Freitag, 16. September 2011

Florian Arleth - An Uphill-Battle against the Sun (Prosagedicht)

Mal wieder bisschen Seelenstrip, so kurz vor der Wochenendtrunkenheit. Man findet sich ja irgendwann damit ab, dass das eigene Leben oft die besten Vorlagen für Texte gibt. Und hinterfragt die Merkwürdigkeiten der eigenen Existenz dann bestenfalls etwas weniger. Verarbeitet sie bestenfalls etwas mehr durch das Schreiben.

Der Text steht in direktem Zusammenhang mit DEM hier. Warum er auf Englisch ist, keine Ahnung. Vielleicht um der Distanz willen, vielleicht auch wegen der Militärmetapher, die ein ebenbürtiges Gegenstück im Deutschen vergeblich sucht.

An Uphill-battle against the Sun

They say that there comes one in a million,
        and I thought that maybe it was you
        and that it might be
                    the second biggest
                    mistake of my life
                                (the biggest was to let HER go)
                    not to seize this chance.

But to conquer the heart
          of a broken girl
          is a situation,
                that every second military historian
                                          would refer to
                                          as an uphill battle against the sun.

Yet I kept on marching,
that one monday after we spent 7 hours talking in your kitchen,
            towards the dawning sun
            and through the awakening city,
            without a clear purpose,
            but no surrender on my mind,
                      a treacherous warmth in my stomach,
                     eight kilometers under my feet and
                     Kevin Brown on my walkman:
                              “and no advances left me down with slim chances /
                                Yo, I had to do what I had to do /
                                sad I had to roll on a friendship brand new /
                                It coulda been a little romance too“.

Which made me think back to that day
when we first met
             ages ago, yet in reality only six weeks earlier,
             an evening in Heidelberg, which 9 out of 10
                                                   independently interviewed persons
                                                   would have referred to as utterly romantic,
                                                   maybe one of the most romantic occasions of my life.

Yet I was disappointed at first,
              for you really looked better on your pictures,
                         but then I caught a glimpse at your heart,
                         on this night after the concert,
                         that for reasons now unknown
                         none of us wanted to end,
                         when we wanted
                         to drive North and see the sea,
                         two souls that barely knew each other,
                                       only knew the lyrics of the latest Beastie Boys-album by heart,
                         yet seemed to be related in terms beyond time.

We did not make it to the sea,
           only made it to a forlorn castle near the city,
                          that denied us entry,
                          and left us in your mother's car,
                                                looking at the stars,
                                                while you tried to light a cigarette,
                                                and I tried not to think of kissing you,
                                                         but to collect enough spit,
                                                         to continue reading my book out loud;
                                                                          the first time I ever did this,
                                                                                                to a stranger.
Because strange it was,
             and strange it ended,
             when you drew that shaky line,
             that said „Only friendship after this point“,
                                                             a point that made me curse
                                                             the course of the world
                                                             and reduced you
                                                             to another slightly familiar name
                                                                                        in my friend list
                                                                                        on Facebook. 

Shoutouts an die Assel.

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