We had a very stormy night and it was almost all the other day as to I know there is nothing remarkable about that had many. I remembered how I was excited as a child of storms. Because then I lived. This may seem strange, but I had from childhood on the suspicion that the world is around me somehow wrong as paper mache, deceptive in any case. And when a strong storm this disappeared, on other occasions, such as a severe cold night. This type of reality collapse was something of confidence in the reality world again and made the strange familiar.
There are real declines of various kinds, such as also a weathered nightmare that makes a conscious waking suddenly the illusion of normalcy, as it was disturbingly true. Rather then a storm. A storm frees us something from everyday life and shows how fragile this is, he also freed, one can participate in the mood, something of importance would just happen. If we feel the elemental forces, then we do things back in their order and be reminded of all this is not an idyllic place, perhaps only temporarily.
One finds rather surprising way, bad poems by famous poets of storms, strange. The following are not among them (and the last is none at all about it), I should have written recently about Trakl and Hermann von Pückler Muskau , but Trakl I was not in the mood and the princes Pückler I have repeatedly tried to write something, the problem is, gardens open to the Hike, but can reflect horribly bad.
Annette von Droste-Hülshoff
The tower
I stand on a high balcony on the tower,
Umstrichen of screaming grackles,
And let equal to a maenad the storm
I dig the fluttering hair ;
O wild fellow, oh great Fant,
I want to strongly embrace,
And sinew to sinew, two steps from the edge
on life and death struggle then! And
I see down there on the beach, so fresh
How playing dogs, the waves
cavort around with Geklaff and hissing, shiny flakes
And fast.
jump Oh, I should like once inside,
right into the raging mob, chasing
And through the coral forest
The walrus, the funny booty!
And over there I see a pennant
blow so bold as a banner,
sight up and down the keel to swirl and
From my airy waiting, sitting
Oh, I'd like the fighting ship,
take the helm,
And hissing over the surging reef
How strip a seagull.
If I were a Hunters on the open floor,
a piece only of a soldier
If I were a man but at least only
would so advise me of the sky;
Now I have to sit so fine and clear,
Like a child-like, and may
in secret to solve my hair,
And let it flutter in the wind!
(c) Walter A. Aue
Heinrich Heine
The storm played on the dance
The storm plays for the dance,
He whistles and roars and roars,
Heisa ! jumps as the little ship!
The night is fun and wild.
a Living Water Mountains
Forms the raging sea, towering
Here is a black abyss, yawn
where it is know in the heights.
A swearing, vomiting and praying
horn out from the cabin;
I stick firmly to the mast
And I wish: If I were at home.
Book of Songs
Theodor Storm
sea beach
Ans Haff now fly the gull
And twilight falls;
over the moist cotton
Reflects the evening light gray
poultry huschet
beside the water;
Like dreams, the islands
In the mist on the sea. I
the fermenting sludge
mysterious tone
Lonely hear bird calls -
So it was all along.
Again shudders quietly
silent And then the wind;
will hear the voices,
The more than depth.
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