Sunday 29 May 2011
New blog
Please go to The mind's sky -- Der Himmel des Geistes--my new blog as of 29 May 2011. I look forward to your visit. Thank you.
Wednesday 25 May 2011
The poet's voice
"Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting with the gift of speech." --Simonides
Whenever another poet can fathom your poem and hear its music in their mind's ear, it is like two souls resonate for a moment in an intangible world. But when this poet is able to express the meaning and music of your poem with their voice, so that it is heard, it is extraordinary.
Abigail Baker, is one of those talented poets, who engages your mind and heart with her words. You can read her blog here.
She was particularly intrigued by my poem "Letters pronouncing kisses" (previously published on my blog on 27 March 2011), which she rendered beautiful with her vivid voice in a recording, which you can listen to here.
Letters pronouncing kisses
Purse the lips and exhale the air when saying:
Where, which, what, with, whom, whether and why--
The breath of air should extinguish a candle burning.
Tantalise, titillate, scintillate, exhilarate with breath, the lips, like a sigh.
Before baffling and babbling, becoming beloved, and beaming blossom,
Peering into eyes, parting lips, pausing pleasurably, placing lips upon lips,
pulsating with passion, panting, the proof, the promise; then, as smooth as eating a plum,
Most marvellously the meeting of lips, mmmmmmmm, until touching the tongue tips.
Mouth in motion, melting, in momentum with its own miming and rhyming.
Bitter sweet; bitter the marjoram, sweet the cardamom.
Mumbling, fumbling and then the tumbling.
The tongue trembling saying renaissance romance; souls to fathom.
The rising and falling sound song of every diphthong.
Thirsty, hungry and lovelorn; kiss-drenched with love life long.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
Whenever another poet can fathom your poem and hear its music in their mind's ear, it is like two souls resonate for a moment in an intangible world. But when this poet is able to express the meaning and music of your poem with their voice, so that it is heard, it is extraordinary.
Abigail Baker, is one of those talented poets, who engages your mind and heart with her words. You can read her blog here.
She was particularly intrigued by my poem "Letters pronouncing kisses" (previously published on my blog on 27 March 2011), which she rendered beautiful with her vivid voice in a recording, which you can listen to here.
Letters pronouncing kisses
Purse the lips and exhale the air when saying:
Where, which, what, with, whom, whether and why--
The breath of air should extinguish a candle burning.
Tantalise, titillate, scintillate, exhilarate with breath, the lips, like a sigh.
Before baffling and babbling, becoming beloved, and beaming blossom,
Peering into eyes, parting lips, pausing pleasurably, placing lips upon lips,
pulsating with passion, panting, the proof, the promise; then, as smooth as eating a plum,
Most marvellously the meeting of lips, mmmmmmmm, until touching the tongue tips.
Mouth in motion, melting, in momentum with its own miming and rhyming.
Bitter sweet; bitter the marjoram, sweet the cardamom.
Mumbling, fumbling and then the tumbling.
The tongue trembling saying renaissance romance; souls to fathom.
The rising and falling sound song of every diphthong.
Thirsty, hungry and lovelorn; kiss-drenched with love life long.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
Thursday 19 May 2011
Teestunden
Ein Drache durchstreift den blauen Himmel,
aus weiβen Wolkenfetzen locker genäht.
Seinen gelben Bauch von Raps beleuchtet,
auf der Suche nach einer Zauberformel.
Der Kirchenturm durch weites Land steiget,
markant wie ein Gedanke an eine Freundin.
Kaum gedacht und schon sind wir begegnet.
Treffen wir uns gleich? Zu ihrem Haus hin.
Von Tee war erst die Rede, Blätter gewählt,
Grüner Oolong, der Teetrank von Wonne.
Wir saßen lang in der prallen Sonne.
Wir sprachen von Geburt und Fehlgeburt.
Von der Kirchenglocke, Ruhe schmücken,
Von der Stille der Seele spüren reden,
Von Sonnenstich, und dann Regen, flüchten.
Durch die Seelenwälder Trauer wandern.
