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Wie St. Martin sein Schwert von sich wirft, und sein Vater ergrimmt.
Zeit - wie könnte ich dich fassen,
halten dich, so lang ich mag?
Würde dich so bald nicht lassen,
Stund um Stunde, Tag um Tag.
Doch, wer könnte je dich zwingen?
Chronos herrscht mit Macht im All,
breitet riesig seine Schwingen
über Werden und Zerfall.
Nichts, was uns nicht widerfahren,
helle Lust und tiefes Leid.
Flüchtig uns're Zeiten waren,
mündend in die Ewigkeit ...
Heribert Reul d. Ä.,
31 August 2003 translation
At sunset the air was
heavy and hot
"Twon't be long",
said Timothy
We felt a light breeze
and Timothy saw
an arc of clouds
the storm was here!
Lashed against the
palm I stood,
Timothy was cold and
limp
Stew cat was gone,
and Timothy, dead
but our little cay is
calm and quite
by Joachim H. deutsch
...aus aktuellem Anlass anbei eine Geschichte des heute 75-jährigen Luigi Malerba (geb. 11.11.1927), die ich neulich gelesen habe und so sensationell passend zur gegenwärtigen weltpolitischen Situation fand, dass ich sie unbedingt übersetzen wollte, um sie als Anti-Kriegs-Statement in Umlauf zu bringen.
Krieg
von Luigi Malerba,
(aus: Storiette, 1977)
Wörter gibt's lange, kurze, hohe, tiefe, magere, fette, gute und böse, das weiss jedes Kind. Es gibt auch giftige Wörter. Manche Wörter haben Räder und rollen wie die Autos auf den Straßen oder wie die Tram auf den Tramgleisen. Die Wörter mit den Rädern sind die mit R, das weiss jedes Kind. Es gibt auch schmutzige Wörter, die nachts durch schummerige Straßen streifen, und viele, die sie treffen, tun so, als würden sie sie nicht kennen.
Eines Nachts traf sich ein Grüppchen sehr böser und ehrgeiziger Wörter im Dunkeln zwischen zwei Zeitungsseiten, um ein Komplott zu schmieden. Sie beschlossen, sich gegenseitig dabei zu helfen, gut sichtbar auf die ersten Seiten der Zeitungen zu kommen und so den Weg für ein Wort zu bahnen, das es vorläufig vorzog, im Hintergrund zu bleiben, aber das schon bald seinen triumphalen Einzug in die Balkenüberschriften der ersten Seiten feiern würde. Keines der anwesenden Wörter sprach jenes Wort aus, das vorläufig im Hintergrund bleiben wollte.
Unter den Wörtern, die sich in jener Nacht trafen, waren die "Truppenparade", die "Waffen", die "Raketen", die "Drohungen", die "Zerstörung" und so weiter und so fort.
Nach vielem Schubsen und Knuffen begannen diese Wörter, auf den ersten Seiten der Zeitungen zu erscheinen, mal allein, mal zu zweit oder zu dritt untergehakt oder eines über dem anderen. Und alle versuchten, den am besten sichtbaren Platz und die größten Lettern zu erobern. Aber sie wussten sehr gut, dass ihre ganze Mühe umsonst sein würde, wenn es ihnen nicht gelänge, jenes Wort auf die erste Seite zu bringen, das das ehrgeizigste und das niederträchtigste von allen war.
Trotz der Dunkelheit, und obwohl alles ganz heimlich vor sich ging, kam das Komplott einigen sanften und gutmütigen Wörtern zu Ohren, die es gewohnt waren, in Bibliotheken zu schlummern, und die zwar auch gelegentlich in den Zeitungen auftauchten, aber nur kleingedruckt und auf den hinteren Seiten. Sie bemerkten, dass die Zeitungsleser den Wörtern des Komplotts glaubten und sie sich, kaum dass sie auf den ersten Seiten erschienen, in den Mund stopften, sie nachsagten und in Umlauf brachten.
Die sanften und gutmütigen Wörter schmiedeten ihrerseits ein Komplott und riefen andere Wörter herbei, die den bösen ähnlich waren, und sie begannen, die Schriftsetzer zu verwirren, indem sie ihnen jene Wörter anstelle der bösen unterschoben. So fanden die Leser statt Truppenparaden "Suppenparaden" geschrieben, statt Waffen "Waffeln", statt Raketen "Pasteten", statt Drohungen "Drehungen", statt Zerstörung "Zerstreuung" und so weiter und so fort.
Kurz, sie veranstalteten ein großes Durcheinander, und die Leser begannen, darüber zu lachen. Dem Wort, das im Hintergrund die Fäden zog, wurde so sein erhoffter triumphaler Einzug auf die ersten Seiten verbaut, ja es blieb im Keller, wo es versauerte, und bald folgten all seine Komplizen nach und versauerten mit.
Aus dem Italienischen von Meinolf Reul translation
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- PROSE
¶ Behind closed doors
¶ Romeo and Juliet
¶ Pepe, Memo y el zorro
¶ Dispatches from Lego Land
¶ Inspired Fragments
¶ A French Night Watchman's History of Television
¶ Krieg
¶ Huron Attack
¶ Mayday
¶ Romeo and Juliet
¶ Chickens
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a spider and a fly
Terese Haimberger
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i heard a spider
and a fly arguing
wait said the fly
do not eat me . . .
— don marquis
i was gardening among the tulips that
grow beside my house
digging up worms long
and short and placing them,
for safekeeping, near
the white drain pipe
that brings water down
from the roof and creates
a muddy puddle under it when
i heard a spider
it was scuttling along the
drain pipe sticking to the smooth
metal sides and muttering
to itself and i could hear
it complain about
how the shortage of fat
juicy flies was weakening
the thread that had once won a
prize then i heard the spider
and a fly arguing
aha i have caught you said
the spider and i could hear
him cackle and the fly began
to chatter so angrily that
i could not understand
a word he was saying then
all of a sudden the spider
said be quiet and i heard
a tiny bump and another cackle
wait said the fly
it was no longer chattering
and i could hear a barely audible
squeak as it rubbed its injured
head i do not like it
when spiders twice as big
as me hit me on the
head when i was only
going for my afternoon
stroll you big bully
do not eat me
deutsch
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Cuckoo Song c.1226
SUMER is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweth sed, and bloweth med,
And springeth the wude nu - Sing cuccu!
Awe bleteth after lomb,
Lhouth after calve cu;
Bulluc sterteth, bucke verteth
Murie sing cuccu!
Cuccu, cuccu, well singes thu, cuccu:
Ne swike thu naver nu
Sing cuccu, nu, sing cuccu,
Sing cuccu, sing cuccu, nu!
lhude] loud awe] ewe lhouth] loweth sterteth] leaps swike] cease
From: Oxford Book of English Verse
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Some People of Leech
Limericks by Joachim |
There was a man from Leech
who gave a most terrible screech
'til people all said:
"He's lost his head!
that demented old man of Leech."
There was an old man from Leech
who didn't quite know, how to teach
The children were amused,
which made him quite confused
that poor old man of Leech.
There was once a man from Leech
who gave the most wearisome speech
'til people all snoozed
which made him feel used
that crazy old man of Leech.
There was a stout woman from Leech
who had the most amazing reach.
She decided to roll them
so that she could control them
that desperate woman of Leech
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A Bunch more
Limericks by Joachim |
There was once a man from Birmingham
who resembled a very old ram,
So the butcher came out
and they had quite a bout
that meaty old Birmingham-ram.
There was once a man from Nice
whose diet was bread and grease.
But soon he took ill
and since then had his fill
of all except bread and grease.
There was once a man and a pig,
who sailed around in a brig,
till they hit a rock,
and lost their stock!
that poor man and his pig. deutsch
Limericks again ...
...this time by Terese
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There was once an aging Giraffe
That liked, in its old age, to laugh.
When one day the beast died
All the animals cried
For they cherished that jolly giraffe.
There was once an imprudent sister
Whose bed, one night, dreadfully missed her
For she stayed up 'till four
And considerably more
Writing limericks, that foolhardy sister.
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There was once a boy not in bed
Who to his dear sister once said:
"Do you really suppose,
When my two eyes do close,
That that means that I should be in bed?"
There was once a lumbering bear
Who liked not the usual fare
He didn't eat deer
For he much preferred beer
That drunken old lumbering bear
There was once a foolish young child
Who frowned every time that she smiled
So that all were confused
And not one was amused
Which saddened that baffling child
There were once three ducks in a pond
Who of each other were exceedingly fond
'Till one day a bread crumb
Caused them all to become
The most bellicose rivals du monde
illustrations: /mr deutsch
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Starlight in December
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Midwinter crystals in somber, dark skies
Silently gaze at an owl, as it flies
From tower to treetop with glowing, bright eyes,
Searching a mouse in its hole, where it lies,
Closer to sleeping than ready to rise.
Snow buries grasses and covers the trees;
The strong winds lie quiet, and so does the breeze.
Bears in their winter dens slumber and wheeze,
And over the choicest of chamomile teas
"It's cold," says a man to his wife, who agrees.
Snoring in peace are the bird and the hare,
Each danger completely benign in its lair
(Its tail curled around it with uttermost care).
Squirrels dream deeply of crunchy nut fare;
And frosts freeze the snowdrifts and sharpen the air.
by Edith H. deutsch
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"...Wollt Ihr nicht mal ein Cummings-Gedicht in die Zeitung
bringen? Zum Beispiel dieses:*"
e. e. cummings (1894-1962)
dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)
trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)
honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at this wedding)
never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for god likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
(*... writes Meinolf R. in issue 35)
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I chose to immortalize my math class this semester with a long poem, of which the last part is the best: (from issue 35)
* * *
At some point,
the brain is like the weather
and all is suspended
in a flood of raindrops
-or tears-
as the sky above
turns a washy gray
and becomes unresponsive.
* * *
Happy birthday to you,
Your shorelines are blue;
Except for the Fraser,
Your rivers are, too.
(from issue 34)
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A Song for Remembrance Day
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Last night I had the strangest dream
I'd never dreamed before
I dreamed mankind had all agreed
to put an end to war
I dreamed I saw a mighty room
and the room was full of men,
and the paper, they were signing, said
they'd never fight again.
And when the paper was all signed
and a million copies made
they all joined hands and bowed their heads
and grateful prayers were prayed.
And the people in the streets below
were dancing round and round
while swords and guns and uniforms
were scattered on the ground.
Joachim's class learned this song in school to sing at
the Remembrance Day Assembly. It is part of the repertoire of folk singers like Pete Seeger, Joan Baez or Simon and Garfunkel. For more information look up: Ed McCurdy: Last night, ... (from Issue 30)
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Life as a Fire
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Inspired Fragments
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Humans like to think about their lives now and then and find pictures to describe its different stages. Our grandfather Hans drew this image in his mind of life being a fire: First there is a single very small flame, flickering, which has to be tended to that it might become stronger. It grows to a fire, sometimes warming, creating, sometimes harming. There is much energy and strength in its flames until it burns down to a glimmer. But even then, a gust of wind or some stirring again might bring forth strong flames from that glimmering heap, until the fire slowly consumes itself and leaves ashes for the earth as a last gift.
Hans wished that somebody might write a poem about it, and Inge Witt promptly produced the following one. Fritz, Martha und Max (called Pemper) Kempner are Hans' Cousins by their Mothers Enole and Marga, who were sisters. Their third sister, Emma, was mother to Peter Witt. /mr
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Poem for Hansi, May 2001
by inge witt-feiler
You say
most of the day
you're like a camp-fire
that's been banked up
for the night when
light waning
is no longer so bright,
is only a glimmer most of the time
But lo and behold
I am told
by you on the phone
you feel yourself sparkle and shine
briefly, alas, but intensely
even immensely
for some dazzling display
of your wisdom, brilliance and wit
ardour and grit
like a Camp-fire
not totally burnt out
but ready to spout
flaming orange and blueish lights
if kicked by a former Camper
Fritz, Marthchen or Pemper
or even by me
glad to be
your cousin by marriage
Inge Witt
in Raleigh
widow of Peter, nick-named Pitt
at Birklehof Boarding School
aeons ago.
(from issue 33)
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Inspired Fragments
The Fountain Pen Dictates
Gleaming on the golden nib, the lamplight also poured onto the paper and inkwells - full, half-empty, and empty - on my desk.
Passion-flower
Twenty-two stamens dipped into the broad, yellow-green receptacle.
Pillow Casings
Stirring about in the town dump, the rat came across some fine damask pillow casings and soon sold it in strips for his neighbours' funerals and weddings, building up a tragically transient clothing empire.
Oil of Lavendar
That is what my soup tasted like.
Meristem
The rose lost it and died.
The End
He wrote with a flourish at the bottom of his will.
deutsch
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Behind closed doors
by Edith
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Because of recent security situations, US Vice-President Richard Cheney spent a length of time in an undisclosed location. That is, undisclosed until now. The Wray Times is proud to be the first to publish his account of the time.
1.
How I was led along the hallway
and ended up at a secret location
One day we all remember, a top official of the CIA (who shall be nameless, of course) hurried me along a long hallway, telling me of a security crisis, and that I would be brought to a safe location. The trip to this location was unexpectedly short. Two doors later came a room I knew well: the Vice-Presidential (my) room. Surprised, I asked: "What is the meaning of this?" He opened my closet door and then I saw light; no doubt there were tunnels built by former Vice-Presidents concealed behind my pyjamas or my wife's superfluous dinner-dresses. - I was wrong. He left me there, without showing me through to anything else, murmured an apologetic "Mrmsh," and ran off, locking the door behind him.
2.
How I remembered the lessons of an old colleage of mine
and adjusted myself to this new situation
In the closet there was a pop-up toilet and sink, and I arranged myself a bed on a sturdy shelf, less visible to the smaller terrorist. I had a spare issue of Foreign Affairs with me that I unluckily could not reread because I had misplaced my night-vision goggles (like the ones used in Afghanistan) among the afore-mentioned dinner-dresses. However, I remembered vaguely my distinguished colleague's, Rumsfeld's, article, and decided to be "transformational." I arran-ged clothes hangers into a sort of shield against infra-red heat detectors and practiced hitting the doorknob with mothballs and, during my stay in the closet, acquired a deadly aim. I also fashioned a device from some clothes hangers to unmask a masked intruder into the closet, to be supplemented by the Vice-Presidential vacuum cleaner if necessary. I had a sort of net made from my wife's boas (she rarely wears them anyway, so they are a cheap and indestructible kind), and fistfuls of lint to blind and suffocate an intruder until I could pelt him with my shoes.
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3.
How I stayed in touch with the outside world
and what was on my menu
There was one short-wave radio but I only picked up what seemed to be the soundtrack of a Mexican soap opera, which of course would be on TV. That's the advantage of living in a high-tech, innovative country. So my communication was limited to series of taps on the wall. One loud tap meant: "If there's someone near here, I'm lonely." No one responded to this. A series of frantic taps meant: "Cabin fever!" No one respon-ded to this either. Feebler taps meant: "Pacemaker!" The food was not high-class. It was water from the sink supplemented by a pasteurized burger, which had to be squished to be fitted under the door, which was so securely sealed off that this was the only way to get it through. It was rotten (figuratively).
4.
