{"id":10282,"date":"2019-02-13T12:54:07","date_gmt":"2019-02-13T11:54:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/?post_type=stsp_text&#038;p=10282"},"modified":"2021-02-07T19:02:12","modified_gmt":"2021-02-07T18:02:12","slug":"the-further-adventures-of-pinocchio","status":"publish","type":"stsp_text","link":"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/de\/text\/the-further-adventures-of-pinocchio\/","title":{"rendered":"The Further Adventures of Pinocchio"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em>Thanks to George Woodman<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Your eyes open a crack<\/em><br \/>\n<em>to begin with\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>1 The Critique of Pure Reason<\/strong><br \/>\nNose in a book<br \/>\nto begin with? What a lie!<br \/>\nNose in a book of lies,<br \/>\nsniffing out a pack<br \/>\nof lies, nose in a crack,<br \/>\nin the door, the eye spies<br \/>\nin the darkness stories, like the one your good father,<br \/>\nwho loved marching bands and kept regular hours,<br \/>\nstill tries<br \/>\nto persuade you of. He says<br \/>\nthe son will rise tomorrow,<br \/>\ngo to school, but you,<br \/>\nyou know better than that, the old fool,<br \/>\nlet the world go to hell,<br \/>\nI won\u2019t miss a single trick.<\/p>\n<p><strong>2<\/strong><br \/>\nFeatureless as a peeled stick,<br \/>\nI am entirely generic,<br \/>\naren\u2019t I, though my nose<br \/>\nat times may stick<br \/>\nout. But already I forget myself\u2014<br \/>\nYes, already you forget yourself,<br \/>\nyour humble beginnings as a log,<br \/>\ntwo staring pleading eyes<br \/>\nunder a coverlet of bark<br \/>\nin your original sickness. Already you forget<br \/>\nwho made you in his image\u2014<br \/>\ninstead of\u2014I have to interrupt\u2014your own<br \/>\nimage more radiant than anyone<br \/>\nor thing, the mirror where all is lost and found.<\/p>\n<p><strong>3<\/strong><br \/>\nTake me away, carry me off,<br \/>\ndon\u2019t bring me back<br \/>\nin your coat pocket, hide me<br \/>\nwhen everyone else is looking<br \/>\nyou don\u2019t notice, do you,<br \/>\nintricate, beautiful, and true<br \/>\nlike a proof in math, with a perfection<br \/>\nthat is equally your bruised<br \/>\nreality, proud flesh<br \/>\nI gaze at like a wall,<br \/>\na convict scratching his tally,<br \/>\nand still you don\u2019t notice at all.<\/p>\n<p><strong>4<\/strong><br \/>\nIt isn\u2019t canvas spread<br \/>\non a stretcher to make a flat<br \/>\npainted landscape for me to play<br \/>\neither the story of my<br \/>\ngoing to the dogs<br \/>\nor the no less familiar<br \/>\ntale of my reform<br \/>\n(so inevitable, so trite,<br \/>\neach foretold rise and fall)\u2014<br \/>\nno, it\u2019s neither<br \/>\na theatrical<br \/>\nbackdrop and definitely not the school<br \/>\nblackboard, this body of truth<br \/>\nwhere I find myself at loss.<\/p>\n<p><strong>5<\/strong><br \/>\nDid I stray? How is it, this thing is starting to be,<br \/>\nbelieve it or not, autobiography?<br \/>\nDear Diary<br \/>\nentry, forgive me, I was having<br \/>\nthe time of my life<br \/>\nbefore I knew it.<br \/>\n(This is a life?)<br \/>\nI made up a story<br \/>\nI am explaining to you<br \/>\nI am in Beverly Hills in fact<br \/>\nin a hotel looking through<br \/>\na soiled tatted curtain at a back alley at midday.<br \/>\nI am trying to imagine it exactly as it is.<br \/>\nI am completely terrified.<\/p>\n<p><strong>6 Philosophical Investigations<\/strong><br \/>\nHitting the books again.<br \/>\nThis says, Imagine a pain<br \/>\nwhich is somebody\u2019s, but just where<br \/>\nis it? and who\u2019s to say? and what? I swear<br \/>\nthere\u2019s nothing to it. Only words. Is that clear?<br \/>\nNot that they aren\u2019t in pain.<br \/>\nMe too.<br \/>\nUnwitting, I draw the curtain<br \/>\non the little theater<br \/>\nof never mind. A whole life<br \/>\nI\u2019ll never dream of. Who\u2019s there?<\/p>\n<p><strong>7<\/strong><br \/>\nMimicry, mockery,<br \/>\nsweet girl, dear boy,<br \/>\nwe have a picture of things\u2014<br \/>\nYOU WANT TO ESCAPE FROM THE PICTURE?<br \/>\nYOU THINK YOU CAN TURN YOUR BACK<br \/>\nON THIS PICTURE? Oh no,<br \/>\nthe picture\u2019s calling you back,<br \/>\nwhether or not you want to listen or see<br \/>\nwhat\u2019s next, yourself led blindfold<br \/>\ndown the gangplank past<br \/>\nthose fabled islands<br \/>\nof resemblance in<br \/>\nsilence to plunge<br \/>\ninto the sea.<\/p>\n<p>Parenthesis<br \/>\nwhose speech is a tree<br \/>\nin flower, whose flesh<br \/>\nis tier after tier<br \/>\nof leaves rising<br \/>\nupward<br \/>\ninto her eyes, whose face<br \/>\nshines in shadow<br \/>\nlike a waxing moon,<br \/>\nlike a waning moon, whose will<br \/>\nis hidden<br \/>\nand at large, shaking<br \/>\nher black hair backward<br \/>\nin the wind, holding<br \/>\nin pale hands her<br \/>\nwhole body forward<br \/>\nas a wave\u2014whether<br \/>\nawake or<br \/>\nasleep, dreaming<br \/>\nwith open eyes, with eyes<br \/>\nclosed, always<br \/>\nI see her,<br \/>\nwhose presence is<br \/>\nunbending, a ladder<br \/>\nheavy with symbols<\/p>\n<p>I climb<br \/>\ndownward, whose mouth<br \/>\nis made up<br \/>\nonce and for all, whose eyes<br \/>\nare two sleepy apples,<br \/>\nwhose open<br \/>\nheart is a heartless<br \/>\nchest, whose head is a nest<br \/>\nof vipers, who has no head,<br \/>\nwho is a mirror shining<br \/>\nall over, whose headless<br \/>\ntorso is<br \/>\na vase, a voice, a flower<\/p>\n<p><em>Yes, I am going away.<\/em><\/p>\n<p><strong>8<\/strong><br \/>\nCatastrophe,<br \/>\nhow did it happen to me,<br \/>\na total inversion of values?<br \/>\nEyes open now and watch from any corner.<br \/>\nAnd what strange company<br \/>\ndo I now find myself in?<br \/>\nBird, baby bear,<br \/>\nball of string, bottle of linseed oil,<br \/>\nlonely doll\u2014under what unlucky star were you born<br \/>\nto puzzle out this fatal hieroglyph?<br \/>\nWho assembled the cast of this crummy play,<br \/>\nmistaking a hero for the prize in a Cracker Jack box?<\/p>\n<p><strong>9<\/strong><br \/>\nWhat am I supposed to do with all<br \/>\nthese things I call<br \/>\nmemories, but which are as unimaginable<br \/>\nas, say, once I was a boy,<br \/>\nnow I am a puppet?<br \/>\nBlood, wine\u2014please,<br \/>\nhow am I to organize<br \/>\nall these things I wanted<br \/>\nand got and never wanted?<br \/>\nHow\u2019d this story become my story\u2014<br \/>\nembarrassingly<br \/>\nrepeating itself,<br \/>\nas I do ever more,<br \/>\nmumbler, bumbler, mirror.<\/p>\n<p><strong>10<\/strong><br \/>\nWords are fewer now<br \/>\nand far between,<br \/>\nit is not to be expected that they will mean<br \/>\nwhat they say,<br \/>\nso much has gone<br \/>\nunrecognized away<br \/>\none never had,<br \/>\nif that can be. Today<br \/>\nI met a pilgrim on the road,<br \/>\nwho stopped to speak with me.<br \/>\nPinocchio, he told me, was his name, one who had cast off love,<br \/>\nyet still had miles to go<br \/>\nbefore he canceled out a debt that he still owed.<br \/>\nHe left, and I remained, in greater pain.<br \/>\nLike a weather vane, I thought,<br \/>\nfrom day to day<br \/>\nI turn,<br \/>\npointing nowhere all at once.<\/p>\n<p><strong>11<\/strong><br \/>\nNose to nose, not quite,<br \/>\nnor eye to eye, and yet<br \/>\nalmost looking at<br \/>\nor else<br \/>\naway from each other still<br \/>\nnot quite able to tell<br \/>\nare you real, I am a lie,<br \/>\na real walking talking lie,<br \/>\nbut not now, now I<br \/>\nam listening, perhaps<br \/>\nI became real at your first reproach.<\/p>\n<p><em>I\u2014<\/em><br \/>\n<em>little cry\u2014<\/em><\/p>\n<p><strong>12<\/strong><br \/>\nUp in the air as always, out in the open at last,<br \/>\nhaving shimmied up one strand of Rapunzel\u2019s hair<br \/>\nall the way, danced Petrushka\u2019s dance, that spooky tattoo<br \/>\nhis heels beat out on the tin rooftops, run through<br \/>\nevery story to every conclusion: you.<br \/>\nLuftmensch, bad boy, lollygagger\u2014<br \/>\nI\u2019m done, finished: You can kick away the ladder,<br \/>\nget a final gander from where<br \/>\nyou can see it all for what it was and oh<br \/>\nforget it: our shadows running upon the waters<br \/>\nlike tears, what can I say?<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>Edwin Frank: Snake Train. Poems 1984 &#8211; 2013. Shearsman Books. 2015<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Thanks to George Woodman Your eyes open a crack to begin with\u2014 &nbsp; 1 The Critique of Pure Reason Nose in a book to begin with? What a lie! Nose in a book of lies, sniffing out a pack of lies, nose in a crack, in the door, the eye spies in the darkness stories, [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":10280,"template":"","categories":[21,11],"class_list":["post-10282","stsp_text","type-stsp_text","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-issue-10","category-lyrik"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.7 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>The Further Adventures of Pinocchio - stadtsprachen<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/de\/text\/the-further-adventures-of-pinocchio\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"de_DE\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale:alternate\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Further Adventures of Pinocchio - stadtsprachen\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Thanks to George Woodman Your eyes open a crack to begin with\u2014 &nbsp; 1 The Critique of Pure Reason Nose in a book to begin with? 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