Poem
Alfred Brendel
buddhas and santas
(Kyoto, in November)I
In front of tourists
they contrive to keep still
practising thirty-three varieties of ecstasy
a thousand aspiring Buddhas
At night though
when no one\'s looking
they stretch their limbs
become restless
and pant
a latent powder-keg
ready
to burn to ashes
the wooden shrine
Perhaps they only bicker
because they all covet the front row
craving
to be scrutinized in close-up
But in all likelihood
they are just fed up
with standing there like ornamental plants
lined-up lookalikes
rivals in the hothouse of holiness
See
how they spy on each other
clandestinely counting up the golden arms
which
as befits a true Buddha
sprout from their bodies
II
In the recent football match
between the Buddhas and the Texan Santas
the Buddhas
truly excelled themselves
With undreamt-of sprightliness
they laid siege to their opponents\' half
and scored
their corpulence notwithstanding
several magnificent goals
After their defeat
the red-capped benefactors of children
can be heard singing Jingle Bells
and observed
out of remorse
to be scaling the giant Christmas trees
with which the island
exasperates
its pedestrians
at every turn
in late autumn
III
Santas
have of late occupied the temples
Singing heartily
they swarm over the balustrades
wade through the waterlilies
or
suddenly silent
play hide-and-seek
in the rockery
Astonished monks
watch them vanish
behind the boulders
There they huddle
hiding their heads
little realizing
that the tails of their red and white cloaks
shoot into the air like arrows
IV
As I stepped on stage
the orchestra played a fanfare
Then the loudspeakers announced me to be
the one millionth Father Christmas
Roared on by the crowd
I was presented with a clone
Tearfully
we embraced
the clone and I
and sang Silent Night in unison
At home
he lives in the attic
When I travel
he deputizes for me
in the marital bed
Sometimes we talk to each other
in monologue
Just once
when a mouse ran up his leg
he turned nasty
Since then we compete in swearing
he in Hungarian
I in Croatian
though
of course
not in front of the children
buddhas mit weihnachtsmänner
buddhas mit weihnachtsmänner
(Kyoto, im November)I
Vor den Tempelbesuchern
üben sie Regungslosigkeit
meditieren dreiunddreißig Spielarten der Entrückung
eine Tausendschaft künftiger Buddhas
Nachts jedoch
wenn niemand sie anstarrt
räkeln sie sich
werden aufsässig
füllen den Raum mit Gekeuch
ein Pulverfaß
bereit
den hölzernen Schrein
in Asche zu verwandeln
Vielleicht zanken sie sich bloß
um die vorderen Plätze
wünschen
aus nächster Nähe besichtigt zu werden
Wahrscheinlicher ist
daß sie es satt haben
wie Zierpflanzen in der Reihe zu stehen
Ebenbilder zu sein
Rivalen im Treibhaus der Heiligkeit
Seht
wie sie einander
unter den Augenlidern belauern
verstohlen die goldenen Arme zählend
die
nach Buddhaart
aus ihnen hervorsprießen
II
Im Fußballspiel der Buddhas
gegen die texanischen Weihnachtsmänner
gingen die Buddhas diesmal
völlig aus sich heraus
Mit ungeahnter Behendigkeit
bedrängten sie das feindliche Tor
und landeten darin
ihrer Leibesfülle ungeachtet
mehrere Kapitalschüsse
Nach ihrer Niederlage
sieht man die
Jingle Bells singenden
rotbemützten Kinderfreunde
zum Zeichen der Reue
die gewaltigen Weihnachtsbäume hochkriechen
welche die Insel ihren Fußgängern
im Spätherbst
auf Schritt und Tritt
in den Weg stellt
III
Weihnachtsmänner
halten neuerdings die Tempel besetzt
Laut singend
bevölkern sie die Balustraden
durchwaten die Seerosenteiche
oder spielen
stumm geworden
in den Steingärten Verstecken
Von den Mönchen
mit aufgerissenen Augen verfolgt
verschwinden sie hinter den Felsbrocken
und kauern dort
den Kopf zuunterst
ohne zu ahnen
daß die Zipfel ihrer rot-weißen Monturen
wie Pfeile in die Luft ragen
IV
Als ich die Bühne betrat
spielte das Orchester einen Tusch
Dann verkündeten die Lautsprecher
ich sei der millionste Weihnachtsmann
Als Festgabe erhielt ich einen Klon
Unter dem Geschrei der Menge
umarmten wir uns
der Klon und ich
und sangen zweistimmig Stille Nacht
Zuhause steht er auf dem Speicher
Wenn ich verreist bin
vertritt er mich im Ehebett
Manchmal führen wir Selbstgespräche zu zweit
Nur einmal
als die Maus an ihm hochlief
wurde er unleidlich
Seither fluchen wir
er ungarisch
ich kroatisch
