There’s a Latin saying, “Graeca sunt, non leguntur“, which means, “it’s Greek, it can’t be read”. Something akin to “it’s all Greek to me”. Such a difficult language, with its strange alphabet. How could one possibly learn it, right? And yet, most European languages carry a heavy burden of Greek words in their vocabulary. Even
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The sea The sea as a seascape In a frame over the dining table The sea a forever moving element Scary to seamen When they face a storm The sea as holiday background Refreshing water on a tanned skin Burnt by the sun The sea an omnipresent blue Continuation of the sky above
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The poesie book of Eva Goldberg traces the escape of the Goldberg family prior to the start of the Second World War. Their flight began in Görlitz and lead via the Netherlands and Great Britain to the USA. Eva Goldberg grew up in Görlitz and had a very happy childhood. She often traveled to Amsterdam
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This book has been accompanying me for the last few years. It is a series of books actually, the famous Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust. I try to read a few pages every weekend when I have more time on my hands. I savour every word of the original French. It
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Goodbye. Das große Fressen ist vorbei. Die Zunge ist gelockert. Der Wein schiebt das Karussell an, der Wein hält und schiebt und hält und schiebt und hält um schließlich anzuschieben das Karussell an. Unter der Zunge taut und friert und taut und friert um schließlich ganz Rutschbahn zu sein, ein Blitzeis nach dem Fressen. Da
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Stabat mater dolorosa Stood the mother weeping Over the coffin of her son She was holding a photo of him In a frame Her son a soldier, aged twenty-five * The mother didn’t shout, she wasn’t loud A pretty young woman in black clothes Her pain was decent and deep Not ostentatious She didn’t beat
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