeper
our our our our our our which selves who
which which it it I hear heart heart heart price
are are are are are are heart heart heart heart
roots than they believe. And who is it that
always has to pay the price of freedom:
perhaps those who are the purest in heart.
135
Perhaps those who are the purest in heart
(and thereby as hard as turquoise) perhaps
they can forget or even forgive the
murderers in Stammheim, while we with our
black hearts, which smell of charcoal burner’s smoke
under the burnt-down birch of its arter
ies, think mostly of revenge against the
German state and its representatives.
at Schlossufer at Schlossufer is a
spires spires spires spires spires spires spires spires in
stone in stone in stone murder murder’s filth
At Schlossufer the late-gothic spires of
the Lambertus church have been restored, for
they are mostly damaged by dirt and filth.
136
They are mostly damaged by dirt and filth,
the best brains and most loving minds of the
generation. Shoot themselves gradual
ly or suddenly in both a liter
al and a metaphorical sense. I
follow their tracks with night-express trains of
aluminium. An obscure poet
(like the artist cut off from life) on his
way over Rheinkniebrücke to immor
talise those who first sacrifice themselves –
and the swiftest destruction lies waiting.
137
And the swiftest destruction lies waiting
for the first fall of snow which lies like a
lace doily in Heinrich Heine Allee
with meander motifs from the car tyres’
imprints and tracks. Why are poets the most
sensitive when it comes to pain? – Because
they’re familiar with it from inside where
it stems from the deepest wounds of the mind
only kept clean with lapis and spirits
who die who die who die who die each day
while we with hearts of stone gain a respite
only kept clean with lapis and spirits.
And therefore they die each and every day,
while we with hearts of stone gain a respite.
138
While we with hearts of stone gain a respite
(including train journeys to Düsseldorf
or to Harzen’s silver) they either die
or they are tortured in the prison’s filth.
Enough of that. January’s shining
like neon in ether I see from here
where I’m sitting surrounded by slot ma
chines: Eight Balls, Mint and Night Rider etc.
can be lost can be lost can be lost where
that you win back again that you win back
can be lost can be lost can be lost again
as well as Lord. But no matter how man
y marks or pfennigs you happen to win:
here there is nothing more that can be lost.
139
Here there is nothing more that can be lost
since everything is lost: respect, honour
as well as decency. The birds are circ
ling around the acetylene flame of
winter, as I am around age’s na
ked point bordering on forty, the pro
scenium of lies and collusion here
and now which finally is to be tra
bbbbddddddddddddddddddddddeeeeeeeeeettttt
eeeeeeeeeeeeffffggggjjjjjjkkkklllmmmtttt
rrrrrrrrssssssssssssssssssssssssstttvvvåå
versed on the cothurni of reali
ty to make the declamation of love.
So only everything to be regained.
140
So only everything to be regained:
the splintered femur of the moon, the used
matches and drawing pins the lost kingdom
of the spirit, which possibly is the
white square of insanity, through which the
composer Schumann flung himself into
the Rhine. And as mentioned it is not just now
that is the question here, but a huge and
omnipresent silence that exists on
the reverse side of this century’s noise.
Düsseldorf, artificial diamond.
141
Düsseldorf, artificial diamond.
Your light is so strong that it’s mistaken
with the Good or with that which is the truth.
Mirror that marks out dazzlement’s circle.
I do not know what it’s supposed to mean
that I am sitting by the Rhine’s blue banks
where I almost wish I could go under
like the seaman against Lorelei’s cliffs.
Perhaps those who are the purest in heart
they are mostly damaged by dirt and filth
and the swiftest destruction lies waiting,
while we with hearts of stone gain a respite.
Here there is nothing more that can be lost
so only everything to be regained.
142
So only everything to be regained
for example the colour of the Rhine
(it’s really military green) and a
proper democracy, one that is not
subject to the economic laws and
dictates of the Thyssen regime. Or a
freedom which is completely real and does
not only applies to sociolo
aaaaaaaabbbbbddddddddddddddddddddddtttttå
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhllnnnnoooottttyå
pprrrrsssssssssssssssssssssssssssssstttå
gists, head editors (along with their neph
ews) and the local politicians.
Here there is nothing more that can be lost.
143
Here there is nothing more that can be lost
not even the burnt ethyl of the i
deas. There is no bread and wine to be
divided, for the rich have stolen and
sequestered everything, and now they earn
millions on champagne and the green salts of
Rhine wine. In Rheinische Post there’s not a
line about investigations to ex
plain the murders that took place in Stammheim.
Now they’re being killed for the second time.
While we with hearts of stone gain a respite.
144
While we with hearts of stone gain a respite
(in a grave lined with ten mattresses or
in the zink-white of ivory chambers)
the hunt continues covertly for the
RAF and-or for the sympathisers as
well as for the defence lawyers, in the
streets among the sparrow skulls the snow and
the withered roses, as well as in the
mind mind mind I I I I I backyards
I am am am am am am am after
destruction lies is is destruction lies
most secret backyards of the human mind,
the hunt for those who are last to give up
and the swiftest destruction lies waiting.
