Kleine Entdeckung

Veröffentlicht: Dezember 17, 2019 in Geschichten oder so ähnlich
Schlagwörter:, , ,

Auf einem Stick fanden sich noch ein paar Übersetzungen…

Somewhere Nowhere

Somewhere a heart beats an unsteady rhythm until it falters. It gives its soul the possibility to flee its miserable cover.
The now dead body is only an empty, flabby cover, which soon is going to wear the features of rigor mortis.
The parties of grief and heir moan and lament at the death bed, while calculating the legacy and estimating, how much grief seems worthy and suitable.
Somewhere up there, a stubby gentleman sits on a candy-cloud. He asks each spirit into his office and looks deep-down their souls. He inspects them to decide if they’re worthy enough to await the paradise behind the shed and have filled in the forms correctly, of course.
Somewhere down there, another gentleman waits for those souls, the one up there thinks of as unworthy. Besides he calmly cleans his fingernails with his hideous prick. He moves his behind to position himself more comfortably on his red velvet cushion. He inhales the air, which’s got his preferred temperature of 180 °, through his enormous nostrils.
In between hiss a few winged castratos to and fro, tell weird stories about heaven and hell to offer the gentlemen some kind of amusement…
Right in the thick of it, the human sits in his church, freezes his buns off and is scared shitless, because his doctor told him about an increasing risk of heart-attack.

© Sybille Lengauer
Translated by Giovanna Letizia

The Clock
(a short night melody)

I’m sittin’ in the kitchen and listen to the clock, it’s cutting the hours
I’m starin’ at the wall, it’s got cracks, it’s as yellow as nicotine and ugly
I’m examinin’ the shelves, the scraps of wall paper, wilting plants
I’m lookin’ at my hands, which are lying on the table, which is sticky and old
I’m gettin’ up slowly, holding the chair behind me, which’s got a loose leg
I’m goin’ into the bathroom, see the mirror and behold the horror as expected
I approach the window, it’s dirty and smeared, I see walls and rain
I’m takin’ my pistol out of its casket inside the cupboard, it’s colourless and dusty
I put in the magazine, position it on my temple, forgot to load
I’m goin’ back to the kitchen, load and shoot this god damned clock!
Since then, I’m merry again, ‘cause time stands still, at least in my kitchen

© Sybille Lengauer
Translated by Giovanna Letizia

The whorehouse language

Self-important jabbering bubbles aimlessly,
Witless, useless, directly out of the paunch
No detour via the brain
Rumen communication

It babbles, it maunders, it fiddles, it whispers,
It gossips, it mumbles, it chats, it prates,
It cackles, it stutters, it natters, it stammers,
It jabbers, it prattles, it twaddles, it speaks!

A rage and roar of words and tones,
A sea of sounds, equals a monkey stable
The totty squeal and gibber
The blokes rut like the rams
And the brats…
Not to think of!

And not one syllable, not a tiny hint,
Is somehow of  importance,
Has even the smallest weight
It is a crime, a scorn unparalleled

Contagious as scabies,
It infects the young and the old,
Mixes the poor with the rich,
Confuses all classes
A leveller like the (grim) reaper
Only meaner

Unites the people of the earth in bereft of content
Unites them happily in claptrap without substance
Unites them, even with conflicts,
In endless feeble-mindedness

The whorehouse language
Betrays us all. Although partly already dead!
The Babylonian she-dog
Sneaks through our alleys
Unfortunately not to be stoned

© Sybille Lengauer
Translated by Giovanna Letizia

Kommentar verfassen

Trage deine Daten unten ein oder klicke ein Icon um dich einzuloggen:


Du kommentierst mit Deinem WordPress.com-Konto. Abmelden /  Ändern )


Du kommentierst mit Deinem Twitter-Konto. Abmelden /  Ändern )


Du kommentierst mit Deinem Facebook-Konto. Abmelden /  Ändern )

Verbinde mit %s