wenn die Kinder nicht dabei sind
Poems
Poems of Alfred Brendel
Close
buddhas and santas
(Kyoto, in November)I
In front of tourists
they contrive to keep still
practising thirty-three varieties of ecstasy
a thousand aspiring Buddhas
At night though
when no one\'s looking
they stretch their limbs
become restless
and pant
a latent powder-keg
ready
to burn to ashes
the wooden shrine
Perhaps they only bicker
because they all covet the front row
craving
to be scrutinized in close-up
But in all likelihood
they are just fed up
with standing there like ornamental plants
lined-up lookalikes
rivals in the hothouse of holiness
See
how they spy on each other
clandestinely counting up the golden arms
which
as befits a true Buddha
sprout from their bodies
II
In the recent football match
between the Buddhas and the Texan Santas
the Buddhas
truly excelled themselves
With undreamt-of sprightliness
they laid siege to their opponents\' half
and scored
their corpulence notwithstanding
several magnificent goals
After their defeat
the red-capped benefactors of children
can be heard singing Jingle Bells
and observed
out of remorse
to be scaling the giant Christmas trees
with which the island
exasperates
its pedestrians
at every turn
in late autumn
III
Santas
have of late occupied the temples
Singing heartily
they swarm over the balustrades
wade through the waterlilies
or
suddenly silent
play hide-and-seek
in the rockery
Astonished monks
watch them vanish
behind the boulders
There they huddle
hiding their heads
little realizing
that the tails of their red and white cloaks
shoot into the air like arrows
IV
As I stepped on stage
the orchestra played a fanfare
Then the loudspeakers announced me to be
the one millionth Father Christmas
Roared on by the crowd
I was presented with a clone
Tearfully
we embraced
the clone and I
and sang Silent Night in unison
At home
he lives in the attic
When I travel
he deputizes for me
in the marital bed
Sometimes we talk to each other
in monologue
Just once
when a mouse ran up his leg
he turned nasty
Since then we compete in swearing
he in Hungarian
I in Croatian
though
of course
not in front of the children
buddhas and santas
(Kyoto, in November)I
In front of tourists
they contrive to keep still
practising thirty-three varieties of ecstasy
a thousand aspiring Buddhas
At night though
when no one\'s looking
they stretch their limbs
become restless
and pant
a latent powder-keg
ready
to burn to ashes
the wooden shrine
Perhaps they only bicker
because they all covet the front row
craving
to be scrutinized in close-up
But in all likelihood
they are just fed up
with standing there like ornamental plants
lined-up lookalikes
rivals in the hothouse of holiness
See
how they spy on each other
clandestinely counting up the golden arms
which
as befits a true Buddha
sprout from their bodies
II
In the recent football match
between the Buddhas and the Texan Santas
the Buddhas
truly excelled themselves
With undreamt-of sprightliness
they laid siege to their opponents\' half
and scored
their corpulence notwithstanding
several magnificent goals
After their defeat
the red-capped benefactors of children
can be heard singing Jingle Bells
and observed
out of remorse
to be scaling the giant Christmas trees
with which the island
exasperates
its pedestrians
at every turn
in late autumn
III
Santas
have of late occupied the temples
Singing heartily
they swarm over the balustrades
wade through the waterlilies
or
suddenly silent
play hide-and-seek
in the rockery
Astonished monks
watch them vanish
behind the boulders
There they huddle
hiding their heads
little realizing
that the tails of their red and white cloaks
shoot into the air like arrows
IV
As I stepped on stage
the orchestra played a fanfare
Then the loudspeakers announced me to be
the one millionth Father Christmas
Roared on by the crowd
I was presented with a clone
Tearfully
we embraced
the clone and I
and sang Silent Night in unison
At home
he lives in the attic
When I travel
he deputizes for me
in the marital bed
Sometimes we talk to each other
in monologue
Just once
when a mouse ran up his leg
he turned nasty
Since then we compete in swearing
he in Hungarian
I in Croatian
though
of course
not in front of the children
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère