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European Ethnology: Scheibenschlagen at Kappel (Satis Shroff)
Related to country: Germany

Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic


WOOD-SHOOTING ON THE MAIER HILL, KAPPEL (Satis Shroff)

Schiebe, schieba, schiebo
Where should the slice of wood go?
The slice should go to Karin-Claudia!
If it doesn’t fly,
Then it’s not true.

The Hill Spirits of Schauinsland staged the traditional slice-of-wood shooting on top of the Maier Hill in Kappel, below the place where the ores were washed previously. This big fire was to be seen from as far as the Big Valley street so that visitors could find their way to the hill.

Wood-shooting or as we Germans call it ‘Scheibenschlagen’ is an old pagan ritual to banish winter, which was later integrated into the Christian days of fasting called ‘fasnet.’ The date of this tradition goes back to the old calendar of fasting in which the people indulged in, even on Sundays, which is normally regarded as ‘the day of resting’ or Ruhetag. In Freiburg and the surrounding areas, the wood-shooting is carried out after Ash Wednesday. The ritual took place in Tuniberg-Orten and St. Georgen last week already and Kappel celebrated it a bit later. The Schauinsland Berggeister have good relations with their fellow knaves from the Dreisam Valley such as: the Firey Salamander from Ebnet, the Forest Spirits of Stegen (Waldgeister).

In Eschbach, for instance, only young men aged 18 to 26 years are allowed to take part in the wood-shooting. Their duties among others are: to uphold the old traditions, gather Christmas trees, cut wood, find a Schiebe girl for the Schiebe-dance later in the evening, cut the wood in shape (10 x 10 cm) and to alternatively work as bar-keepers. The straw witch placed at the tip of the stake is burned to symbolically drive away the winter. When the pyre of gathered wood really starts burning, its orange and red flames licking the sky, the boys begin to pray when the village bells ring. They go around in circles thrice, wearing their hats like punters at Oxford, with long white smocks.

Hitting a glowing piece of glowing wood cut in the form of a 10 cm square, is a traditional custom in the Black Forest. This takes place at the end of the Fasnet time, which is incidentally, the beginning of the period of fasting, and takes place normally on the first Sunday. You wait till it becomes dark and a fire is made at an elevation above the hamlet you’re living in.

For young men it’s fun and pride to take part in the wood-shooting ceremony. The flattened pieces of wood have a hole in the middle and are raised on four sides, so that they can fly like a small frisbee into the nocturnal sky like a wee meteorite. The route of the wooden plate depends on the strength and skill of the person hitting it. In Kappel there was only one woman who was allowed to take part in the ritual. She was a heavily built blonde lady and shot the wood with all her might. Either it must have flown to outer space or it never left the ground. The crowd gathered in the cold, starry night are young and old, and often jeer at the participants when their shots are flops sometimes. This is supposed to bring them bad luck and is inauspicious.

The wooden plates are made of birch, beech, alder or elm-wood. Each person shoots at least 20 such pieces, which are burnt at the end of a swinging stick in a separate, smaller fire till they glow. The slabs of wood are placed on a ramp and with a swing, away it goes into the starry, wintry night. Behind us, above the hillock with its rows of pine trees looking like sentinels, was the silvery moon appearing behind the grey clouds. Each slab of wood is dedicated to a friend, wife, lover, a couple, even firms and chefs, and people who have been engaged or have married since the last ‘Funken’ or spark Sunday.

If he piece of glowing wood flies far and wide, this is regarded as a good omen. The fireball can attain a distance of 120 to 150 metres. Unlike the Scheibenschlagen in the Black Forest, in Allgäu (Bavaria) they differentiate between Ehrenscheiben for friends and people higher up in the social ladder, and a curse-wood (Schimpfenscheiben) in which certain people who have done something bad or forbidden in the hamlet or have not been brought to court yet, are lampooned. In the early days, if a glowing piece of wood reached a house roof, window, or even the hay in a stall, it was not retrieved and held as auspicious, according to the old folk’s belief: ‘A burning slab of wood doesn’t cause a fire.’

Clemens Fruttiker, a thick-set guy, with greying hair at the sides like George Clooney, who is in charge of Kappel’s Fire Brigade says: ‘We’re ready for any fire and always on standby when there’s a wood-shooting ceremony in the area.’ He sure knows what he’s talking about because he’s my neighbour and a big reassurance to us all.

Schiebe, schieba, schiebo
Wenn soll d’ schiebe go?
D’ Schieba soll der (Name) go!
Fliegt’s nit,
So gilt’s nit.

© 2009 satisshroff

Glossary:
Go oder gehen: to go
Schiebe, Scheiben: wooden slices or slabs, 10 x 10 cm
Schiebetanz: dance after the wood-shooting ceremony
Schlagen: hit, shoot
Ehren: do someone the honour,
Funken: spark
Schimpfen: curse, rail upon someone
Schauensländer Berggeister: Hill spirits of the Schauinsland
Fliegt’s nit: doesn’t fly
So gilt’s nit: It doesn’t count, it’s not true
Funken: emit sparks





March 11, 2009 | 1:12 PM Comments  {num} comments

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Swiss Carneval
Related to country: Switzerland

Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic

European Ethnology: The Three Most Beautiful Days of the Year in Switzerland (Satis Shroff)

It was fasnet-time (fasching, carnival) in the alpine countries of Switzerland, Austria and Germany. The streets were full of wild men and women, witches, devils, knaves, masked figures galore. And on March 2, 2009 there was, of course, the famous Swiss Morgenstraich in Basle, an unforgettable experience, after the German merry-making was long over and the witches had shed feigned tears, burned effigies symbolising the banishment of winter.

The Swiss friends across the border were looking forward to the Fasnacht, which they call in Schweizerdeutsch ‘drey scheenste Dääg,’ the three most beautiful days of the year. Swiss bankers had to face the music this time during the Fasnacht celebrations from March 2 till March 4, 2009. The financial crisis was the major object of ridicule according to the Fasnacht-Committee, which has received 42 applications for the Morgen Straich procession in Basle. They were represented 21 times by different Fasnet groups, and the Dutch were known for their good behaviour and financial generosity, even in Basle’s red-light establishments. The TV show a Swiss ‘farmer searches for a wife’ (Bauern sucht Frau), the Botellon`-drinking-orgies and the Basler dialect issue in its Kindergardens were other favourite themes. The tendency is to speak standard German from the Kindergarden onwards till the university studies.