145
And the swiftest destruction lies waiting
for open resistance, that’s for sure, but
there is an underground suppressed one as
well. At the universities there are
new, secret broods of scorpions being
hatched, and in a railway tunnel close to
Dortmund there’s written in white paint ‘Poli
zei erschlagen’ (I have seen it myself)
there there there there there there I I I there
I I I I I I I I white walls
and and and and are are are are are filth
or written in quick lime in these modern
catacombs, and all the time the white walls
they are mostly damaged by dirt and filth.
146
They are mostly damaged by dirt and filth
this cities in the Ruhr belt, which lie there
like some corroded diamond necklace
in aqua regis or crushed anthracite.
And even though all sunsets are beauty
ful, the one seen near Bremen’s fantastic
because you see it from both sides of the
train, which travels almost in an ellipse.
Heine this this this this this this not not
it it it it it is is is is is is here
beautiful pure pure pure is is heart
Bremen on the other hand does not lie
in the Ruhr nor was Heine born there, but
perhaps those who are the purest in heart.
147
Perhaps those who are the purest in heart
are those with the dirtiest hands, the blood
iest hands with gunshot residue on
them, because they defended human rights.
And perhaps the gentlest of poets find
it necessary to run riot so
as to preserve human dignity. The
most sensitive lovers in their own nights
only only blue blue Lorelei serve
are are are are only only from power
who who who who who who and and from who
must finally face destruction in o
der to serve love and demonstrate its power
like the seaman against Lorelei’s cliffs?
148
Like the seaman against Lorelei’s cliffs
Jungblut’s ‘Der Rheinschiffer’ also stares out
over the cobalt of the Rhone terraces
or rather: the salt of the emerald board.
What does he see out there in the future
apart from smoke from the huge steelworks and
cables of the Oberkasseler bridge?
Behind him still lies the hall of Schumann
the smoke the smoke the smoke you you our our
der Frühe der Frühe der Frühe see
like like like we the smoke
like a mighty conch that houses the e
cho of the past: Gesänge der Frühe,
where I almost wish I could go under.
149
Where I almost wish I could go under.
Ah, this double talk with me sitting here
eating Bratwurst with puréed potatoes
and drinking Gatzweiler’s dark-brown pilsners.
It is like reading from Rheinsiche Post:
RAF Anwälter bereiten sich auf die eig
ene Verteidigung vor, at the same
time as the German government goes on
Bratwurst Bratwurst puréed potatoes are
Bratwurst is is is is is as life
we we we who who you you you blue banks
invoking the sacredness of freedom.
It is precisely to sing life’s praises
that I am sitting by the Rhine’s blue banks.
150
That am sitting by the Rhine’s blue banks
in the deepening winter twilight is
not due to any coincidence, but
is a convergence of various things,
a point of intersection of certain
variables. I have reach my own per
sonal Rubicon. And the dice have been
thrown out onto the magenta-coloured
I place all I place all and I place all
I see win win win win win and and a
I see I see I see urban as houses
surface of the evening: and I place all
my money on the urban guerrilla.
I do not know what it’s supposed to mean.
151
I do not know what it’s supposed to mean
that I just as in horse-racing always
insist on betting on the outsider,
the dark horse or the underdog et ce
tera. Perhaps because I did not have
a father while I was growing up or
because the frustration at a lack of
recognition is gradually go
ing to my head, or perhaps because I
quite simply have managed to see through the
mirror that marks out dazzlement’s circle?
152
Mirror that marks out dazzlement’s circle:
Schwanenspiegel at Graf Adolf Platz in
whose waters so many potential sui
cides have been scared off from committing the
act on seeing their own death’s head skull ris
ing out of the snow-stained surface of the
quicksilver. Now scraps of paper are drifting
around in the wind (coming from a dis
there is it is it is that it is packs
of orange juice that it sinks that it sinks
which is the which is the which is the truth
carded poem) among the condoms and
the packs of orange juice – they’ll sink perhaps
with the Good, or with that which is the truth.
153
With the Good, or with that which is the truth
one should hardly count on in Thyssenland.
Only what can be sold by a merchant
what is consumed and factory owners
count. Let the poets all disappear in
to their distant towers of madness or
throw themselves into the river of pain,
despair, shoot themselves through the head with im
to no avail to no avail to no
the spirit doesn’t count oh genius
your light is so strong and it’s mistaken
mortality’s bullet: to no avail.
The spirit doesn’t count here. Oh genius
your light is so strong it is mistaken.
154
Your light is so strong it is mistaken
with the daemonical, Heinrich Heine.
Perhaps you entered into a pact with
the Devil (the great poets have to un
fortunately) pawned one half of your own
heart, but the other half belongs to God
along with oak-leaves, laurels and that which
can only be measured in blood and suf
fering. The gleam from that split, that uni
versal sound continues to shine over
Düsseldorf, artificial diamond.
155
Düsseldorf, artificial diamond.
Who believes in the unity of things
any longer? The intellectual
speculants, the lawyers and the phari
see who do not even dare to look at
the solar eclipse of the other side
in the eyes (through the sooted glass of doubt).
Only the spirit is unity and
it of course is precisely not matter.
Here there is nothing more that can be lost
so only everything to be regained.
No comments:
Post a Comment