In the 239-bus

a ride for holding on

by the seat of one’s pants.

The smell of cabbage soup

kiosk type wrapped food

of rancid body odours.

Hopping along in a rhythmic

Hancock-bounce over grey

cobblestones of a Viennese

road design tradition.

At Holy City’s stop the wale of

the sickened bus spews out

its entire content.

People rush like a shoal of fish

gape-mouthed into the open

past casual news stands

the familiar homeless paper

seller.

The sound of knocking shoes

murmuring conversation

singing of a female refugee

echoes through the access

tunnel connecting to the trains.

Catching the next U4 train to

the city’s core many will rush

Time: Two minutes to take-off.

At last jockeying past the slow

walkers has ended

finding a red seat in traveling

direction of this train

noting down poetic ideas into

the red moleskine notebook.

For a Saturday lunchtime enough

passengers travel

while the poet misses his usual

yoghurt treat from Nica

more so to study new angles

for her portrait

she’d asked for cautiously.

Today’s a solo visit at boesner’s

artist requisite supermarket

where one finds everything

needed to express one’s own art

but let the postman deliver the

yearly comprehensive catalogue

as Mona has encouraged the

artist who lives close to the poet’s

heart.

A fortnight ago she left the party

too early and the artist found

himself as a lost soul drowning

in the red cabernet-sea of loneliness

where he’d lost his conscious to

reality and painted with his soul.

He fell from the heavens of solitude

like a stone –

That’s how Icarus must have felt –

Falling onto a sea made of

tempered glass.

 

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POEtry’16.

have you hugged a tree today?

not the best day to start

nordic walking from a

known departure point

heavy breathing feels as

if running out of air along

uphill

where usually the poet was

well underway

but not today

yet he will endure this

johann grünberger trail

thru’ the viennese woods

even if it feels too steep

for him today.

it’s like being in love

not always the mood there

for the partner

to make her feel wanted

definitely not in a long-term

marriage

besides now statistics show

four divorces in ten marriages

almost half have serious times

to go thru –

the poet hugs a huge birch tree

it must be this with a portent

woman

but as he hugs a smaller one

it befits him fine.

have you hugged a tree

today?

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

malta.atlam

she has a good eye for

poster design

besides the art of presentation

therefore she’ll be in a position

to criticise the artist/ the poet/

the designer/ the writer.

as she had woken the bard at

4:30 am –

he’ll splash water on his face

and settle down at his working

domain

redo the intended invitations

until she’ll communicate

a successful way forward.

unfortunately – like everything else –

the word program has changed

and with it the way he used to be

quick with producing

well-designed pamphlets and

fliers about his latest work.

for now he’s adamant

to get his immediate circle of

friends and acquaintances

informed

about his creative work.

perhaps something may come off it

maybe he’ll meet a sponsor

while his mind questions his efforts

for a public presentation.

yet – he always kept his humour

and he laughs out loud

recalling the joke about

“an Italian in malta”.

malta.atlam

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

greed

well then –

most beautiful days

in mid-september

nearby woods tempt

the wanderer/ the biker

the nordic-walking enthusiast

but then –

where else has a world-city

such a green lung

right on its doorstep?

yet – the poet is handicapped

by duties to his household/

the local water with too much

chlorine added

he has to travel downtown

to find a reasonable filter for

their drinking water

there’s no local one available

across to the north he rides the

magnificent öffis-transport

for finding a reasonably priced

filter set

thanks though for a competitive

market in the west

not yet rigged by huge corporate

greed/ called monopoly/ like the

beer market/ his neighbour said.

greed.deerg

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

he and she

i have great charisma“ she said

and placed three photographs

on the poet’s desk –

one/ a woman with a winning

smile

two/ a woman with an expressive

portrait

three/ a romantic look with flowing

hair across her face – a woman

you would fall in love with instantly.

“yes” – he said and scribbled into his

journal

disappointed about the way

life had turned out for both of them.

she/ aspired to become a model

presenting hats and head-ware

he/ spirited to moving-up in the world

of design and art.

yet it had not materialized and while

she complains to have stayed on a

level of a charwoman –

and he – has transferred design and

construction into works of art

while searching for ways of

self-realisation.

she – still dreams of finding some

occupation concerning with some

presentation of her fashion ideas

he – still hopes to gain recognition

for his art that’ll accompanies at

present all his publications.

he and she.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

flow

there are rules and regulations

for the public and for private

individuals

made up as we go along

there’s the law of causality

that may turn out great and

yet also could cause havoc in

our lives quite often –

then everybody concerned

suffers

bit so often its blows could have

been softened-up

if only everybody involved would

just talk to each other.

however/ flexible people could

endure more due to their

character taints

thru’ their focused motives.

the artist analyses intuitively along

the lines he’ll draw

around the colours he applies

the compositions emerging as he

strives along guided by the

stirring deep inside him.

the poet/ independent on the

time of day and night/

the lighting that pervades his

being

and shakes-up his writing mood

and pierces his inspiration

as there cannot be any prediction

like for voters behaviour at

election day but one thing:

the piece of creation only relies

on messages from within

the artist’s universal world:

love is the universe

the web its pulsing vein

where we’ll meet and touch

where our juices flow.

flow.wolf

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

hooves

he takes time from more

writing and reads a book

about art and science

by eric kandel

waiting for his spouse

to arrive at their usual

café

a haunt for ice cream fans

and good viennese food

with a touch of Italian.

then/ as sunshine lures

to a nearby square

she’ll sit there to absorb

her daily dose of vitamin d

as she believes it

while he still rests his eyes

further more some pangs

of hunger

will lead them to the

fiaker-café

close to st steven’s cathedral

where clatter of hooves in a

rhythmic arrival of coaches

entertains and soothes one’s

tested mind

while tourists keep the coaches

in continual movement

along predetermined routes –

it’s a well-known aspect of

old vienna’s core/ its heartbeat.

as the afternoon progresses

horses bray/ hooves are dancing/

visitors thinning out/

fiaker coachmen and woman

still worry.

hooves.sevooh

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

about adam’s quotation

about adam‘s quotation

“to furnish the means of acquiring

knowledge is…

the greatest benefit that can be

conferred upon mankind.

it prolongs life itself and enlarges

the sphere of existence.”

this quotation/ 160 years back

has not yet percolated thru’ the

broad spectrum of present day

humans worldwide

albeit all modern digital tools to

acquire knowledge –

computer games are of a wondrous

entertainment value

but then – human conscious of

learning should be equally fun

and also a game for young and

also the elderly –

art/ ambience/ the views ahead

stem from the furnishing of means

of knowledge

to be acquired by us

as we are fortunate to have had

a few teachers we’d listened to

who pointed ahead the world

to excellence in the arts.

for now/ the artist’s mind on a

book on art by eric kandel

he saw for sale at leo’s

he hesitated to acquire

but he couldn’t’ get it out of his

mind.

it feels good in his hand and

the only copy in the sale-box

had been left for days now

for him to have and read.

whereto dear poet?

where will you proceed dear

artist

if visitors for an exhibition

opening are restricted to

fifty persons?

waiting and drinking tea.

think about collating another

book with a cover of one of

your paintings:

short stories part 3

it’ll be a top-selling book in

your stable at bod-norderstedt.

bod.dob

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

shrink

waiting for the bus

at a temporary stop

next to the open door

that invites you to enter

into a place:

welcome to the limits of

pain-gym

in the city of saints

where people march-in

meet/ travel from and to/

health enthusiasts/ sporting

folk/ casual visitors meet

at this point of mobility’s

intersection as a base

no use of discussing matters

of a specific bus

one travelled on

as it comes up with a friend

who insisted

that she was ahead of her

spouse

who left her thirty minutes

earlier

and yet she arrived at the same

time at changeover station

to join the thru-bus

he was sitting on.

well – he said – she insisted

that i hide from her

where i come from.

she thought she noticed that

he came sitting on a bus

from the opposite direction

to hide from her meeting

somebody else.

“wow now” – his friend said

“she’ll need a shrink – as

pop-words go”

“yeah” he replied

“she always insists it’s me

who’ll need one.”

they both laughed.

shrink.knirhs

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

one smiling & one tearful eye

there are few options

in life

for conducting an existence

as an artist

who fell onto hard times:

the first one is to find some

work

even if it pays a pittance

the second one is to work

on his own specific art

and suffer hunger spells

amid depression –

it’s incredible how galleries

treat an artist –

well now/ the artist said

nearby my place the woods

will sing

so let’s go/ let’s explore them

if at the beginning being

thrown to the wolves

let’s find them and become

a wolf-whisperer –

the laughs heard are those

of spirits

who still share in ironic trains

of thought

but still support the artist with

one smiling eye and the

tearful other.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

happiness

he settles down to his

restaurant-styled desk

and he tries sorting his

staple of calling cards

thinking of visitors for his

exhibition

that lies in a static state

since april and frozen

since the start of corona.

but then he types some

intimate thoughts

as if he’d do a striptease

for his muse

just like anne did for him

virtually

and if eroticism and faked

climax mix

diluting borders of true

feelings

so it all happens in public

life and in politics.

he settles down to his

writing desk

editing poems he wrote

at a bus stop/ the subway/

waiting between fast food

kiosks

the waft of spices colours

his words

wynton marsalis with his

refined orchestral breeze

lets the words dance along

for a grand ballet/ colours

blotched upon a giant canvas

of imagination

for great happiness.

happiness.ssenippah

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.