Even Bollywood was a big theme this time, in which the blonde Swiss female figures wrapped themselves in saris, and were led by a gigantic figure who looked like an actress from Mumbai. I talked with some Swiss ladies of the clique and they were simply delighted to be a part of the tamasha or spectacle, and the Swiss were lampooning about ‘Bollymania,’ in a 60-line poem: Hollywood, Bollywood, dog-eyes, women in trance through Hindu elegance, Bollywood is love and pain, Swiss and Indian cows, the Swiss Heidi doing the belly-dance to get rid of her fat by means of Ayurveda, Karli, Werni, Paul and Andi wearing diapers like Gandhi, Mumbai Buddha and yoga, Mandala and Tandoori Masala, Indie-fever, Miss Schwyz (Rekha Dutta), ‘exootisch and erootisch! And in the end a compliment:

S’länggt, bim draime gligglig z’syy,
Drey Dääg, dangg Bollymanie!!’

I met and American student named Diana once, who wanted to get rid of her heavy US-accent and threw the accent symbolically into the Dreisam river, which I found hilarious. Perhaps the Swiss should also follow suit and throw their Schwyzer accent into the Rhine, symbolically, of course. The cliques distribute long pieces of colour paper with caustic comments, at most times verses dripped in vitriol. Here’s one such rhyming poem about standard German in Basle:

“Fir uns isch es glaar
und mir stehen der fir y
z’Basel a mim Ryy
uf Hochdytsch darf nit sy.“

I love the Swiss accent and the dialect, and it would be a shame to get rid of it. The people of Alsace (Elsass) in France, which is a German speaking enclave, promotes Alsatian-Deutsch. I can’t imagine my friend Jean-Paul who comes from the Vosges, speaking only French. Alsatian is also such a charming dialect.

On the other side of the Rhine, my countrymen say nasty things about the Schwyzer accent. They even go so far as to call it a disease of the throat. I find it rather charming to hear German being spoken with a Swiss accent. Vive la difference, nicht wahr?

According to the Fasnacht-Committee, last year there were 485 groups, and this year there were 29 less, which means at least 12,000 active Fasnacht participants walked along the lanes of Basle, lampooning about Switzerland’s world of banks and other items.

At 3:30am people started pouring into the city of Basle: mostly from abroad, Alsace, Germany and Italy. Exactly at 4am the lights went out in Basle’s inner town buildings. An uncanny silence shrouded the city, and thousands of spectators listened and looked around, holding hands lest they didn’t lose themselves among the sea of humanity around them. Suddenly, 200 lanterns began to shine and masked figures made their appearance, elegantly distributing colourful leaflets with the sujet or motto of the respective cliques, which were actually lyrics lampooning Swiss politicians, Sarkosy, Brown & Merkel included, their speeches in the past year, promises, collateral decisions that have backfired, scandals or whatever. Cortege´with cliques, Guggen musicians, Chaisen and wagons and horse-driven coaches. The wonderful and colourful costumes and sujets (printed mottos), Gugge songs, glowing lanterns, drums and shrill piccolo flutes. For your patients, you are rewarded with oranges, chocolates, sweets, roses and mimosa by the people behind the Fastnacht masks. The Basler Fastnacht developed gradually to its present unique form. In 1900 there were Trachten groups wearing traditional Swiss clothing and utensils of daily use according to one’s profession, brass bands and even a Carneval Prince. The Gugge musicians turned up at the beginning of the 20th century.

You are advised to take a break at 4:50 after the magical music session of the Morgenstraich. Have a traditional Mehlsuppe (flour soup for 7,50 Franks) or a piece of Ziibelewaaie to strengthen yourself.

A loveable Basler Fastnachts pair at the Kohlenberg were Frau Breesmeli and Herr Luschtmolch: she with a pointed nose and a long flowing beige dress, and he with an orange wig, black hat and teeth like a well-kept horse. In Liestal, 330 Chienbäse or wooden wagons with piles of wood, arranged like towers, were pulled around in the Old Town. This tradition dates back to 1902. I asked a young Swiss onlooker about her opinion and she said, “I like it.” She found ‘lässig and toll.’

Engadin has its own 2000 year old tradition when it comes to banishing winter. The 1st of March is celebrated as
the Chalandamarz every year. Schoolkids go about with heavy bells through the hamlet to drive winter away. In the early days Chalandamarz marked the beginning of the year and was celebrated to banish the evil spirits. I thought the Schwarzwäldertorte was the non plus ultra of cakes, till I tried the Engadiner torte. If you haven’t tried it, you must do it sometime. It’s delicious.

I love the sound of the shrill piccollo flutes and drums of the Swiss cliques. When you come to think of it, you’re one of the 10,000 fasnacht revellers. There are witch costume balls everywhere in the evenings, where you eat salted pork, drink schnaps, but hopefully not, one too much for the road, even though fun is the order of the day.

Whereas the Breisgauer members of the Narrenzunft celebrated their 75th jubilee on February 1, 2009, in Switzerland’s small Klinen Valley the ‘Wild Maa’ reached land at 11am on January 20, 2009 and was greeted with firecrackers. On the bank of the Rhine were the bird Gryff and the ‘Leu’ were waiting to greet the ‘Wild Maa,’ surrounded by hundreds spectators who’d come to see the spectacle. The three symbolic Swiss fasnet figures danced all the way to Small Basle for the big-shots of Basle. The highlight was the dance in the middle of the bridge across the Rhines near Käpplijoch, and a thunderous crowd, accompanied by blue coated drummers, wearing white wigs and quaint hats like the Tin Drummer.

In the middle of Thun, a town in Switzerland, the Merlinger group ‘Grönbachgusler,’ costumed as blood-suckers with vampire-like canines jutting out of the corners of their mouths, black and white striped clothes and big drums were to be admired. This was the day of the ghouls.

In Evolene (Switzerland), you could see the Strawmen in outsized clothes that are actually gunny-bags stuffed with straw, each with a broom in the hand, protruding, exopthalmic eyes and dangerous looking fangs. These figures went around the narrow lanes of Evolene after the Sunday mass was over, according to the annual Fasnacht tradition of the Canton Wallis. The masks were indeed awesome, as they went about cleaning the snow in Wallis. In Allschwil, they even had a Herrenfasnacht, a gentlemen’s celebration. Sunday was the day when the Cliques and Guggen went about with their flutes, drums and gugge-music along the streets of Aesch, Therwil, Oberwil and Laufen. This year the Allschwiller celebrated the 60th anniversary and poured into the streets in merriment, despite the rain.

It has been a long, snowy, icy, rainy winter this time, and all want to see the sun again. Spring can’t be far behind, but first we’ll have to banish winter in grand style, you know, the European way.

On February 24, 2009 the lovely town of Breisach upon the Rhine invited all fasnet-friends to celebrate the Brysacher Fasnet the whole day. And on Ash Wednesday, when everything was over, the people of Freiburg washed their wallets at 10am in the clear, cold water of the Freiburger Bächele, a sort of canal that runs through this Schwarzwald town, as it is thought to be auspicious, and will bring one happiness and financial benefits in the course of the year. What a pleasant thought, now that the WEF is over, isn’t it?

