Poetry... and prose

Gedanken zum Thema MÄNNER, gedichtet
von Schülerinnen und Schülern des Abiturjahrgangs 1996
Poetry...
MOMENTS
My interior vibrates
my heart beats faster and faster
When we touch by accident
the air crackles
We talk and laugh together
Her laughter is sweet music to me
She is so charming
Lightning flashes through my inner
magma
When she’s close to me.
I feel the desire to
take her in my arms
I feel the desire to
kiss her
But courage is missing
But only for a moment
But only for a moment?
Dominique Boutin
MEN
HEROES
Men are proud
Disgusting, rotten, vulgar, drunk
Men are strong
That’s the way we’re seen
They rule countries
Chauvinistic, dirty bums
They pass judgement on rights and laws
Without much love to give
Men are brave
Dullness roams our little lives
They wage war, win battles, fight for land,
We trot our way alone
All high up on their white horses.
The rain is running down my cheek
But no man wants to hear
Or is that drop a tear?
That he is vulnerable,
Sad, alone, frightened in the dark
None cries and shows his feelings,
Looking for a home
Afraid to be hurt as a result.
A warm and tender protecting womb
He falls in love
Where I can sleep the way I used to
Sits beside the fire and tells her
The heroes of old times
About his childhood,
Lost in feminism and emancipation
She looks in his eyes and sees
Wake up at night
That he is crying
To find themselves lost in a new world
Dry-eyed
Disorientated, stumbling, crawling
She is the patient seductress of his
Mariano Skroce
emotions
And knows that he is in her enchantment
Realizes how passionate and sensitive he is
Why must a man be bewitched
In order to show his feelings?
What’s wrong with this world
Where nobody is allowed to show a
Weakness?
Alexandra Flad
... and prose
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE
In diesem Märchen von Oscar Wilde,
kann ein armer Student die Liebe seiner Angebeteten nur dadurch gewinnen, daß er ihr eine rote Rose schenkt.
Diese findet er nirgends, aber eine
Nachtigall sieht seine Tränen und tut
das, was der unfruchtbare Rosenstrauch von ihr verlangt, sie singt die
ganze Nacht durch, um eine Rose zu
schöpfen, und sie opfert ihr Lebensblut, um die Rose rot zu färben. Wie
geht die Geschichte weiter?
The morning came. It was raining,
lightning flashed across the sky. The
casements flapped and the student
woke up. He opened the window and
leaned out, he felt the breeze in his
hair, the rain dripping on his arms. The
weather suited his mood. He had
dreamt a curious dream. It was about
a girl. This girl sacrificed her life to
help him. The further details he
couldn’t remember, but it had
depressed him. Now he thought about
the girl he loved. All his problems
came back, and he suppressed the
dream.
He went out to think about his
dilemma. The sun broke through the
clouds. The student turned around
to go back into the house, and there
it was: his rose. It wasn’t just a red
rose, the rose was as red as a rose
could be, it was as red as blood.
When he was a young boy, he had
seen the sun rising over a lane. For
years upon years he had thought
about this sunrise, because this
sunrise had been more intensive
than anything he had ever seen, but
this rose put everything else in the
shade. Dazzled by the beauty of this
rose, he took three steps forward.
Then the student looked down and
he saw the nightingale. ‘Oh,’ he said,
‘poor nightingale. If she could sing
now, this moment would be perfect.’
Suddenly, his eyes filled with tears.
He couldn’t explain why, but this
lifeless little animal on the ground
made him recognize the transience
of life. He looked up to the rose, and
his dream came into his mind. It
couldn’t be a coincidence that this
bird died under the rose tree, her
breast bloody and her eyes glassy
and dull, turned towards the red rose.
But then the student shook his head
- it was only a useless and stupid
bird, wasn’t it? He forced himself not
to cry, took the rose and turned
away. He went to the girl and brought
her the rose.
When he saw her, he gave her the
red rose which the nightingale had
died for. When they danced, he
recognized that this night would be
the beginning of a wonderful friendship,
but the student always thought about
the little bird and he knew he could
never, ever be completely happy.
Annette Pascale-Denfeld, 10h
HHS-Jahrbuch 1996
51