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BERLIN ELEGIES GRACE ANDREACCHI
Copyright © 2009 by Grace Andreacchi
All rights reserved
Cover image: Naschmarkt, The Lost Puppets by Markus Sepperer on flickr.com
Ich schlief, aber mein Herz war wach.
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DEDICATION
You darken and dazzle my days
You light up my nights
Batter bruise and confuse me
Delight and seduce me
with pure luxuriant noise
Then sit, the still small heart of me
So much a part of me
Every word I ever write
I write for thee
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DREAM
I dreamt we were walking
free among the dead
Bombs had flattened the sky
The earth was on fire
We crawled into a hole you
laid your head on my breast
laughed, and touched me with desire
I thought, are we dead?
Is this heaven, this place full of
bodies? I wanted to ask but
you kissed me instead
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CONVERSATION
We were talking
as if we had never been dumb
It was summer and the goldengroves
stood silent in the heat
upright and gleaming
We were doing the talking:
franglais deutsch oder russisch vielleicht
Ich weiß nicht mehr
and it doesn't matter
Words like ringing golden coins
dropped from your mouth onto the wooden table
under the oak trees all bright and breathing
the summer twilight goes on
and on unleaving
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DREAM
You are sitting at table
I come up behind you
and place my hands on your shoulders
They rest there quietly
two pale butterflies
Why don't you turn round?
I can feel you smiling
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BEREITE DICH, ZION
Fresh snow on the fields
and all along the track
frost flowers blooming.
In the distance a single light
flickers and dies
Overhead the stars like golden fireflies
are winking in the forest of the night.
I have put on my corals and rubies
I have put on my robe of purest light
I have sewed my heart to the sleeve of my garment
Ich bin bereit.
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DREAM
Trying on hats before a blue mirror
I caught sight of you in the glass
watching me
The hat feathered and wild
a joke between us
You there in the corner
suddenly smiled
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NOT A DREAM
It's the middle of the night
the streets are covered in broken glass
you're sitting in the plush blue interior of your BMW
with your head down on the steering wheel
crying
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THE PRINCESS
All the windows were dark but one
All the candles were burning
I lay in the rosewater bath and watched
the sky turning
that strange light-fingered grey
that comes before day
Watched the blood petals floating
All the veins were open
The windows too
Out in the street
the snow was crisp underfoot
And the sky like a sheet
of cold metal burning
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ON THE U-BAHN
Everybody's watching me
Everybody's smiling
I'm the Princess of the U-Bahn
in my bright metal jacket
There's a big pool of blood
getting bigger every minute
right under my feet
Everybody's watching
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THE PRISONER
They are keeping you deep underground
in a small dark room cut into the rock
no light no air
hardly room to turn round
I can hear you calling
Your voice very faint, but clear
calling my name
I'm afraid, but I know I must go to you
Deeper and deeper
I follow the sound of your voice
down black walls dripping with damp
seething with snakes
I pass a sign:
'Sie Verlassen den Amerikanischen Sektor'
I know I'm not in Kansas anymore
and I haven't even a mangy little dog
to help me out
Still, I've got to get you out
So I keep going down
deeper and deeper and deeper...
Isn't there an opera
something like this?
How does it end?
O namenlose Freude?
O endless joy, my Friend
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HOUSE ON FIRE
Somebody call the fire brigade!
I think we're in trouble
I think we're on fire
Aren't those flames eating up the stage
roaring up on the roof
lighting up the night sky?
Why do they all just sit there?
Nobody scream or run?
I can feel the heat on my face
Now my hair's caught fire
My fine silk gown in a moment
all burnt to ash
My naked skin swells
turns bright as brass
cracks open
my bones are molten
my heart's alight
and my eyes are melting down
Now the walls are collapsing
The balconies fall blazing to the ground
The golden caryatids in crowns of flame
genuflect, crumble
and tumble into the pit!
Still nobody makes a sound
Still in their seats they sit
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and watch you sing
and don't seem to notice anything
When at last it's over
I look around and see
everything in its place
everyone smiling and clapping
No one got burned but me
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NIGHTINGALE
I went into the forest
in the middle of the night
to hear you, my wild little bird!
Oh you'll break my heart with your song
of the starlight and the moonlight
and the rushing black brook so cold
Oh you'll break my heart,
My wild little bird!
I lay down in the rushes
by the edge of the brook
under the starlight and the moonlight
The wet leaves cover me
I won't get up again
You've broken my heart with your wild song
Oh my Love, my Little One!
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ROSE
I was just a pretty little rose
blooming in a corner of the garden
Everyone who saw me loved me
Blushing, I showed my red silk gown
and gave my sweet scent
freely to all
I had three friends:
the worm, the butterfly
and the nightingale who sang all night
for me alone
One day there came a boy
He crushed the worm under his boot
He caught the butterfly
He frightened the nightingale away
Then he plucked me and put me in his breast
In a little while he was tired of me
and threw me away
Now I lie here in the cold, wet grass
and look up at the night sky
the stars are shining
so stern and hard and far away
Very soon I'll go to them
O wicked boy!
Why pluck me from my garden
only to throw me away?
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But I'll make you pay
For while you were keeping me
tucked in your breast I stuck a thorn
I drove it deep into your heart
You won't ever be able to pluck it out
Now you are mine forever.....