©satisshroff 2009
N.B. If you want to know more about the Swissfasnacht and want to visit the celebrations next year, do look up: www.fasnachts-comite.ch
www.fasnacht-liestal.ch

About the Author:
Satis Shroff is a prolific writer and teaches Creative Writing at the Albert Ludwigs University of Freiburg. He is a lecturer, poet and writer and the published author of three books: Im Schatten des Himalaya (book of poems in German), Through Nepalese Eyes (travelogue), Katmandu, Katmandu (poetry and prose anthology by Nepalese authors, edited by Satis Shroff). His lyrical works have been published in literary poetry sites: Slow Trains, International Zeitschrift, World Poetry Society (WPS), New Writing North, Muses Review, The Megaphone, Pen Himalaya, Interpoetry. He is a member of “Writers of Peace,” poets, essayists, novelists (PEN), World Poetry Society (WPS) and The Asian Writer.

Satis Shroff is based in Freiburg (poems, fiction, non-fiction) and also writes on ecological, ethno-medical, culture-ethnological themes. He has studied Zoology and Botany in Nepal, Medicine and Social Sciences in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and the United Kingdom. He describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Since literature is one of the most important means of cross-cultural learning, he is dedicated to promoting and creating awareness for Creative Writing and transcultural togetherness in his writings, and in preserving an attitude of Miteinander in this world. He lectures in Basle (Switzerland) and in Germany at the Akademie für medizinische Berufe (University Klinikum Freiburg) and the Zentrum für Schlüsselqualifikationen (University of Freiburg where he is a Lehrbeauftragter for Creative Writing). Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize.




March 4, 2009 | 6:18 AM Comments  {num} comments

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Commentary: Falklands and the Gurkha Issue (Satis Shroff)
Related to country: United Kingdom

Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic

Commentary: FALKLANDS AND THE GURKHA ISSUE (Satis Shroff)

Twenty seven years ago, the British and the Argentineans fought over the Falkland Islands and turned, the otherwise peaceful and serene South Atlantic into an inferno. The Malvinas were claimed by the Argentineans and the British. Nurse Nicci Pugh was a witness to the hostilities from a safe distance on board the hospital ship HMS Uganda. The conflict began on April 2,1982 after Argentina invaded the Falkland Islands. Britain’s PM Margaret Thatcher sent a task force which resulted in the death of 1,000 people, after which the Falklands (Malvinas) were liberated on June 14, 1982.

Much like Florence Nightingale, who left England on October 21,1854, and started caring for the wounded soldiers at Scutari, Turkey, on November 5,1854, and took a large group of women as nurses (38 women, including 18 Anglican and Roman Catholic sisters), Nicci Pugh was one of 40 nursing officers on board the hospital ship Uganda. Ms. Pugh’s job was x-ray units to provide modern hospital care facilities for the injured British Tommies, civilians and also possible Argentinean soldiers wounded in the conflict. In the ship were operating theatres, 120 beds, burn-units, labs, x-ray units, a blood bank, in addition to a helipad. The Uganda was anchored a mile south-west of San Carlos Water, where there was heavy fighting. With the knowledge that hospital ships had been sunk in previous wars through shelling or torpedoes, the ladies had to go through the angst of being bombed by the Argentinean aircraft which frequently made sorties over the Royal Navy armada.

The British staff on board the Uganda have gone on record as having treated 700 patients. Among the patients were also injured Argentinean soldiers. It might be mentioned that the ship HMS Sir Galahad was shit by enemy fire, whereby 120 patients were treated in the burns unit on board the Uganda. Some 500 surgical operations were performed. Most of the injuries were caused by gunshot, shrapnel and mortar. Amputations were also carried out due to the anti-personnel mines deployed and hidden by the Argentinean soldiers. Even the injured Argentinean soldiers were treated with the same respect and dignity.

After the war, Ms. Pugh returned to her old job in Cornwall as an OP theatre nurse, but wasn’t able to talk about her experiences for years. That was her coping method. Life had to go on. But unlike the Lady with the Lamp, Nicci Pugh didn’t have to face medical ire, and works as a voluntary carer to help injured servicemen to re-visit the Malvinas to pay their respects to their own fallen comrades, and visit the killing fields of the Falklands. But for the Gurkhas who have fought for Britain since the times of Queen Victoria till Queen Elizabeth II since 200 years, there’s no noteworthy memorial in Britain. Are the Gurkhas merely guest-workers or ‘cannon fodder’ only? Britain laments that there’s no memorial for the courageous Lancaster Bomber Command which lost 55,573 out of 125,000 pilots during their deadly missions to bombard German towns and industrial complexes, collateral damage notwithstanding. But no one speaks of the courage and sacrifice of the sturdy, dedicated, loyal Gurkhas from Nepal, who laid their lives for the Glory of Great Britain, and are still doing the same for the United Kingdom. After World War I and World War II, the Gurkhas were ignominiously booked a passage to Nepal via India.

Even today, instead of integration, education and service in the UK for the extraordinary service to Britain and the Queen of England since generations. They are not even tolerated when their service, i.e. unfair contract, with the Arbeitsvermittlungsagency MoD is over. The MoD is treating the Gurkhas similarly as the German government did with the so-called ‘guest workers’ from Turkey, Italy, Spain and Portugal during the fifties, only to realise that they hadn’t invited guest workers but human beings, who had families, dreams, hopes of a better quality of life, the same education as their own children. Under Angela Merkel there’s a new integration model for migrants which is showing a positive trend and in accordance with the European Union’s ideas of a better world. The Gurkhas must be given the same status as their British counterparts and comrade-in-arms, the same buying power and dignity in the United Kingdom, and the UK government would do well to put and end to the discrimination that has been meted out to the Gurkhas and their families. They must be accepted and welcomed as old and new migrants and the UK’s loyal, historical allies, instead of being discriminated on flimsy grounds. If the Gurkhas have to go to the European court it is indeed a shame for Brown’s government, which has been trying to save precious sterling pounds on the integration of the Gurkhas and has been diverting the common man’s money for other purposes.

* * *
An e-mail from Argentina

Hello Satis,
Thanks for your message. Nice to meet you. Well you're from Freiburg, I have a mp3 file of an audience recording from a Roxette concert that took place in Freiburg. Very funny...

Regarding the Falkland war, we all Argentineans feel some kind ofimpotence, Imagine if one day some people broke into your house and take you away from your own house. We cannot do anything and I don't think Argentina will get back the islands. UK is a very strong country. Well, that's the position of Argentina. UK claims that they were always of their own. I don't really care who's the owner. The main point is thatthe war was pointless and it was not about the islands. There weremany purposes besides these events, the war was just a disguise.In 1982, the government in Argentina was in charge of the military, peopledidn't have the right to express what they felt, everything was banned.People was really tired. so the military government NEEDED something to give an incentive to the Argentineans. Something that proves they had the power. They made us believe that we could get back the islands that once were occupied by the British. That was the main purpose of the war.UK hadn't any interest on these islands, but it was like a war trophy forthem. Obviously, it was like a fight between 2 kids, a 5 years old boy against a 15 years old boy. As we usually say "the bad events show the best and the worst from people". And the war was not an exception.

