New Year’s Eve

This Monday, when I intended to have a quiet day and write a chapter to my writings about Nordic Walking around Vienna’s woods and fields, I came across my lost shadow. I have not seen this mature chap, his long hair held together with a string, his warm sporting woolen cap pulled down over his ears. He felt obviously uncomfortable walking out into the last day of the old year, when people streamed toward the City’s fun-mile, littered with punch stands, fast food stalls, all kind of amusement cubicles around the famous Dome of St Steven in the heart of Vienna. I saw him shaking hands with a friend I knew from an art gallery, who always teased his friends and enjoyed the company of women. Come on, I thought, it’s the unusual artist in the company of other unusual artists, Vienna has quite many hovering around the first district’s Kohlmarkt and the few artist-cafes left.


B, my spouse, had invited me to have a drink with me at the Café de l’Opera. ‘They have your favourite tea’, she beamed. ‘Indeed?’ I was genuinely surprised. ‘Yes. Chinese Chun Mee, green tea’. ‘That’s wonderful’, I said and followed her. We found a table and settled down. There was a continual coming and going of visitors, mainly tourists, who were keen to sample the air and the fine cakes and coffees offered here. We ordered espresso for B and I ordered the green tea. As the drinks arrived, I noted that my dispenser was leaking and the silver tray was filled with the hot water quickly. The waiter summoned, seemed to be confused and hurried away, returning later with a new small pot of hot water. It spoiled my first drinking experience, but I did not mention it to B. I knew she was lately suffering from a stressed life, as we had not yet overcome the losses of our lifelong collection of wardrobes, household items, books and our CD collection of music, collectibles, inherited art & craft treasures and all our furniture, we had inherited from our second family in South Africa.


My wife phoned a friend and I took my notebook and made some notes with my ink pen. Then we exchanged our thoughts and some memories of happy years in a warmer climate in Greece, among our well-furnished apartment, where B enjoyed sun tanning on the terrace, while I had been engrossed with the painting of my ‘Apollo Frieze’.

Suddenly B stood up and walked over to a table, where a man had taken a seat. He stood up and then looked in my direction. I got up from my table and walked over to greet him. He had a warm smile and large dark eyes of an observer and I could immediately see the artist in front of me, the fashion designer and photographer, B had told me about. She had met him during the summer on the terrace of this café. We asked him to join us. Indeed, he spoke in his quiet way and with a spark in his eyes, telling anecdotes about famous people he had met during his life, but also listening to B and my own stories of people I’ve met in course of our stay in South Africa and Greece.

Well, now as I spoke to Pierre, sitting opposite me, I noticed the video clip that had played on the monitor of my mind’s eye about my shadow. Indeed, the shadow man, artist and poet, had shaken a man’s hand who had resembled him. I was amazed how easy it had been talking to a man, who worked creatively, just as I did, only on related genres, where art played a huge and important role. His creative pride, a model garment, hand painted with symbolic designs relating to Salvatore Dali, was stunning. I knew immediately that this man and I would inspire each other’s work, besides could become great friends.

Besides our well-conducted talks and sharing of interests, we had a good time together and we could have talked into the New Year’s morning, until the cows came home, if they were not frightened off by the noise of all the fireworks that went off around the country.


I am glad that my spouse has the talent meeting people in the field of fashion and art. Hopefully, we’ll have more opportunities in the New Year to meet and exchange ideas and become collocutors of each other. It’s all important to meet creative minded people, who are the Herold’s of the Arts & Crafts, the visual arts, and on top interested in shaping its future through their work.


It’s soon midnight and while Pierre works on his new photographic book, I am content writing down my thoughts, about the tragic events around building the Viennese opera, where we had such a delightful afternoon, the thoughts about a friend’s request to draw her a piece of work with a dark tree or trees, a small painting for a couple married for fifty years, my own work for a four-panel work of faces and a mixed couple. I have visualized this painting for many years wandering about in woods and fields, the heath and around the outer suburbia of Vienna, the Rund-Uma-dum-trail.


My thoughts go out to all our friends and people, who we met during the year. Remembrance to people who are no more around us, but who have passed on to another life, something we discuss. I had dialogues about life and death with my mental collocutor, Albert, who I admire as a philosopher and a great writer, and who was prepared to discuss the style of my writing. I wish them peace and love. To all the living people we know, we wish all the best and good health in the New Year 2019.





All night I was swaying on

An ocean boat

Turning left to straight and

Straight to right

In my strange adventure

Citing poetry I wrote on an

Instant basis

Amazed that the words

In rhyme and free style

Slipped off my tongue so

Rapidly in succession.

But it was though that

I wanted to stop this other


Of producing lines

Run off a human machine.

This poet wished to record

The verses

But the other me prided

Himself part of a slam

Nobody could freeze or

Write the stanzas down.

Unto the early morning

I still tried in desperate awe

Repeating a line

Or two.

Yet the scene ended in a

Subline reckoning of poetry

Having been dreamt

But impossible to have

A ghost of a chance to be

Recorded for posterity.