Die Beerdigung, drüben Spiegel sprach,
Der Geist als weiβer Engel Frieden schimmern,
Kinder leben, und reden lieb und frech,
Deren Ängste, immer wieder kümmern.
Dämonen, zärtlich und ehrlich enthüllt,
Goldenes Vergnügen trotzdem geholt.
Wir malen schon unseren Grabsteinschmutz,
nie sagt es, „Fenster waren schön geputzt.“
von
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
aus weiβen Wolkenfetzen locker genäht.
Seinen gelben Bauch von Raps beleuchtet,
auf der Suche nach einer Zauberformel.
Der Kirchenturm durch weites Land steiget,
markant wie ein Gedanke an eine Freundin.
Kaum gedacht und schon sind wir begegnet.
Treffen wir uns gleich? Zu ihrem Haus hin.
Von Tee war erst die Rede, Blätter gewählt,
Grüner Oolong, der Teetrank von Wonne.
Wir saßen lang in der prallen Sonne.
Wir sprachen von Geburt und Fehlgeburt.
Von der Kirchenglocke, Ruhe schmücken,
Von der Stille der Seele spüren reden,
Von Sonnenstich, und dann Regen, flüchten.
Durch die Seelenwälder Trauer wandern.
Die Beerdigung, drüben Spiegel sprach,
Der Geist als weiβer Engel Frieden schimmern,
Kinder leben, und reden lieb und frech,
Deren Ängste, immer wieder kümmern.
Dämonen, zärtlich und ehrlich enthüllt,
Goldenes Vergnügen trotzdem geholt.
Wir malen schon unseren Grabsteinschmutz,
nie sagt es, „Fenster waren schön geputzt.“
von
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
Sunday 27 March 2011
Letters pronouncing kisses
Purse the lips and exhale the air when saying:
Where, which, what, with, whom, whether and why--
The breath of air should extinguish a candle burning.
Tantalise, titillate, scintillate, exhilarate with breath, the lips, like a sigh.
Before baffling and babbling, becoming beloved, and beaming blossom,
Peering into eyes, parting lips, pausing pleasurably, placing lips upon lips,
pulsating with passion, panting, the proof, the promise; then, as smooth as eating a plum,
Most marvellously the meeting of lips, mmmmmmmm, until touching the tongue tips.
Mouth in motion, melting, in momentum with its own miming and rhyming.
Bitter sweet; bitter the marjoram, sweet the cardamom.
Mumbling, fumbling and then the tumbling.
The tongue trembling saying renaissance romance; souls to fathom.
The rising and falling sound song of every diphthong.
Thirsty, hungry and lovelorn; kiss-drenched with love life long.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
Where, which, what, with, whom, whether and why--
The breath of air should extinguish a candle burning.
Tantalise, titillate, scintillate, exhilarate with breath, the lips, like a sigh.
Before baffling and babbling, becoming beloved, and beaming blossom,
Peering into eyes, parting lips, pausing pleasurably, placing lips upon lips,
pulsating with passion, panting, the proof, the promise; then, as smooth as eating a plum,
Most marvellously the meeting of lips, mmmmmmmm, until touching the tongue tips.
Mouth in motion, melting, in momentum with its own miming and rhyming.
Bitter sweet; bitter the marjoram, sweet the cardamom.
Mumbling, fumbling and then the tumbling.
The tongue trembling saying renaissance romance; souls to fathom.
The rising and falling sound song of every diphthong.
Thirsty, hungry and lovelorn; kiss-drenched with love life long.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
Thursday 17 March 2011
Life is like a row of dominoes
Life is like a row of dominoes. Everybody places them. Some have good motives and some don't. But, when one event kick-starts the domino effect, all sorts of things happen that you cannot blame on anybody in particular, because we are all connected some way or another in a very complex, and sometimes ironic, web.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
Sunday 6 March 2011
Respect
Have no fear when thine spear is near,
but be gracious and sincere,
heart to heart, eye to eye, and ear to ear,
and never veer to the rear.