The TV always reported that we were about to win the war, they were always lying in order to calm down us. The media was controlled, including the radio, some songs were prohibited or edited. A certain censorship. During the war, the songs sung in English were not allowed to be played. And the soldiers were 18 years old teenagers, who were recruited by the law, they didn't know what war was really all about, they didn't have the right to decide what to do with their lives. It was an order and they must obey "the call of the country," so they were sent to the war.In 1982 I was just a 7 years old boy, I didn't know what was happeningto my country. In all schools, there was a campaign called "A chocolatefor the soldiers". We had to write a letter to the soldiers and wehad to give them away a chocolate, that's because of the low temperature.

There were another campaigns in order to collect warm clothes and foodbecause the army only gave them the basic elements. And even worsethey were treated badly. Most of our hopes never arrived and those chocolatesnever were sent, in fact some people stole and re-sell them later.That's why I wrote that "Some events show the worst and the best from people".Of course there were very nice people who helped a lot. We usually are verykind.The UK military also took advantage of these events. Furthermore, a retiredChilean military recently admitted that the Chilean military helped the UK armytelling them the position of the Argentinean ships and soldiers and thestrategies they had. Everybody wanted a piece of this cake.Besides this, the General Galtieri, the most hated person in Argentina,was drinkin' whisky while 600 young Argentineans kids were dying.Very sad to be true.To sum up, there were many events and I could write pages and pagesabout this. The war was pointless, I think nobody won this war,it was a big lost for 2 countries and a benefit for a few people.

Arnaldo Mariano S., Jul 6, 2007, 10:21am EDT




February 20, 2009 | 3:15 AM Comments  {num} comments

Tags:


Holocaust
Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic


(Ceux de Gurs, Sketch on a newspaper by Max Lingner, Historical Museum, Luzern)
Commentary:
Holocaust and KZ Syndrome, Lest We Forget (Satis Shroff)

The German pope has indeed damaged the pontificate and the church, even though it was Cardinal Hoyos who’d ignored what sort of people the four members of the Pius-Brotherhood were. The four had been excommunicated in 1988. These bishops, especially Bishop Williamson, have emphatically stated that the misery and pain of the Jews and the holocaust was just fantasy, and that the Nazis hadn’t used Zyklon B to gas anyone.

My respect goes to Cardinal Lehmann who, at least, spoke of a ‘catastrophe for the survivors of the Holocaust’ and went so far as to demand an apology from the highest instance. Freiburg’s Cardinal Zollitsch took two whole weeks to react, but came up an invitation for the Central Council of Jews, to talk about the matter which is a step in the right direction. Normally, the Vatican is something of a master in presenting its own multimedia profile. This time there was a hitch. The Vatican didn’t even think it was relevant to inform the bishops of France and Switzerland about the Pius-Brotherhood quartet, which was banned by Pope Johannes Paul II.

Be that as it may, I found Chancellor Angela Merkel reacted swiftly and showed statemanship and political correctness, when she talked with the German pope about the holocaust lies spread by Bishop Williamson, and the contorted version of the bible interpreted by the late Marcel Lafebvre (1905-1991), who made the Jews responsible for the murder of Jesus. The Pius-Brotherhood founded in 1970 has 500 priests and 600,000 followers.

The politically correct attitude towards Israel of the German government under Merkel has grown out of the ashes of the holocaust. In the past, around the thirties, it was easier to be silent for the majority of the Germans, when their Jewish neighbours were being insulted, beaten, humiliated, discriminated by Hitler’s brown shirts, and later accompanied by force to the concentrations camps and eventually to the gas-chambers. Zykon B was a dreaded name in those days.

It was only after the World War II, when it became public, that many Germans realised what an infamy and act of criminality and inhumanity its armed forces and civil servants had meted out to its Jewish citizens, gypsies (Roma and Sinti), POWS from other conquered countries and their very own disabled persons, whose right to exist and live as they pleased was challenged by self-styled members of the Aryan race, who wanted to eliminate, what they called ‘worthless lives.’ Hitler wanted to create a new Aryan race with blondes and blue-eyed Germans and a start was made at Schönborn, where young virile males and females were allowed to mate for the Fatherland. Many of the children from these anonymous intercourses still live today, and would like to know who their parents were, for the offsprings were given to German families or grew up in Scandinavian countries.

We have but to read Bertold Brecht’s book ‘Furcht und Elend im Dritten Reich’ to understand that angst was the order of the day, when even fathers had to fear their own sons because the latter were active members of Hitler’s youth and boy-scout organisations. They had to show allegiance to their Führer and no one else. It was in this atmosphere, charged with fear of denunciation, that the people lived their normal lives in wartime Germany.

In the post-war period it wasn’t any better for the Germans who lived in the German Democratic Republic under Erik Honneker, where kilometres of barbed-wire, Alsatian dogs, manned by the Volks police and deadly automatic guns that fired at the touch of a hidden wire, and where the Big Brother Stasi (secret state security) was always watching its citizens. You couldn’t trust anybody in those days. I remember when I was a medical student I met a blonde girl in the Anatomy class and she looked around furtively said in a whisper: ‘I’m from the DDR, but please don’t tell anyone about it.’ She’d fled to the west. She was safe here but her fear accompanied her like a shadow. I reassured her and we are still good friends and laugh about those times. Even Günter Grass, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature, has a tough time fighting with himself regarding his past, and he mentions it in his onion-experience book, the English version of which hit the bookstands last year. The Berlin Wall and Checkpoint Charlie are replete with historical human tragedies of people who wanted to flee from a totalitarian state. Families were separated and the expression ‘Ossie and Wessie’ was normal for a long time, even after the Berlin Wall fell on November 11,1989. Two nations, two governments, two different ideologies but the same people. The fall of the Berlin Wall was one of the most emotional and historical greatest events in this world, not only for us Germans, but also for the former East Bloc countries. In this post-Perestroika period, the new and growing memberships in the European Union and Nato are proof enough of the desire, yes the craving, to be a part of Europe and the Upper Hemisphere, for the East Bloc countries were economically developing countries, made kaput by the communist and socialist apparatus.

Despite the negative headlines and banners in the media, even the former East German cities are mobilising themselves against the Neonazis, and others who still believe in the yesteryears of so-called Aryan culture and power. Wolfgang Tiefen, SPD, Minister of Transport in
Germany was right when he said: ‘It isn’t enough if one thinks in silence. In many cities there are attempts by rightists to show their presence. To counteract this move, one has to go to the streets. Dresden has shown us how to treat the Neos.’ It must be mentioned that at the autobahn resting place Teufelstuhl (Devil’s Chair), near Jena, Neonazis brutally beat up the people who’d taken part in the big demonstration, and some of them had serious injuries.

Apropos injuries, the survivors of the holocaust and their children, and their children’s children still suffer from the traumatic experience in the concentration camps, and have fear of death and loss. In a clinical study carried out in 1968 in Holland with 800 Jewish patients, who’d survived the holocaust, had what is known as the KZ-syndrome, which is a combination of problems. The patients had chronic angst (fear), cognition and memory disturbances, heavy chronic depression, changes in personality and identity, emotional regression, psychosomatic problems like phobia, hallucination and showed signs of agitation. They also suffered from psychosis, restlessness, sleep disturbances, nervosity, diffuse fear of new persecution, permanent exhaustion and loss of vitality due to weight loss caused by persecution.

It is interesting to note that similar symptoms were to be seen in the case of survivors of Hiroshima, POWs and among the persecuted Afro-American and native Indian tribesmen of the USA. A study about the syndromes of Guantanamo survivors on the part of NANDA is pending.

Whereas a lot of the KZ survivors had the syndrome, there were those who were spared such traumatic experiences and syndromes in a new, safe country like the USA, Holland, Canada and Israel, even though they had a latent phase in old age, because the Jewish migrants have a close social network in which rituals and symbols play a big part. Nevertheless, all holocaust survivors have a lot of things in common: the experience of helplessness, terror, deprivation, loss of social groups (friends, family, relatives) and profession. Added to this plethora of problems is the survivor-guilt. When you’ve underdone such hardships and experiences you tend to ask yourself: Why did I survive and not the others?. You have painful pictures of death and the unfinished process of mourning for your near and dear ones who’d died in the concentration camps or were shot by a firing squad.

When a Jewish survivor of the holocaust gets a cancer tumour, it brings up memories of the holocaust because of the loss of hair due to the intake of cyclostatica during treatment, thus baldiness gives you the feeling of being imprisoned again in an institute. The fear of death creeps up slowly and the hospital clothing remind you of the KZ prisoner’s striped dress. The loss of hair imparts a feeling of loss of identity. So the diagnosis cancer develops further in your mind to become a personal holocaust.

The question is: have we Germans learned from the lessons of the past? One thing we should have learned after having survived the Third Reich and World War II is never to be silent when the rights of humans are being trampled, and look the other way. As long there’s democracy, there’s also the right to view one’s personal opinions in matters pertaining to politics, culture and religion. In diesem Sinne: Vive la difference!

In Luzern you can see a Pandora’s Box, the contents of which was long in the hands of a Swiss Red Cross nurse named Elsbeth Kasser, who’d worked in the concentration camp Gurs, located in Southern France. It’s a box full of 150 pictures, works of art by interned Jewish artists. The photographs and KZ artistic drawings, sketches are being exhibited at Luzern’s Historical Museum. The title is appropriate: Hinschauen---nicht wegschauen, which means, Look at it, don’t look away.

The KZ prisoners, who were transported to the Vernichtungslager by the Nazis, had pleaded to the nurse Elsbeth Kasser: ‘Swiss Sister, tell about it in your country, tell what happened here to the world.’ 1943 was long ago, but it was in 1989 that she showed the works to others. Frau Kasser died in 1992. She’d brought a little joy and support in Gurs and was ashamed of what the Nazis had done to the people she’d begun to like: transported to the camps of elimination, never to return and see the light of the day, never to breathe like you and me, never to live with their families and friends. Uprooted brutally, undergoing suffering, maltreatment, experiencing cold, hunger, deprivation and dying miserable deaths in concentration camps, eradicated like rodents. Precious human souls, who’d lived in Barrack No. C/6.




February 18, 2009 | 6:26 AM Comments  {num} comments



Lyrik Zeitschrift Berlin: Gedichte Nepals
Related to country: Germany

Translations available in: English (original) | French | Spanish | Italian | German | Portuguese | Swedish | Russian | Dutch | Arabic

Lyrik Zeitschrift Berlin:
Gedichte Nepals

Wenn man an die Gedichte Nepals des 20. Jahrhunderts denkt, fallen einem Dichter wie: Lekhnath Paudyal, Bhanu Bhakta Acharya, Balkrishna Sama und Lakshmiprasad Devkota in den Sinn. Nepals vielfältige und anspruchsvolle Literatur ist reich an Gedichten, da fast jeder Schriftsteller auch Gedichte schreibt. Das Gedicht hat immer eine besondere Rolle gespielt, weil es als Mittel benutzt wurde, um sozialkritische und politische Fragen in einer Gesellschaft zu postulieren, in der Regierungen Medien zensierten. Zensusfreie Literatur gibt es in Nepal erst seit November 1990 mit der Umwandlung der absoluten Monarchie in eine konstitutionelle Hindu-Monarchie mit demokratischen Grundprinzipien.
Die Zeit wird uns zeigen, ob in Nepal eine tatsächliche Meinungsfreiheit unter der Maoisten geben wird, da Nepal eine republikanische Staat geworden ist.
Die nepalesische Literatur beschreibt auch die Situation in anderen Himalayastaaten. Die Hochburg der Nepali Literatur findet man in Kathmandu aber auch in Darjeeling, Kurseong, Kalimpong, Assam, Nagaland und Gangtok (Sikkim). Hier gibt es literarische Gesellschaften und jährliche Auszeichnungen für Nepali Schriftsteller und Dichter. Die bekanntesten Preise sind: Royal Nepal Akademie Preis, Tribhuvan Puraskar, Madan Puraskar, Sajha Preis, Nepali Literatur Gesellschaft Preis (Darjeeling), Nepali Akademie Preis (West Bengalen) und Nationale Literatur Akademie Preis (Delhi). Budathoki’s Best Nepalese On-line Writer Preis (International Nepali Literature Society, USA). / Satis Shroff, American Chronicle 14.11.
Satis Shroff has also written political poetry, about the war in Nepal, the sad fate of the Nepalese people, the emergence of neo-fascism in Germany. His anthology of poems has been published by www.Lulu.com:'Katmandu, Katmandu.'
His bicultural perspective makes his poems rich, full of awe, and at the same time heartbreakingly sad. He carries the fate of his people to readers in the West, and his task of writing is a very important one. His true gift is to invent Nepalese metaphors and make them accessible to the West through his poetry.
Satis Shroff is the published author of three books on www.Lulu.com: Im Schatten des Himalaya (book of poems in German), Through Nepalese Eyes (travelogue), Katmandu, Katmandu (poetry and prose anthology by Nepalese authors, edited by Satis Shroff). His lyrical works have been published in literary poetry sites: Slow Trains, International Zeitschrift, World Poetry Society (WPS), New Writing North, Muses Review, The Megaphone, The Megaphone, Pen Himalaya, Interpoetry. Satis Shroff is a member of “Writers of Peace”, poets, essayists, novelists (PEN), World Poetry Society (WPS) and The Asian Writer.
Boloji.com: Satis Shroff was Poet of the Week on February 18,2007 and again on June 22, 2008.
Poetry Hearings, Berlin Mitte
In Berlin gibt es ein englischsprachiges Lyrikfestival, die Poetry Hearings, von manchen mit einer Spur Übertreibung "das beste Lyrikfestival der Welt" genannt haben. Denn in der Stadt leben mehr englischsprachige Dichter als jemals zuvor. Vielleicht ist es zu früh, Berlin das Paris der Nullerjahre zu nennen, sagt der Veranstalter Alistair Noon. Aber die Stadt zieht Dichter, Künstler und Musiker an, ebenso aber ein Publikum für sie. Jetzt findet es wieder statt, Freitag 16. bin Sonntag 18.11. Außer in Berlin lebenden Autoren kommen inzwischen auch Dichter aus Europa und Übersee. Expatica
Poetry Hearings stellt Lyriker englischer Sprache vor, besonders solche aus Kontinentaleuropa. Quer zu allen Einteilungen versammelt das Festival Autoren, die in verschiedenen Traditionen stehen: Mainstream, Experimentelle, Formale, Freilaufende ("free-ranging"), Performance- und Prosagedichte. Lesenswerte, gute Arbeiten gibt es in allen diesen Formen; das Festival will ihnen ein Forum bieten.

