MY FATHER'S WORLDS


the most important thing for me
       work
       achieve
       reach
don’t just stay locked inside
   like my father


a world inside
a thousand worlds

a life inside
a thousand stories

memories
intensities

but inside
contained

in one aging body
      containing galaxies
      black holes


            when he speaks I am sucked into a black hole
                                          a whirling vortex
            he needs to be heard
            I fight against the black hold of his need

            though away from him
            I play over and over
                        in my mind
                                         his memories

a memory
one of his memories
replaying in my mind

            I was fourteen.
            In my village I saw Russian prisoners of war
            being transferred,
            many too weak to walk,
            held up by others,
            hanging on so they could get to the next camp.
            I remember a Nazi officer,
            a kid actually, maybe twenty,
            maybe a sadist, a brute,
            maybe just brainwashed,
            pick up a branch of thorns,
            whip one man,
            the thorns pulling chunks of flesh from his neck.
            I went to my father, crying.
            He told the SS officer next door.
            The young man was transferred
            to the Russian front.
            I heard not long after that he had been killed.

a million memories
no space inside me to listen
unless the words have been shaped
into stories in books

or unless I am asking

often I listen to others

I stay silent with my father

with him
I have nothing to say

also with others these days
I often have nothing to say

inside me
I find nothing to say

he has
      galaxies
      black holes
      memories whirling
             consuming his interest
             fascinating him
             holding him
             feeding him
             pleasing him

I watch the cat
       purring on my lap
and feel flat

Elsa Schieder
May 27, 2000
© Elsa Schieder, 2006

****

Words music. My father, myself.
There's no one I've felt closer to.
I can't believe he isn't alive.
His creativity, intensity, desire to do great things.
His hope. Also his despair about reaching.

My father, myself. He wrote. I write.
He dreamed.
I dream and hope and long
and try and try some more.
I'm less afraid to keep trying.
He looked so strong.
But it was hard for him
to find a place for himself
in the world.
One that fit.
So many walls inside himself.

One of my desires:
to find a place for my father's writings
in the world.

Welcome into my world.

And welcome also into my father's world.
He died seveal years ago,
left so many writings unfinished,
none sent out.
He always wanted me to take his work
and bring it out into the world.
But I was too stuck with my own work
not going anywhere.
Now, with this site,
I am sure there will be space
for both of us.

Elsa
JUNE 18, 2006

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****

For another
words music piece,
Who is this Person I Call Me,
click here.

For still another
words music piece,
I Need,
click here.

****

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A dozen years ago,
I began to wake up
with word pieces -
words music, spoken word, songs -
in my head.
Escape velocity.
Echo of the echo.
Tank almost empty.
Can't cross the gap.
Welcome into my world.

WORDS MUSIC WORDS

Every time I'm going
into the words not knowing
what kind of thing I'm doing
what is this thing I'm making
what are these words creating

Words music, music words, rhythm beat,
spoken word, song,
words music, words beat,
rap poetry,
trip hip unhip unzipped
whispered, shouted, sung.

What is this?
spoken word poetry?
rap tap rhythm song?

Where do these words belong?
They don't follow song rules
so they can't be songs
Are some rap
with a rap beat?
Are some spoken word?
Some are to be sung -
country, trip hop, pop, folk, blues,
country folk, rock and roll, rap,
world beat, jazz, folk pop,
rhythm and blues.

words music words
rhythm beat strong
words to be spoken
words to be sung
words to be lived
moments

word music worlds
rhythm beat

What's cooking?
Whatever comes -
words alive
words strong
words music worlds
rhythm beat
strong
movement
words moving
words shaping
words taking
words trying
     to catch life
     to catch moments
        moments like fireflies
          one moment bright
          next moment gone
words
words and rhythm
words to be spoken
words to be sung
words, sounds, music

word music worlds

words going on and on
like the beat of a drum
word pieces
piecing together moments

word music worlds

stronger
fainter
closer

and then
can't hear
they're gone

like moments

Elsa
July 15, 2006
 © copyright - Elsa Schieder - 2007, all rights reserved

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