Noiseless Mars

Noiseless Mars

armpit June sweat odour
sunny as Cola
biologically perfect
electronica
I taint my gums on Camembert
balcony, admiring the piano lessons
girl – she'll learn on music theory
and won't miss the beat, unlike me
I will never learn more about
guitars,
but hey, we've got noiseless Mars
somewhere gliding along the skies
with the first song I wrote
it'll drive me back
to Cafe Zapata nights
and a small Zehlendorf room
where I learned poetry – admiring
the sculptress that lived outside
her garden glass filled with
resonating men she made
for dates and amusement
with poems her schizophrenic self
threw out of a window
like mantises out of my
Canadian poets' textbook
mine landed softly on strange
poznanian pages, notebook
filled with prayers
chants, short answers
to complicated voice mail questions
like
“how was your day in Berlin?”
Well, how do I know?
I wasn't even
moving.

"The Courier" - Adam Majdecki-Janicki (from "Bavarian Gypsy", Father and Son Records and Tapes, 2021)

Sarah’s Ceremony

Sarah’s Ceremony

Her body – Jewish, perfect
smells of death in the river
Indian beads, dead tulips
larks in gore
satin the fire
licking their tongues
working the magic all-nighter
listening to Monk
as the wind dances by

aluminum resonating oceans
crawling out to the shore – brilliant
bathed in the lunar lighthouse
a klezmer band improvising "Sara"
in lounges of sand, on chimneys high
her hoarfrost windows
come to bejewel
song vessel

a ceremony

the stripper's awake in my curves
one flake in her eye
the other caressing
what's left of my skin
melting, tracing her trails
acting out trial & mercy
to make me happy
in this or another
ceremony

praising the beauty
of anonymous sundown:
knowledge – mute understanding
by Sarah's undemanding side
dependent on the stars
& like these stars eternal

eternally unsigned

Codename Atlantis

Codename Atlantis

Flying saucers by chance
in the pastel chalice
of youth
drink while you may
says Doctor Inertia
alien commanders are waiting
to tentacle your world
pyramid builders to some
planet destroyers to others
they sharpen their sci-fi claws
while down here you know
they've none
but friendly wavelengths of time
you try collect them
saucers are landing
they detected Atlantis
below megatons of polar snow
triple sunrise approaching rainbows
falling on earthly heads
if this ain't privilege of birth
at a perfect time
I'm not sure what else could be
flashes of new faces
eruptions of stranger kisses
no more blocks of men
pure meadows of space instead
eternal holidays
going someplace else
by chance with Solar Angels

Birdgirl - girlbird
palm tree coma Atlantis
sing exotic tunes
night bliss market
maps of tropical lands
something majestic, mythical
looms its ship on the horizon
eternal jungle, pure nostalgia
moist fragrance, echo mermaids
huts of distant light crawling
song smoke swifts
drums lift the night lid
eyes of drummers sparkle -
lonely beads
of day, how many words
she says Hello, pale German
chick of the Autobahn
poems a mass
we tried to caress the island
she only shook
volcanoes and craters, shrugging
ship lands at dawn
tribes enter forest
exotica newcomers
brave
in the phase of their conquest
leave nights to burn
the setting suns of life

Fulling

A statue of light
exists erects its shaky visage
above
all night cafes
shiver
in the moonlight, a broken boy
wandering to the gaze of
his girl

he used to be in his teens
when I started writing this poem
on a napkin that says "goodnight"
to those
who are given
in
to
the blessings of sleep

with a moon this full I'll never sleep
I'll gaze at the boy
and his girl
and I'll try write a song for them
for not
about
of the lengths we have to go
to finally be as full as
the moon
above us

as deep as sleep
and as awake as an Indian chief
before his battle

echoes of an old Hendrix song
in the corridor
he makes everything sound futile
but I love the man
borders of death
swallow his gear
and here he is again
naked with an acoustic
guitar

I much prefer this statue
this must be
Seattle
supersonic
though it's all
too psychedelic for the US of A

Swinging London
had a better clue

anyway, this young couple
vanishes with the naked maestro
and here am I alone
fulling the moon to oblivion.

Ghosts

My limbs break into the silence
a teacher talks spiritual li(n)es
in the distance a Kazakh radio is wind
transmitting
dreams of tomorrow's
nightmares
I can't believe my limbs
are part of me - and a painter weeps from excess
the oceanic marvel of love
which is an overused word
vanishes
into the sleep haze

I would draw beach huts
sun tents and
sand mirrors, I would
see a stratospheric lady of satori
letting go of
golden balloons
in the sunrays
I would
collect wind
into coffee cups
hearing it sing
of seashells, hey

oceanic marvel!
where is your teacher now
learning to write complicated scenarios
while life happens suddenly
over bridges of death
it weaves horrid blazes
rainbows waterfalls and seagulls

we light colored lanterns
and pour them into sky

sky
is breaking into the silence (with me)
and my limbs are rendered useless
by the new coming race
of
ghosts

A.J. Kaufmann - "Slavia Nova" (from "Stoned Gypsy Wanderer" Vinyl, Ramble Records, 2021)