CHIRPS IN MY GARDEN (Satis Shroff)

Ach,
To lie in bed
And listen to the birds sing.
I peer at the pine trees above,
Heavily laden with fluffy snow,
Like sentinels of the Black Forest.

I espy something moving:
Three deer with moist black noses,
Sniffing the Kappler air,
Strut among the low bushes
In all their elegance,
Only to vanish silently,
Into the recesses of the Foret Noir.

I hear the robin,
Rotkehlchen,
With its clear, loud, pearly tone,
As it greets the day.
Just before sunrise the black bird,
Amsel,
Which flies high on the tree tops,
Delivers its early arias.
The great titmouse stretches its wings
And starts to sing.

The brown sparrows turn up
With their repertoire,
Rap in the garden,
Twitter and chirp aloud.
All this noise makes the bullfinch alert,
For it also wants to be heard.
It starts its high pitched melody
With gusto in the early hours.

The starling clears its throat:
What comes is whistles,
Mingled with smacking sounds.
The woodpecker,
Specht,
Isn’t an early bird,
Starts its day late.
Pecks with its beak,
At a hurried tempo.

If that doesn’t get you out of your bed,
I’m sure you’re on holiday,
Or thank God it’s Sunday.
Other feathered friends
Who frequent our Black Forest house,
Are the green finch, the jay,
Goldfinch which we call ‘Stieglitz,’
Larks, thrush and the oriole,
The Bird of the Year,
On rare occasions.

Glossary:
English, German, Latin names
Robin (Rotkehlchen): Erithacus rubecula
Black bird (Amsel): Turdus merula
Titmouse (Kohlmeise): Parus major
Bullfinch (Rotfinke):
Greenfinch (jay): Chloris chloris
Starling: Sturnus vulgaris
Woodpecker (Specht):
Stieglitz: Carduelis carduelis
Oriole: Oriolus oriolus

* * *

SUMMER DELIGHTS IN THE SCHWARZWALD (Satis Shroff)

I sat in the garden
With Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure
On my lap,
And saw a small butterfly
With dark spots on its frail wings,
Violet patterns on its tail.
It was Aglais utricae
Flattering lightly
Between the marigolds
And chrysanthemums.

The Potentilla nepalensis
Was growing well
Under the shade of the rhododendrons.
The great pumpkin was spreading
Its leafy tentacles everywhere.
The tomatoes were fighting for light
Hiding beneath its gigantic green leaves.

A Papilio machaon with its swallow-tail
Came from nowehere.
The laughter of the children,
As they swung in the garden’s two swings
Were a delight to one’s soul.

Little Florentin’s fear of the bees,
Natasha’s morbid fear of spiders,
Elena’s garden gymnastics
And Julian’s delight in discovering
New insects, snails and snakes.

Holding hands
We strolled in our garden.
You watered the flowers and trees,
I removed long, brown snails,
A hobby-gardener of Nepalese descent,
In a lovely white house
With character in Freiburg-Kappel,
An Allemanic stronghold.

Once the subject of dispute
Between Austria and France,
Now a sleepy residential area
Of Freiburg im Breisgau.

* * *

EAST BLOC KID GOES WEST (Satis Shroff)

A pair of heavy scissors fly
In a dark Hauptschule classroom,
Thrown by an Aussiedler school-kid,
Near Freiburg’s Japanese Garden.

The scissors can slash your face,
Or mine.
You can be maimed for life,
Like Scarface,
If the sharp ends
Bury in your eyes,
Or mine.

Let there be light.
Vitaly, a boy from the former east Bloc
Comes to the West,
In search of ancestors and heritage.
What he gets is rejection but freedom.
Freedom to do as he pleases,
With pleasant negative sanctions.
‘Even in jail they have TV,’
He says with a laugh.

He grows up in a ghetto,
And his anger burns.
Anger at his ageing parents,
Who forced him to come to the West,
But who are themselves
Lost in this new world
Of democratic, liberal values,
Luxurious and electronic consumer delights,
Where everyone cares for himself
Or herself,
Where the old structures of the society
They clung to in the East Bloc days
Don’t exist anymore.

A brave new world,
A Schlaraffenland,
Where economy and commerce flourishes,
Where the individual’s view is important,
To himself,
To herself
And to others.

The East Bloc boy learns
To assert himself in the West,
Not with solid arguments and rhetoric
But with his two fists.
He fancies cars and their contents,
Breaks open the windows,
Takes all he wants.
Brushes with the police
At an early age.

English, Latin and French at school,
Irritate him,
He prefers to play the clown:
To dance on the table,
Make suggestive moves with his groin,
High on designer drugs,
High all the time.
Opens the classroom door,
Sees a girl from the seventh grade,
And yells at her:
‘Screw you after school.’

His behaviour brings laughter
But he turns off the girls he admires.
He grins and insults his peers.
Rejected by youngsters,
Admonished by grown-ups.
He watches the society.

Chic clothes, streamlined cars, plastic money,
But he forgets that there’s personal performance
Behind these worldly riches.
‘The rich German drives his BMW
With his head in the air.
What does he care?
What does he care?’
Thinks Vitaly.

A pair of scissors fly
In a dark classroom.
His pent-up emotions,
Let loose in a German Hauptschool,
Near the Japanese Garden.