How I arranged my everyday
and how I bravely got through the difficult times
Also, I used a discarded lipstick to scribble things on the door when it was evening, judging from the quality of the light under the door. I couldn't see much, but checked off the days and planned out a whole flotilla of Air Force Twos, my next talk show appearance and what I would tell my wife once I got out. My wife wrote me a bulletin that came with Burger #5, and said that she would not stay in the closet, too, thank you very much, and preferred to go to a hotel to stay there in the guise of a washed-out actress. At that point my lonely position weighed heavily upon me.
Anyway, I am glad of what I did. I am not dead and my wife was recognized and had to stay with her relatives, and the army thinks that the lint idea has potential.
deutsch
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Dispatches from Lego Land
by Edith
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During the summer holidays last year I founded another periodical (Circulation: seven), which I, however, soon discontinued. Here are a few articles:
Weather
Escape from Sofa Cushion
LOWER SOFA - An armless mechanic emerged from between two Sofa Cushions yesterday morning after what seems to have been a smaller-scale Clean-up. He has been there for a week, and has repeatedly had the light of day obscured to him by what seem to be migrating boulders, except that, "they rise up another foot or two in the air and then sidle sideways out of sight when they move on." Percy Rinkles
(From Lego World News, Sunday, August 18, 2002)
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New Castle Dominates Underthetable
UNDERTHETABLE - The construction of a castle complex in Underthetable has been completed. Covering one large, stone Lego-foundation, it includes three towers, one church, and a building complete with a balcony for His Majesty there residing. Leuters
New Structure Espied
LOWER SOFA - The garrison that is occupying the fortress on Box Plateau, which also overlooks Lower Sofa, has sighted a new building. A bright pink staircase is prominent. It leads up to a shaky platform complete with fortress-like fittings.
One of the lookouts, sporting a yellow swimming jacket for an unspecified reason, said, "I wouldn't be surprised if no one lives there. If you walk on the platform, it'll collapse, and if you walk under it, it'll probably collapse, too." He stated that his superiors would not destroy it with their cannon because no person appeared to live or come near there. George Wilkes
(From Lego World News, Wednesday, August 21, 2002) deutsch
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The next morning I awoke with many apprehensions darting through my
mind as the first bright rays of sunshine made me blink. The world was
so different from the way it had been at night that I had to pinch myself to make sure that I wasn't sleeping. The sun was so bright, the trees so intensely green, and the song of the birds so cheerful that the events of the previous night were like a dream.
First I took off my gag. Then I noticed that the French soldiers had
gone. I knew that they had been there, however, because when I looked at
the cave's floor I saw a multitude of footsteps in the dusty soil, the
charred remains of a fire, and several tough bread crumbs. Also, I held
the handkerchief that had been used for my gag. Determined to get to my
father's fort, I carefully stepped out of the cave. This was a very good
thing to do, because as soon as I appeared in the mouth of the cave, a
bullet whistled past my head and ricocheted off the wall behind me. I put up my hands tremblingly and was very glad indeed when a figure stepped out from behind a tree and turned out to be my uncle. He briefly informed me about the attack that had taken place at the fort. The Indians had been only a few meters away from the fort when the entire fort was suddenly lighted up and armed men started to pour out of the houses. After that, they retreated as silently and quickly as they could. In the morning parties had been sent out to find me and ensure that the Huron were indeed gone.
Then I told my uncle about everything that had happened to me. He looked pleased and reassured me that my party of French soldiers were safe but also far away. According to rumour, they had been sent down to the south due to some skirmishes over furs.
Needless to say, I have lived a long and full life. The fort was never attacked again because of the eventual conquest of New France by the British. I know that well because I am still living in the fort. Now I am the sentry whose attention I tried to attract so long ago.
Mayday . . .by Gereon
Haimberger
Chapter Two: Primary Mission
"What are the general's orders?" asked Tim Bailey.
"Primary mission is to destroy a ground base called the Death Trap,"
answered John Tempest, a friend of Tim's.
"I didn't know you were in the United States Air Force!"
"Well, I am.We're closing in on them!"John answered as they came in
sight of the base. The enemy aircraft was already alerted."
"Good," replied Tim. "Fire!" he shouted excitedly, There's a missile
on my tail!"