Be a warrior on the frontier,
defend what is dear, and confront here,
turning only when all is clear,
shake hands in triumph and cheer.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
November 2009
but be gracious and sincere,
heart to heart, eye to eye, and ear to ear,
and never veer to the rear.
Be a warrior on the frontier,
defend what is dear, and confront here,
turning only when all is clear,
shake hands in triumph and cheer.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
November 2009
Wednesday 23 February 2011
A star for you
Our feet sinking softly on the white sands,
of the peninsula's carbonate shore,
our loving clasping hands,
we all of each other so adore.
Walking on land that the Miocene Epoch brought,
where rock is ground offshore, onshore and alongshore,
for each other we are fraught,
with gems of heart and mind, loving to explore more and more.
The ocean tide gently rippling o'er our feet,
and Helios gently kissing our skin aglow,
when we're together, all is so complete,
and our feelings and thoughts simply flow.
The ocean air caressing our senses,
the sound of waves falling and nearing
the ocean mists on our cool skin condenses,
despite passions deep within us searing.
When Uranus is farthest from our Earth,
we shall stride together in harmony,
basking in each other's mirth,
rivalling even the holiest matrimony.
At sunset, one of the gentlest kisses we shall share,
to each other we are eternally drawn,
resting upon our shoulders all of my longer hair,
until, emerging in the sky, the son of the Titanic goddess of dawn.
Hesperus, the evening star, mirroring our own beaming,
and later the waxing moon visits,
touching each other, proof of our not dreaming.
Eos, with her rosy fingers fidgets.
She opens the gates of heaven,
so that Apollo can ride his chariot across the sky,
the beauty of the night to us god-given,
our exquisite love as perfect as infinity and pi.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
of the peninsula's carbonate shore,
our loving clasping hands,
we all of each other so adore.
Walking on land that the Miocene Epoch brought,
where rock is ground offshore, onshore and alongshore,
for each other we are fraught,
with gems of heart and mind, loving to explore more and more.
The ocean tide gently rippling o'er our feet,
and Helios gently kissing our skin aglow,
when we're together, all is so complete,
and our feelings and thoughts simply flow.
The ocean air caressing our senses,
the sound of waves falling and nearing
the ocean mists on our cool skin condenses,
despite passions deep within us searing.
When Uranus is farthest from our Earth,
we shall stride together in harmony,
basking in each other's mirth,
rivalling even the holiest matrimony.
At sunset, one of the gentlest kisses we shall share,
to each other we are eternally drawn,
resting upon our shoulders all of my longer hair,
until, emerging in the sky, the son of the Titanic goddess of dawn.
Hesperus, the evening star, mirroring our own beaming,
and later the waxing moon visits,
touching each other, proof of our not dreaming.
Eos, with her rosy fingers fidgets.
She opens the gates of heaven,
so that Apollo can ride his chariot across the sky,
the beauty of the night to us god-given,
our exquisite love as perfect as infinity and pi.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
Thursday 17 February 2011
Mein Gedankenabenteuer
Der Geruch von Graphit und Holz.
Der sanfte Klang von Gekritzel auf Papier
hörbar über dem Summen der Fliegen
und getrennt von dem Ticken der Uhr.
Die Stille dazwischen ist erkennbar
wie die Vakuumräume zwischen Atomen der Materie.
Wenn ich mich noch mehr konzentrieren könnte
würde ich den Klang der Gedanken hören.
Mit jedem Atemzug von ruhiger Luft
und jeden Strahl von Sonnenlicht auf meinen Augen,
ist den Gehirn angetrieben.
Und dann ein Seufzer—das Produkt der Gedanken ausgeatmet.
Gedanken unterbrechen die enorme Stille.
Jeder Gedanke, pur und ungetrübt.
Nervenzellen von diversen zerebralen Räumen
finden einen Weg sich klar zu verbinden.
Dieser Einsamkeit ermöglicht die Freude
mit der ich immer tiefer in der Mathematik eintauchen.
Bei jeder Ebene tauscht man durch Abstraktion
das Konkrete für mentale Mobilität.
Zahlen werden eigentlich weniger.