His classmate from Croatia
Throws chairs at the another.
‘Aus Spass’ he says.
Just for fun.
He shouts at the Putzfrau,
Who cleans the classrooms:
‘Sie Geistesgestörte!’
You mad woman.
‚My French-cap is XXX’ he sings
And jerks his pelvis at her.

Is the school-system to blame?
Are western culture, tradition
Social, liberal values and norms to blame?
Are his parents
Who speak a conserved Deutsch to blame?
Is his Russian mother-tongue
And his great Russian soul to blame?

Nobody answers his questions,
Nobody cares,
Out in the West.
“Verdammt, I want to be heard!”
Screams Vitaly.
The people shake their heads,
Mutters, ‘Ein Spinner!’
And walk away.

A pair of sharp, long scissors
Fly in a dark classroom.
The scissors can slash your face,
Or mine.
----------------------------------------------

THE SEA SWELLS (Satis Shroff)

The sea shells on the sea shore
Suddenly the sea swells.
Ring the church and temple bells.
All is not well.
The sea has gone back.

Brown-burnt Tarzans and Janes
From different continents,
Wonder what’s going on.
A man from Sweden
Is immersed in his thriller under the palms.
A mother and daughter from Germany
Frolic on the white sunny beach.

Even the sea-gulls stop and listen
To the foreboding silence.

The sea swells,
Comes back
And brings an apocalyptic destruction:
Sweeping humans, huts and hotels,
Boats, billboards and debris.
Cries for help are stifled by the roaring waves.

The sea goes back.
Leaving behind lost souls,
Caught in suspended animation.
I close my eyes.
Everything dies.

Tsunami. Tsunami.
Om Shanti. Om shanti.
-----------------

DELETING LIVES IN THE CYBERWORLD (Satis Shroff)

The young man and his double-clicks
In a cyberworld
Of bits and bytes,
Full of elves, tough turtles, dementors,
Warriors, monsters, evil beings,
Who destroy hamlets, towns,
Civilisations,
At the command of a few clicks.

An unreal world
Where the fantasy stories
Are pre-programmed.
The elimination of farmers, slaves,
Knaves and enemy warriors,
But a click away.

You are the creator,
The maker and destroyer,
You are Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma.
Thumbs up or down,
Death to you,
Delete.
Yawn!
You’re short of amphetamines.
It’s a long way
To the apothecary.
More clicks,
More tiredness,
You’re falling asleep.
Drowsy bits and bytes,
You haven’t taken a bite.
Your inner man is growling,
But you have no time,
For bodily needs.
You’re hooked
To your bits and bytes.
Oh, it bites.
--------------------------------------
Groggy in the Afternoon (Satis Shroff)

Groggy from the Cyberworld at home,
Fritz goes to school.
He’s tired of school,
And is restless.
Retalin doesn’t seem to work today.
The lessons are irrelevant,
He sees not the classmates.
He sees the goblins, ghouls,
Zombies, Power Rangers,
Sword-fighting Ninjas ,
Scores of other figures
With terrifying grimaces.
Fritz also makes a grimace.
He is now a monster in his thoughts,
Has to strike the others
With his laser-sword.

The enemy surrounds him,
Laser-blades flash like lightning.
A gash and Fritz falls on the floor.
He’s wounded,
But rotates his prostrate torso
With his fast working legs,
Lashes out with his sword.
He’s almost killed them all.
He’s a hero who never gives up.

Suddenly he hears his teacher
Frau Hess’s voice:
’Fritz, steh auf!’
He becomes calm,
Gets up.
Gone are the warriors, Power Rangers,
And super heroes and mighty enemies.
Fritz recognises his classmates,
Hans, Joachim, Cassandra, Brunhild,
As they shake their heads.

Was it a dream?
Oh je! Frau Hess will certainly call Mom.
And tell it all.
‘Scheiss ADS!’ mutters Kevin.

Glossary:
ADS: Allgemeine Deficiency Syndrome


The Japanese Garden (Satis Shroff)

Nine Hauptschule kids in their teens,
Sit on benches in the Japanese Garden,
Near the placid, turquoise lake.

The homework is done sloppily.
Who cares?
The boys are bursting with hormones,
As they tease the only blonde from Siberia.

A fat guy named Heino likes the blonde,
But she doesn’t fancy him.
Annäherung, Vermeidung:
A conflict develops.

The teacher tells him in no uncertain terms:
“Lass Sie bitte in Ruhe!”
But Heino with the MP3 doesn’t care
And carries on:
Grasping her breasts,
Caressing her groin.
She puts up a fight to no avail.

Heino is stronger, impertinent,
And full of street rhetoric.
Meanwhile, the other teenies
Are climbing, kicking the Japanese pavilion,
Spitting, cursing shouting
At all and sundry in German.

The grey-haired gardener-in-charge comes,
Tells the boys to behave
And goes.
Boredom in the afternoon.
The boys don’t want to play soccer,
Handball or basketball.
Sitting around, criticising, irritating each other,
Is cool.

Creative workshops: music, songs,
Essays, own movies?
Nothing interests them.
Killing time together,
Cursing at each other,
Getting a kick provoking passersby,
This is the Hauptschule
In Germany today.

The clever kids go to the Gymnasium,
After the fourth class.
The trouble-makers,
Aggressive alpha-wolves
And clowns remain in the Hauptschule.
An ironical name for a school,
For Haupt means the ‘main’
Comprising the lower class of the society:
Kids of foreigners, ethnic Germans from the East Bloc,
Who hope to make it somehow,
As apprentices for hair salons, car repair garages,
Kebab shops, Italian restaurants, Balkan kitchens,
Roofers and masons.

The Japanese Garden, a present from Matsuyama
To the people of Freiburg,
With truncated shrubs and rounded trees.
A waterfall and quiet niches,
A place for contemplation and solitude.

For the Hauptschule kids,
A place to get together,
Be loud, grunt, fight with fists, shove, scratch,
Slap, spit, kick everywhere,
And play the gangsta.
“At night they throw empty alcohol bottles
Where ever they like,” says an elderly lady
From the neighbourhood.
Wonder how the kids are in Matsuyama?

* * *

WENN EIN KIND.../WHEN A CHILD... (Anon)

Wenn ein Kind kritisiert wird,
lernt es zu verurteilen.

Wenn ein Kind angefeindet wird,
lernt es zu kämpfen.

Wenn ein Kind verspottet wird,
lernt es schüchtern zu sein.

Wenn ein Kind beschämt wird,
lernt es sich schuldig zu sein.

Wenn ein Kind verstanden und toleriert wird,
lernt es geduldig zu sein.

Wenn ein Kind ermutigt wird,
lernt es sich selbst zu vertrauen.

Wenn ein Kind gelobt wird,
lernt es sich selbst zu schätzen.

Wenn ein Kind gerecht behandelt wird,
lernt es sich gerecht zu sein.

Wenn ein Kind geborgen lebt,
lernt es zu vertrauen.

