Marilyn tanzt

Alle Gedichte in dieser Sendung handeln von Frauen und auch die Musik ist ausschließlich weiblich, nämlich von Emily Wells, die nicht nur singt, sondern auch alle Instrumente selber einspielt.


Emily Wells: Mama‘s Gonna Give You Love
Martin Auer: Ich bin eine Nixe, sagt sie
Emily Wells: Come to Me
Martin Auer: Marilyn tanzt
Emily Wells: Don‘t Use Me Up
Martin Auer: Sie geht nicht mehr vor die Tür
Emily Wells: Dirty Sneakers
Martin Auer: Poem about a Dirty Light Switch
Emily Wells: Los Angeles
Martin Auer: Sheeba will be There
Emily Wells: Let Your Guard Down
Martin Auer: Gute Zeit
Emily Wells: View From a Blind Eye
Martin Auer: Geh schlafen, Anna-Marie
Emily Wells: Passenger

Hier die Texte der englischen Gedichte zum Nachlesen:

Poem about a dirty light switch in Delhi National Museum

Then who would want to write a poem
about a dirty light switch?
I’d rather do one
About a girl in a teddybear hat.

Beauty can be found
everywhere, so they say,
okay, so why not
in a dirty light switch?
And who says that a poem
has to be about beauty?

You see, I met this girl
in a teddybear hat
and she wants to go to Africa
to work with refugee children.
She took me to the museum
but the only thing
I was allowed to photograph there,
was this dirty light switch.

I would rather have taken the picture
of the delicate painting
of Tagore’s old mother,
but they wouldn’t let me
because, of course
they have postcards and booklets to sell,
so I had to take one
of the light switch instead.

And in fact, I am
not displeased with that bargain.
The light switch, I think,
has all the qualities
of a work of art,
it is full of surprises and mysteries.
There are broken symmetries
to be found and variations of
and the more I look at it
the clearer it gets
that in fact it is
the relic of an ancient civilisation,
fraught with history
and fate
and human desires
and all that stuff.

Why, they must have been craving for light
at that time
but they conquered the darkness
using this heroic piece
of electric equipment
thousands and thousands of times
with weary fingers
soiling it and painting it over
a hundred times,
fighting the gnawing teeth
of decay.

If the museum people
knew what they have there,
they would have a thousand postcards
and booklets made
and would set up a guard beside that light switch
to keep people from taking pictures of it.

So in fact I am quite content after all
with my photograph of the light switch
and with my poem.

But I still wish it was
about that girl in the teddybear hat.

This poem is entitled: Poem about the girl in the teddybear hat whom I met in Delhi and who wants to go to Africa to work with refugee children and whom I met again when she attended a course at the Peace University in Schlaining, Austria

When the armies have left,
when the land lies panting
and bleeding and quietly weeping,
Sheeba will be there.

Sheeba will be there,
she’ll arrive in a jeep, in a truck, in an airplane
she will drive through the deserts and over the mountains.
Sheeba will be there.

Sheeba will be there to pick up the wounded
to feed the hungry
to console the children,
the terrified children.

When the armies have plundered the fields and the shops
and the pharmacies
Sheeba will be there.
Sheeba will be there
to bring the rice, to bring the water, to bring the

When the rightful government will have been installed
when the enemies of freedom will have been chased away
Sheeba will be there.
Sheeba will be there to take the child
soldiers by the hand
and give them a football and teach them to weep
when the ball hits their nose.

When the mining companies
have their contracts renewed,
when the pipelines are safe again,
when the rebels have been chased away from the oilfields
Sheeba will be there.
Sheeba will be there
to talk softly to the women dishonoured by rape,
to gently lead them away from their husbands and
brothers and fathers
to quietly take the suicide rope from their hands.

Sheeba will be there
Gentle, earnest, soft spoken Sheeba
with her long black Kerala hair
with her soft brown Kerala skin
with her thick black Kerala brows
with her deep brown Kerala eyes.

When greed and stupidity
have left nothing behind but barren earth
Sheeba will be there.
Sheeba will be there to teach the survivors
not to think
of revenge
but to dig wells.
Sheeba will be there
to teach the injured, the wounded, the crippled, the
exiled, the dispossessed,
that there can be no justice
only mercy.

Sheeba will be there.

With your stupid wars, with your stupid hatred,
with your stupid bombings?
Because Sheeba will be there to clean up the mess
after you?
Gentle, honest, lovely Sheeba?
Leave it all to Sheeba?

There will come a day –
Oh yes, you have heard that phrase before
and it doesn’t touch you at all.
The prophets of old have hurled their curses at you:
There will come a day –

From the beginning of civilisation you’ve heard it
when first you began to use riches to amass more riches
to use power to amass more power.
There will come a day –

They wished fiery rain upon your heads,
they implored their gods to smite you with lightning
they threatened you with the wrath of the masses.
There will come a day –
and you are still there.

There will come a day –

There will come a day
when the children will come to greet Sheeba
and they will pass you by
and not look at you.

Now shrug that off.

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