Es handelt sich mehr über symbolisierter Ideen und Zusammenhängen.
Das Abenteuer ist das Finden eines Weges von etwas Bekanntem
durch das Unbekannte vielleicht zurück zu einem anderen Bekannten.
von
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
31 August 2009
Der sanfte Klang von Gekritzel auf Papier
hörbar über dem Summen der Fliegen
und getrennt von dem Ticken der Uhr.
Die Stille dazwischen ist erkennbar
wie die Vakuumräume zwischen Atomen der Materie.
Wenn ich mich noch mehr konzentrieren könnte
würde ich den Klang der Gedanken hören.
Mit jedem Atemzug von ruhiger Luft
und jeden Strahl von Sonnenlicht auf meinen Augen,
ist den Gehirn angetrieben.
Und dann ein Seufzer—das Produkt der Gedanken ausgeatmet.
Gedanken unterbrechen die enorme Stille.
Jeder Gedanke, pur und ungetrübt.
Nervenzellen von diversen zerebralen Räumen
finden einen Weg sich klar zu verbinden.
Dieser Einsamkeit ermöglicht die Freude
mit der ich immer tiefer in der Mathematik eintauchen.
Bei jeder Ebene tauscht man durch Abstraktion
das Konkrete für mentale Mobilität.
Zahlen werden eigentlich weniger.
Es handelt sich mehr über symbolisierter Ideen und Zusammenhängen.
Das Abenteuer ist das Finden eines Weges von etwas Bekanntem
durch das Unbekannte vielleicht zurück zu einem anderen Bekannten.
von
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
31 August 2009
Monday 7 February 2011
The finest gold is in our hearts to hold
Fractal divine trees defining the horizon,
Silhouetted black against the golden glow of eventide,
With Helios, most precious liaison,
To thee, god of sun, I abide.
I forfeit the splendour of landscape colour, to glory in your gold,
So colourful your glory, backscattered circular in the fine mist,
Handsome Titan with shining halo I so dearly behold,
The depths of my soul feel so kissed.
So precious is this, within us the alchemist
Strives to distill this divine elixir,
Contain it in flagons, so that in darkness we spray its mist,
In our illusion that we could harness the powers of Excalibur.
We crave its tangibility and bow to Khrysos, god of gold,
The metal, cold to hold, soft and noble, brilliantly gleams,
Mining deep the dark earth for its treasures gold, toiling hard and bold,
To all our material urges quelling it seems.
But those that greed to own it, possessing
like Midas, that everything turn golden that he touches,
becoming starved of what truly is nurturing and progressing,
and for the antithesis thereafter he beseeches.
Pindar says of gold: “…neither moth nor rust devoureth it;
But the mind of man is devoured by this supreme possession.”
The dark Brocken spectre is but a shadow of a summit unlit,
No gold that we in our hands can hold can defy the darkness demon procession.
We seek and seek, seeking the philosopher’s stone,
As we seek, we perpetuate our torment,
For the jewel of happiness is realized in the serenity of being alone,
And in not seeking, and not grasping; by letting be, inviting enlightenment.
Redemption of Midas’ curse,
The river sands turn to gold,
Making light the purse,
So that light can fill the heart of fortunes untold.
Facing our darkness demons ,
Having the courage to be with the pain,
Summoning the wealth of our acumens,
To liberate us from being possessed by demons of gain.
Having gratitude for time and fortitude for patience,
Helios will again ride his chariot across Theia’s canvas,
Without suffering we could not be granted our sentience,
Without blackness we cannot know lightness.
But even in the darkness of the universe,
Selene brings the sun’s light from other people’s day,
In her silver chariot, dragon-pulled, across the sky she will traverse,
And stars twinkle their old light, red, blue and gold, from far far away.
Often we will be embraced by Helios on one side and Selene on the other,
And then she radiates Helios’ glory to us in the dark,
Reflecting the beauty of her brother, who is illuminating the beauty of their mother,
But she will cycle herself between us and her brother, and be dark.