Wenn ein Kind anerkannt wird,
lernt es sich selbst zu mögen.

Wenn ein Kind in Freundschaft angenommen wird,
lernt es in der Welt Liebe zu finden.

(Text über dem Eingang einer tibetischen Schule)
On Her Majesty’s Lyrical Service:

Poet Laureate (Satis Shroff)

Wanted:
A person who writes in lyrical form,
Composes verses for occasions,
Good stanzas in favour of kings and queens,
Princes and Princesses,
For the price of 5000 Sterling pounds
And, of course, 650 bottles
Of Sherry,
To inspire the poet.
And the title of Poet Laureate.

A court poet is a smith of verses,
Not a bass-guitarist
Of the royal band
Based in Buckingham.
Beginners need not apply.
Candidates should be
A professor of English Literature.

The last Poet Laureate penned
Verses in praise of Edward
And his beautiful Sophie,
A hundred years of the Queen Mother
And the latter’s sad demise.
The Queen’s diamond wedding anniversary,
A rap-rhyme for rosy-cheeked Prince William,
When he turned twenty-one.
Yeah! ‘Better stand back
Here’s a age attack.’
He even congratulated Charles and Camilla
On their belated marriage.
The Prince was overwhelmed
When he heard Motion’s
‘Spring Wedding.’
But all verses weren’t,
As we say in Germany:
Friede, Freude, Eierkuchen.
Motion’s ‘Cost of Life’ on Paddington,
‘Causa belli’ emphasised
Elections, money, empire,
Oil and Dad.
Themes and lyrics that bother us,
Day in and day out.
The rulers and battles won are expected
To be praised to Heaven,
Like Master Henry,
Ben Jonson et al have done

In 1668 John Dryden was sacked
Not for his bad verses,
But for changing his confession.
Sir Walter Raleigh and William Morris
Didn’t relinquish their freedom
And said politely: No thank you, Ma’am.
And with it a keg of wine
From the Canary Isles,
That could have been theirs.

Free literary productivity and court-poetry
Are strange bedfellows indeed.
In these times of gender-studies,l
Women’s quotes and emancipation,
It wouldn’t be far-fetched
If Carol Ann Duffy,
A Scottish poetess,
Became the next Poetess Laureate.
What a lass!
She’s openly gay,
Didn’t you say?
Has fire anyway.

What a thankless job:
A royal lyrical whisperer,
Striving for public relations
In poetry prize panels,
In the name of poetry.
A thankless job:
Take it
Or leave it.

* * *

Poet Laureate Shortlist

Carol Ann Duffy
Ian McMillan
Geoffrey Hill
Rowan Williams
Tony Harrison
John Betjeman
Simon Armitage
Michael Rosen
Stephen Frey
Lynne Trusse
Don Paterson

(Ed.: You are free to add some more of your own prospective poet laureate candidates).

The Lure of the Himalayas (Satis Shroff)

Once upon a time,
Near the town of Kashgar,
I, a blue-eyed stranger in local clothes was captured
By the sturdy riders of Vali Khan.
On August 26, 1857
I, Adolph Schlagintweit,
a German traveller, an adventurer,
Was beheaded as a spy without a trial.

I was a German who set out on the footsteps
Of the illustrious Alexander von Humboldt.
With my two brothers Hermann and Robert,
From Southhampton on September 20,1854
To see India, the Himalayas and Higher Asia.
Sans invitation, I must admit.

A Persian traveller, a Muslim with a heart
Found my headless body.
He brought my remains all the way to India,
And handed it to a British colonial officer.

It was a fatal fascination,
But had I the chance,
I’d do it again.

******

What others have said about the author:
'Brilliant, I enjoyed your poems thoroughly. I can hear the underlying German and Nepali thoughts within your English language. The strictness of the German form mixed with the vividness of your Nepalese mother tongue. An interesting mix. Nepal is a jewel on the Earth’s surface, her majesty and charm should be protected, and yet exposed with dignity through words. You do your country justice and I find your bicultural understanding so unique and a marvel to read.' Reviewed by Heide Poudel in WritersDen.com 6/4/2007.
Satis Shroff writes with intelligence, wit and grace. (Bruce Dobler, Associate Professor in Creative Writing MFA, University of Iowa).
‘Satis Shroff writes political poetry, about the war in Nepal, the sad fate of the Nepalese people, the emergence of neo-fascism in Germany. His bicultural perspective makes his poems rich, full of awe and at the same time heartbreakingly sad. I writing ‘home,’ he not only returns to his country of origin time and again, he also carries the fate of his people to readers in the West, and his task of writing thus is also a very important one in political terms. His true gift is to invent Nepalese metaphors and make them accessible to the West through his poetry.’ (Sandra Sigel, Writer, Germany).
'The manner in which Satis Shroff writes takes the reader right along with him. Extremely vivid and just enough and the irony of the music. Beautiful prosaic thought and astounding writing.

'Your muscles flex, the nerves flatter, the heart gallops,
As you feel how puny you are,
Among all those incessant and powerful waves.'

“Satis Shroff's writing is refined – pure undistilled.” (Susan Marie, www.Gather.com)


“I was extremely delighted with Satis Shroff’s work. Many people write poetry for years and never obtain the level of artistry that is present in his work. He is an elite poet with an undying passion for poetry.” Nigel Hillary, Publisher, Poetry Division - Noble House U.K.

Author Bio:

Satis Shroff is a prolific writer and teaches Creative Writing at the Albert Ludwig University of Freiburg. He is a lecturer, poet and writer and the published author of three books: Im Schatten des Himalaya (book of poems in German), Through Nepalese Eyes (travelogue), Katmandu, Katmandu (poetry and prose anthology by Nepalese authors, edited by Satis Shroff). His lyrical works have been published in literary poetry sites: Slow Trains, International Zeitschrift, World Poetry Society (WPS), New Writing North, Muses Review, The Megaphone, Pen Himalaya, Interpoetry. He is a member of “Writers of Peace,” poets, essayists, novelists (PEN), World Poetry Society (WPS) and The Asian Writer.

Satis Shroff is based in Freiburg (poems, fiction, non-fiction) and also writes on ecological, ethno-medical, culture-ethnological themes. He has studied Zoology and Botany in Nepal, Medicine and Social Sciences in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and the United Kingdom. He describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Since literature is one of the most important means of cross-cultural learning, he is dedicated to promoting and creating awareness for Creative Writing and transcultural togetherness in his writings, and in preserving an attitude of Miteinander in this world. He lectures in Basle (Switzerland) and in Germany at the Akademie für medizinische Berufe (University Klinikum Freiburg) and the Zentrum für Schlüsselqualifikationen (University of Freiburg where he is a Lehrbeauftragter for Creative Writing). Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize.


February 2, 2009 | 5:14 AM Comments  {num} comments

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