I wish you recovery, dear Edda, and sending here my
blessings for you!
Thank you, for your poems they are such near to lives
from human and
animals, from memories and wishes…
by Edda Hackl
Safe from air-raids, it was thought:
One day, a black man
is brought in,
bruised, scratched, dirty,
not seriously hurt –
parachuted from a downed plane
into the dense pine-forest.
exposed to the stares
of a dozen people.
pulls out his iron ration,
reaches out to us,
offers it to us,
turning to each –
and each one refuses the offer,
fearful, that it might be poisoned
(we had been “instructed”),
tempting though the treats look
to ever-hungry children.
Policemen come and lead him away,
good-naturedly they say,
Years later I wondered,
what this man must have thought.
Did he understand
why his peace offering
had not been accepted?
Did he think it was
the color of his skin
that kept us from doing so?
How I wished to be able to tell him
that the prejudice he encountered,
wasn’t the kind experience had taught him.
How I wished I had known to accept
and touch his outstretched hand.
Be sure, it tolls for me, the and you!)
Over hundred of years there has changed nothing
Which thought of the men has never been thought?
I guess, none.
No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man
is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine;
if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe
is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as
well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine
owne were; any mans death diminishes me,
because I am involved in Mankinde
And therefore never send to know for who
the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.
Our behaviour in this world
Give me always to think ….
At least, this lines have been written
in the years of 1572 and 1631
(T.A. 274, 130, teilw. 140)
…Did that soul a good way towards heaven direct
where is this mankind now? who lives to ages,
fit to be made Methusalem his page?
Wheter a true made clock run right, or lie.
Old gansires talk of yesterday with sorrow
and for our children we reserve tomorrow
So short is life, that every peasant strives
in a torn house, or field, to have three lives.
And as in lasting, so in length is man
contracted to an inch, who was a span
For had a man at first in forests strayed
or shipwrecked in the sea, one would have
laid a wager, that an elephant or whale
that met him, would not hastily assail
a thing so equal to him:
now alas, the fairies and the pygmies well
may pass as credible; mankind decays so soon,
We’are scarce our fathers’ shadows cast at noon.
(Only to think about…)
by Edda Hackl
There is no
Sit in prayer,
But during the passing
Of the day
There are these
Deep breaths of
Fresh, clean, air,
The smells of grass,
Cut wood and pine;
And the darker
For the sky,
Or of sitting
By clear brooks,
I don’t feel
Of form or plan.
What is given.
I carry your heart with me
E. E. Cummings
carry your heart with me (I carry it in
am never without it (anywhere
want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
© Isabella Bernardo, Wien
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