When we are embraced by her, she will end her journey spectacular,
On the horizon, all her beautiful cratered features bathed in the pink of dawning,
Solar gold splendour like a rose unfolding, rays through clouds heavenly crepuscular,
And the day is born to us, all its possibilities to us yawning.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
13 December 2009
Silhouetted black against the golden glow of eventide,
With Helios, most precious liaison,
To thee, god of sun, I abide.
I forfeit the splendour of landscape colour, to glory in your gold,
So colourful your glory, backscattered circular in the fine mist,
Handsome Titan with shining halo I so dearly behold,
The depths of my soul feel so kissed.
So precious is this, within us the alchemist
Strives to distill this divine elixir,
Contain it in flagons, so that in darkness we spray its mist,
In our illusion that we could harness the powers of Excalibur.
We crave its tangibility and bow to Khrysos, god of gold,
The metal, cold to hold, soft and noble, brilliantly gleams,
Mining deep the dark earth for its treasures gold, toiling hard and bold,
To all our material urges quelling it seems.
But those that greed to own it, possessing
like Midas, that everything turn golden that he touches,
becoming starved of what truly is nurturing and progressing,
and for the antithesis thereafter he beseeches.
Pindar says of gold: “…neither moth nor rust devoureth it;
But the mind of man is devoured by this supreme possession.”
The dark Brocken spectre is but a shadow of a summit unlit,
No gold that we in our hands can hold can defy the darkness demon procession.
We seek and seek, seeking the philosopher’s stone,
As we seek, we perpetuate our torment,
For the jewel of happiness is realized in the serenity of being alone,
And in not seeking, and not grasping; by letting be, inviting enlightenment.
Redemption of Midas’ curse,
The river sands turn to gold,
Making light the purse,
So that light can fill the heart of fortunes untold.
Facing our darkness demons ,
Having the courage to be with the pain,
Summoning the wealth of our acumens,
To liberate us from being possessed by demons of gain.
Having gratitude for time and fortitude for patience,
Helios will again ride his chariot across Theia’s canvas,
Without suffering we could not be granted our sentience,
Without blackness we cannot know lightness.
But even in the darkness of the universe,
Selene brings the sun’s light from other people’s day,
In her silver chariot, dragon-pulled, across the sky she will traverse,
And stars twinkle their old light, red, blue and gold, from far far away.
Often we will be embraced by Helios on one side and Selene on the other,
And then she radiates Helios’ glory to us in the dark,
Reflecting the beauty of her brother, who is illuminating the beauty of their mother,
But she will cycle herself between us and her brother, and be dark.
When we are embraced by her, she will end her journey spectacular,
On the horizon, all her beautiful cratered features bathed in the pink of dawning,
Solar gold splendour like a rose unfolding, rays through clouds heavenly crepuscular,
And the day is born to us, all its possibilities to us yawning.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
13 December 2009
Friday 28 January 2011
Timeless rapture
You enchant me with melodic Escher staircases,
scintillating all the way up my spine into my brain.
I walk around in bewilderment so that again I have to tie my shoe laces.
Brilliant and powerful and passionate, perfect is the harmony train.
Where the notes play a strange kind of algebra;
the rich tonality echoes like a rainbow in my mind,
displacing even the darkest of shadow in the mind’s umbra,
where music, poetry and mathematics are intertwined.
Colour and light expanding mind, making room for geometrical thought,
and causing a riot with my passionate sensibilities,
evoking true love to be sought,
calculating all the probabilities and possibilities.
That your music has lived on,
that your compositions can make thine spirit alive in me,
even though thou art long gone,
that still today it can be.
Even though your heart is in an urn, in a pillar, in a church,
and no longer beating in your ribcage, in your handsome frame,
but in the ears of the mind of the beholder’s search,
your music lights mine heart aflame.
It teleports me into the past, at a time when Delacroix painted us together,
where I was an imposter in a man’s world,
freeing myself from all forms of tether,
so that my spirit could be unfurled.
In the dress of men I was free and unrestrained,
men’s clothes aside I was such a womanly woman,
your melodies unchained.
So remarkable was our acumen.
I, a French novelist,
imparting the first kiss,
always looking forward to our tryst.