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ANGELS OVER BERLIN
Not every angel is terrible
There are good angels and bad angels
One must learn to distinguish
There are angels that stand at the door of the dead
They've only come to take us home
Still we fear their company
Angels who sit and wait
their hands in their golden laps
for us to make a mistake
then rush in where all others
fear to tread
Bad angels lead us astray
into gleaming gardens of fake flowers
Know a bad angel by his charm
and by his sense of humour
The good in bright armour
clank about the sky
throttle nightmares
and thrust man-hungry demons down to hell
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The best pity us
weep for our sins
Sit down beside us in our sorrow
and touch us with gentle hands
They carry our love - that heavy burden
All the way up the sky
And bring us gifts we cannot see or touch
and do not value much and cast away
Then spread their wings
a canopy of light above our sleep
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THE AGE OF INNOCENCE
Do you remember the taste of my lips?
The roses that strewed our path
the light to our feet?
Do you remember honey cakes in the grass
and sticky hands unwilling to part
Do you remember, my Heart?
How kind you were to me then! How good -
Showed me things in the wood
birds' nests and fairy rings
When I cried you kissed me
Laughed and called me 'little Sister'
He knows everything, I thought
He can do anything
Do you remember our dance?
Do you remember our song?
And the shadows at twilight purple and long?
The little white bed where we lay
and the magic we used to say
to make the moon rise
and the fairies come out to play
The stars that shone so bright
The secrets whispered at night
The Angel who stood at the foot of our bed
The place on your shoulder where
I always laid my head
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SPIRITUAL LOVERS
Asleep in my starry tent
Asleep in my blue white skin
I am a rose of Sharon
I am a tower of ivory
I am a vessel of gold
I sleep but my heart
waketh within
Open to me, my Sister, my Bride!
He has placed a crown of heavy gold on my head
A pearl of price in my mouth
I cannot move nor speak
nor turn my eyes
How then shall I rise and let thee in?
His voice in the rain and the rocks
His voice in the thunder
His voice in the tender birds
in the wind and the water
Open to me, my Dove, my Undefiled!
His head is wet with the dew
He has brought me the moon and the stars to play with
His hand is upon the lock
Open to me, my Sister, my Bride!
with myrhh-dropping fingers I go to the door
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IN THE CLEFTS OF THE ROCK
We're feeding on lilies and lobster salad
at three a.m.
happy humbled sodden satiate
most horribly in love
hungry after all that
larking about
Funny, I think
how something so raunchy
so animal blue
can be so true
the soul hanging by a thread
the heart a red balloon about to burst
eyes drowned senses stunned
and your hungry wolf's head howling
Look at you now
shine like the moon
over the dark kitchen table
As for me, I'm too happy to move
too happy to speak
(but not too happy to eat)
my feet in your lap and
my elbows on the table
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BIRTHDAY CAKE
I made a cake
with sugar and eggs and cream
On the cake I drew a heart
lieblich und zart
so wie Du
I wrote your name on it too
This was my dream of the cake
I wanted to bake
For you
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NOT A DEDICATION
Not to your lips
Not to your eyes
Not to be silly
Not to be wise
Not overwhelmed by your
multifarious charms
Not about to
lie down in your arms
Not one bit in love with you
Don't be absurd
Not one single line for you
Not one word
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LULLABY (FOR MY BABY)
Hush, my little boy
Don't you cry
Mama's gonna love you
by and by
By and by
Oh by and by
Mama's gonna love you
by and by
The stars be shining
by and by
The moon be shining
by and by
Every man is born to die
by and by
oh by and by
Hush, my little boy
Don't you cry
Jesus gonna take you home
by and by
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Grace Andreacchi was born and raised in New York City but has lived on the far side of the great ocean for many years - sometimes in Paris, sometimes Berlin, and nowadays in London. Works include the novels Scarabocchio and Poetry and Fear (Andromache Books), Give my Heart Ease, which received the New American Writing Award, and Music for Glass Orchestra. Stories and poetry appear in both on-line and print journals. Her work can be viewed at graceandreacchi.com.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Poetry and Fear by Grace Andreacchi A short novel written in poetic and elliptical prose, rich in emotion, sometimes playful, sometimes tragic. Set in the opera world of Berlin just after the fall of the Wall, 'Poetry and Fear' is a gripping tale of spiritual love and pain and the whole damn thing. Orpheus singing in the Underworld. The melancholy Queen of Spain. For everyone who's ever been there, or wants to be.... Scarabocchio by Grace Andreacchi To jump into a coach in the depths of the night, to run away from the oppression of one's delightful and highly-placed friends, one's work, fame, fortune, obligations and plunge headlong into the great adventure, careering over the Alps, aiming for the bright golden heart of civilisation, the only baggage one's poetical discontent... Add to this the Goldberg Variations of J.S. Bach, a fascination with murderous Sicilian puppets, a runaway diva, Beethoven's other nephew (the one who also shot himself in the head but, unlike Carl, appears, at least partially, to have survived), a catalogue of child murders and possible murderers, a treatise on the beauty of imaginary architecture and the golden section and you begin to get some idea of Scarabocchio. A piece of dizzying metafiction, a whirlwind journey through Sicily with an iconic German poet, a Canadan Bach specialist, a runaway diva and many others...
Available from andromachebooks.co.uk