a sudden cold snap

winds from the north as

if a hardliner-ruler has

played his iron hand

swiped the roads clean

removed all the unwanted

things and people too

cleansing – that reminds of

the darkest hours of the

past –

most contemp fellows are

not aware of

that we sit on a boat

being steered into most

dangerous waters/rapids/

torrents/impossible to


even with the reasonable

experiences of a skipper.

now then/diplomacy is

required from the artist?

capabilities alone do not

qualify him or her

in this country of his birth?

thanks for the gods who

sent some friends

who care

so not all

will be lost

and the will to continue

will be foremost important

beside the human aspect/

in midst of all tohuwabohu

stay a human being/




one piece

every day the artist will

take the steps down to

the souterrain-hall with

a brick face vaulted ceiling

an ivory laminated wall panel

throughout/ fit for a tete-a-tete

salon and coffee bar –

where his artwork of the

last five years is hung

where indirect lighting

renders a pleasant atmosphere

to all paintings and to

the tranquil historical space

void of any visitors

in midst of this dreary stage

between lockdowns in

the city of vienna.

yet – some friends turned up

less frightened of covid’s

second phase and

had a good time in spite of

heavy restrictions

when smiles are scarce and

people behave irritated.

the world owes you nothing/

‘oso boreis’/comes to mind

composed by cavafy the poet/

the look forward is all more


all else left far behind.

covid comes/ covid goes

art remains with permanence

every day – the hope of

selling one piece of his art.

one piece.




on a cold & wet Wednesday


the poet finally finished his



slipped into winter-gear and

caught the bus with the

control-freak-driver present

who still is keen to catch him

without a valid ticket.

kierling/a larger village than


but half as pretty.

however/lenaugasse the

station to get out/not indicated

correctly on the bus monitor/

the poet eyed the sign on the

bus station in time.

walk back to hofer-market

looking for the postal depot.

at the same token/with time

in hand

the poet detected the nearby

kafka-society’s museum

where the famous writer

wrote his last words/noted

down the opening hours

not displayed at the website

or its updates incomplete.

with this mistaken postal


at least a chance to see

kafka’s room

having waited five years

to receive a viewing time.

retrieved the parcel from’s

‘the last score’ about Mahler

the composer with a view

of his vision for classical


the poet bought a bottle

of ‘blaufränkisch’ at hofer

and caught the bus back

with his effort to put his

hand on another poet’s






time’s up for invitations

“let‘s go on with an exhibition

of one kind

in the city of vienna

but then – i’d rather be with


his friend/the poet said.

“as an artist you are one of

a kind

under your contemp peers”

he carried on his appraisal

and donned his facial mask

but then sounds became so


and shouts would sound like

a pistol shot thru’ a silencer.

yet there’s a good time at the

café z&z – you may doff your


when sitting down for coffee

and a croissant/ dear artist/

for an ice cream bowl/dearest.

“N” is pleasant and her smile

the nearest you may be with


as it draws you in/irresistibly

but you have to be on your toes

there –

in the corner of your eyes

your senses alarm you of one


in the shadows of one and only

piece of art.





‘he who throws away a friend

is as bad as he who throws

away his life’ .sophocles spoke

some fifteen-hundred years ago.

and then what about a man

befriending another man

who intends to take his wife

who had fallen for the friend’s

sweet talk and his wealth?

positive emotions at first

will turn into a stand-off

a friendship torpedoed by

female powers of attraction.

her husband tried building-up

an existence thru’ hard work

but has been made a cuckold

in both their minds already


now then?

a painful ending.

the scars of her husband’s heart

won’t heal and his friend

will meet another friend

who’ll satisfies his needs.

the husband’s wife will seek

recluse in the delicate world of

medical healing –

and the souls of this triad

participants had been knocked

up badly.

what did freud say about a

triangular relationship?

‘one person will be the real loser

which one?

probably in this specific case –

all three.





”why do you tell me

children’s stuff?”

his wife said

“rather tell me you’ve

sold a painting and invite

me for coffee.”

the artist/stunned at such


usually a hard worker/

would he deserve this kind

of attitude?

perhaps in too much history

of an unfortunate marriage’s

rubble he’s buried under –

maybe he just lives up to his

promise he’d given her mom’

to look after her –

whatever he’ll do in the near

future she’ll not appreciate

since the days he’d lost his


crawling up the

rubble-mountain of a human


just to tumble down from

the apex of his achievements

nobody longer appreciated.





interesting needling time

in the life of an artist

who exists at present as a

coin in the pocket

of a situation –

one side up

the other down –

false friendliness

one can feel within one’s

fibres of life/

attacks on small scale/

petty-thieves of life in the

shadows/ but then

dictionaries have lost their

timeously updating

one has to project one’s

own word of words

hardly heard in the daily


nether mind/

the poet’s friend said

soon the pandemic will

catch-up with its deniers

as well.


listen to the music of

world-renowned pianists.





in today’s fast changing


of a race for existing/surviving/

breathing/a search for wholesome

affordable foodstuff/a hot meal

that won’t torpedo your savings/

it’s sunday’s rest

where you lick your wounds

caused by the uncompromising


to the vulnerable many/

the throw-away-attitude to the


who care for the environment and

also for their neighbours

especially in smaller communities

where open anger and heated


are defused quicker/ easier/ as one

depends on the goodwill of

community members

and it’s all possible to conduct

an individual-style living

with getting on/respect/a joke/one

good word/a greeting.

the writer observes and casts most

contemporaries into roles

for his stories/novels/memoires.

the poet goes beyond the surface

observations and he reflects in

layers of emotional depths.

the photographer seeks to catch

a still of a selected moment –

he’ll reflect his own responses to

a theme.

at some point they all will meet

in mind and soul.





the artist writes:

an exhibition in a vaulted

vienna cellar –

perhaps restored to a

coffee-house area

dating back since coffee

came to vienna thru’ the

fiendish turkish military offence

in the 18th century –

has been a successful venue


but now an area of a lonely


especially at present

when people are scared by

the spreading of this covid-


events published daily by all

media with emphasis

people in groups are limited

to numbers

impossible to organize

but the odd friend or known

person will trickle in

sharing the drawings and

paintings from the last years

of one’s ‘homecoming’

albeit disappointments of

hard work to establish oneself

as an artist

offering the fruit of one’s talents

solely asking for an appreciative


showing creativity at its best

and richest fantasy for an inside


will art survive with octogenarians

putting heart and soul into their

work of staying creative in the






the restored piano

harmonizing with the

dark-grey wall

at it’s back drop

even the exhibited paintings

join into

the excellent preparation

of this instrument

brought to life –

a dark knight with capacities

of unknown swinging sounds

excerpted by virtuoso

mates arendarik

whose name is well-known

in the musical world.

the artist enjoys this artist

who pulls us into an instant


into the worlds of

rachmaninoff and mussorgskij.

this/a lunchtime event

that benefits the music lover

the poet who senses the words

of stories expressed

in most wondrous sounds.

igor – chef du culture de Slovak

would accommodate me

even if i wasn’t booking a place

as now –

in midst of covid/ phase 2 in

austria/especially in vienna/has

accommodated me/ have i seen

him only yesterday

showing him my paintings at

café zanoni

in the heart of vienna’s south –

eastern area –

our hearts stood still at our

enjoyment in the garden of

musical delights.

musical delicacies –