I was the love of your life; eternal is this bliss.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
scintillating all the way up my spine into my brain.
I walk around in bewilderment so that again I have to tie my shoe laces.
Brilliant and powerful and passionate, perfect is the harmony train.
Where the notes play a strange kind of algebra;
the rich tonality echoes like a rainbow in my mind,
displacing even the darkest of shadow in the mind’s umbra,
where music, poetry and mathematics are intertwined.
Colour and light expanding mind, making room for geometrical thought,
and causing a riot with my passionate sensibilities,
evoking true love to be sought,
calculating all the probabilities and possibilities.
That your music has lived on,
that your compositions can make thine spirit alive in me,
even though thou art long gone,
that still today it can be.
Even though your heart is in an urn, in a pillar, in a church,
and no longer beating in your ribcage, in your handsome frame,
but in the ears of the mind of the beholder’s search,
your music lights mine heart aflame.
It teleports me into the past, at a time when Delacroix painted us together,
where I was an imposter in a man’s world,
freeing myself from all forms of tether,
so that my spirit could be unfurled.
In the dress of men I was free and unrestrained,
men’s clothes aside I was such a womanly woman,
your melodies unchained.
So remarkable was our acumen.
I, a French novelist,
imparting the first kiss,
always looking forward to our tryst.
I was the love of your life; eternal is this bliss.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
Friday 21 January 2011
Inspire
What it is, to inspire,
reaching up to the skies,
powerful spear structure,
beautifully starred spire?
What does out of this arise,
tis not a guise,
but sublime allure,
sovereign rise?
What gives to assure,
speaking words wise,
there is a cure,
lofty aims for sure?
What it is to infuse,
gazing soul's eyes,
golden azure,
hearts and minds fuse?
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
21 July 2009
reaching up to the skies,
powerful spear structure,
beautifully starred spire?
What does out of this arise,
tis not a guise,
but sublime allure,
sovereign rise?
What gives to assure,
speaking words wise,
there is a cure,
lofty aims for sure?
What it is to infuse,
gazing soul's eyes,
golden azure,
hearts and minds fuse?
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
21 July 2009
Thursday 13 January 2011
Tea of life
Lament lament — my beautiful little Taiwanese teapot.
What it meant? In it steeped leaves of tea — elixir for my sleepy soul,
waking heaven frontiers — from clay, mindfully wrought.
Breaking after seven years — seeped tears — an err from a blinded soul.
Every morning — this ritual of mine.
Grievously mourning — scattered unseen shards — amongst the stench of trash.
Potion it contained — virtual shrine.
Notion explained — badgered sheen in cosmic graveyards — for it is now proverbial ash.
Exclaim delight! I discover something peculiar.
Ending plight — Japanese, beautiful little teapot — within, a scaffolding mesh.
Special pot — handle and spout, perpendicular.
Thrilled at my lot — ease this has brought — restoring the flesh.
New passage — this middle path taken.
Knew the sage — a new leaf turned — fresh leaves to brew
Gleam in sight — in my new-found enchanted haven.
Glean insight — lessons of life learned — finding what is true.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
22 August 2009
What it meant? In it steeped leaves of tea — elixir for my sleepy soul,
waking heaven frontiers — from clay, mindfully wrought.
Breaking after seven years — seeped tears — an err from a blinded soul.
Every morning — this ritual of mine.
Grievously mourning — scattered unseen shards — amongst the stench of trash.
Potion it contained — virtual shrine.
Notion explained — badgered sheen in cosmic graveyards — for it is now proverbial ash.
Exclaim delight! I discover something peculiar.
Ending plight — Japanese, beautiful little teapot — within, a scaffolding mesh.
Special pot — handle and spout, perpendicular.
Thrilled at my lot — ease this has brought — restoring the flesh.
New passage — this middle path taken.
Knew the sage — a new leaf turned — fresh leaves to brew
Gleam in sight — in my new-found enchanted haven.
Glean insight — lessons of life learned — finding what is true.
by
Quirina Roode-Gutzmer
22 August 2009
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