Three Kings

A triad has always been a

Powerful constellation –

Be it with planets

Be it in Love

As well as with the power

Of rulers.


As in ancient Egypt

It formed the absolute power

Thru’ the secrecy of being

The pharaoh.


Then three kings from the

Far East –

Representing the youthful


The middle aged and on top

Of his powers-king

The white bearded wise and

Experienced old king.


Fit for traveling months on

Camels and on foot

The star of Jupiter in the Ram’s

Constellation guided them to

Judea and Bethlehem.


Throughout history the power

Of a triad constellation continued

Working much better than adding

A fourth.


And what about today?

You still find the three-king-version

On harshest infights for places.






I have not thought of X-mas

Why not?

Does it no longer mean anything to


Or has the thought about it shifted

To such an extent that it’s difficult

To find it in the hearts of mankind?

Yet all there’s to do

Is some serious soul-searching


What is it to have found evidence

Of the Bones of the

THREE WISE MEN from the Far East?

It’s scientific evidence

Based on literature and thorough


To verify the historic event of the

Birth of a new king of Judea

That changed the world.

Thinking of my forebears and in

A daydream relate them back to

When time began

Is a most awesome experience.

I became aware of my true human

Nature seeking out the truth:

A heartfelt Christmas wish to all.








Even in the lower echelons

You’ve had the unpleasant

Feeling of forces beyond the

So-called normal coincidences

And now what kind of evidence

Will be hard to put down for

People fighting for the truth?

Be it through the medium of

Music –

Listening to Mahler and to

Prokofiev –

Be it thru’ the art of poetry –


Wassermann & Bachmann

Whitman Seferis Elytis & all

Of us poets who followed.

Not forgetting the visual arts –


Gauguin & Picasso

Pollock & and all of us artists

Not only standing on their

Shoulders but striving for


Of course

Performing arts –

Ballets from the Bolshoi

NYCB & with all their famous

Interpreters and performers.

TRUTH is everything in the arts

In any echelon of its genres.






I wish to wander

Not on the beaten track

Enjoy the natural lands

Just like sending off a song

From my heart.

You cannot find a woman


To sharing feelings with you.

They think either of you

That you’ll demand sex

Or the potential co-walker

Could try?


Why not?

Why are women looking for

Company in the first place?

Wishing to detect a late love

Or perhaps still believe to find

Just a good friend?

Indeed it’s most difficult to

Find a good friend

To share common interests with.


My spouse of 50 years has been

Fortunate to find a friend

I’m happy for her.

With me it has been for years

A constant effort for a recovery

Of funds

Lost in the first instance.

I must have been hurt badly

By fate

To admit that.

I wish to wander

Not on a beaten track in the

Arts. For now.






Two bottles? The cashier said.

There’s not much to do during


Well now you can drink.

So what’s left otherwise?

She smiled sheepishly.

The Poet has reached a state

Of saturation –

Meaning to take some tots

And more tots

To flush out bad spirits

Good spirits from Scotland

To flush out bad things.

Spirits from Kentucky

To flush out the destructive.





A Man of 84

He’s a man of 84 and still

Holding onto life

Albeit he searches constantly

For his reading glasses

Some bank notes he mislead

But otherwise he recalls

Endless anecdotes from his

Younger years:

His time spent in New York.

He’s awkward to work for

As his assistant’s facial expression


Whenever she’s sent in circles

Like his mind works

But now and then he finds

Moments of better composure.

His friends know him for his

Jokes about life and girls.

But his days of cracking a chain

Of jokes are gone now

Yet one or two funny ones

He’ll tell you over and over.

It’s great to spend some time

With him in Hotel Imperial

And have decent coffee served.

The Poet knows that as he takes

No sugar to his espresso macchiato

While Mr T takes sweetener and

Time to float in some stories

Of his past

Especially remembering his

Parents stay here in 1934.

Perhaps their foreplay for

I happened to be created probably

On their way to Venice

Mr T muses about the honeymoon

Of his parents.






For some time now

Maybe some months or even

Half a year

She told me that she’d rather

Like a black tree.

A black tree.

Since ‘I’m black in Blue’

Goes a song of blues

I’ve listened to.

For the late hours of a Tuesday

When the last week to X-mas

Rushes along

Just like an all-night session

Of art.



A total sacrifice for one’s love

Of the arts.

Body and Soul.

Soul and the Mind.

Mind and physical exertion

For some time now lasting

Maybe for another year.

Song.gnoS of






For some time now

Maybe some months or even

Half a year

She told me that she’d rather

Like a black tree.

A black tree.

Since ‘I’m black in Blue’

Goes a song of blues

I’ve listened to.

For the late hours of a Tuesday

When the last week to X-mas

Rushes along

Just like an all-night session

Of art.



A total sacrifice for one’s love

Of the arts.

Body and Soul.

Soul and the Mind.

Mind and physical exertion

For some time now lasting

Maybe for another year.

Song.gnoS of