The whole enemy base was alerted, and the morning haze was slowly giving
way to a clear blue sky and broad sunlight.
"Slow down, then push full thrust," suggested John.
"Thanks, buddy," answered Tim.
"You're welcome."
"Two planes on my tail: get ready, . . . GO!!!"
"Just like the old days in the air show."
"Fire, fire, fire!" shouted Bailey.
"I get the point. Lock . . . fire!"
The battle went on for five more minutes, six airplanes were downed,
and as the small group of planes destroyed the ground base, their pilots
could see their opponents bailing out of their plummeting aircraft. "Mission accomplished, returning to base."
Chapter Three: Ambush!, Part One
Back at the base, John, Tim and a general were talking at the door
of the control barracks.
"You never told me John joined the army!" said Tim to General Kent.
"He only joined the army yesterday."
"Did you give him a tour of the place, sir?"
"Oh, sorry, John," the general apologized.
"It's alright, I'll take him," answered Tim.
John asked, "Are there any more missions at this time?"
"Not yet," replied the general, "but I think that we might just have
some trouble soon, so I think it's best that it's a short tour."
The general opened the door leading into the control barracks. At the same time a radar control manager stepped out, glad to see the general at the door.
"General, there are two enemy planes! They're quite big, and though
they're far away now they're closing in fast."
"Put the base on red alert and call us if you need ..."
BOOM! A second later the base's loudspeaker system buzzed, slightly
damaged by the bomb's impact. Before the general could say anything, Tim
rushed away to his hangar. He was surprised to see John's plane right next to his, but he stepped on the ladder, raised the windshield of his cockpit and seated himself immediately. Then he taxied out onto the air strip, asked for clearance, and took off.
from issue 30 and 31 (2001)
Rediscovering Romeo and Juliet
When I found out that we were doing Romeo and Juliet for English last
semester, I had mingled feelings. I was proud of myself for having
read part of it at nine (of course, the deaths of the main characters,
which also fascinated me in Antony and Cleopatra and the grisly Titus Andronicus) and I was amused because I felt that the curriculum was aiming higher than the teachers and students could reach. Throughout our unit I knew that intelligent conversation about the play was out of the question. What, you may ask, is "intelligent conversation"? Well, I wanted to know why Shakespeare was so revered, and why Romeo and Juliet was such a good play, and "The universality of his themes!" was unenlightening. I found out very little on this point. In our school study edition words were explained, and events summarized, and "themes" pulled out of it, but I was unconvinced. I did try to research this on my own, but I seldom had enough time, and got rather fed up.
In class we watched Romeo + Juliet, which was directed by Baz
Luhrmann and released in 1996. I was very disappointed. Romeo's sense of
honour and chivalry had vanished, he and Juliet were wildly oversexed,
with no reason why, most of the class thought that the original Mercutio
was a drag queen too by the end of the movie, and the exaggerated sets,
voices, emotions, and characters, the hullaballooing accompanying emotional distress, and the use of guns instead of swords were perturbing. It may be an "imaginative modern spin on an English classic," and a "dazzling introduction to the next generation of readers of Shakespeare," and a "visual joy-ride," but I think it's trash. My classmates call it "cool."
We also did several worksheets, and then had to keep a log, stating five main events per day in the play. Quotes had to be taken from one specific character; this turned into a collage project, which saw the class cutting up issues of People Magazine for glossy titles of "Love" and "Innocence," and photos of female and male "hotties," with predictably similar products, then gluing explanations to the back of them. I was rebellious as well as short of time after school and did not finish this project.
Then came the Literary Essay. I worked on it on my own, revising often, determined to do it my own way. At first I decided to write how Romeo and Juliet was perceived throughout the ages, and what role it had in English literature, but I was uneasy about this, because I was sure that I was supposed to write only about the content of the play. My teacher read my introduction to this and told me that it had absolutely nothing to do with Romeo and Juliet. He had not given clear instructions to begin with, so I took this criticism with a pinch of salt. The weeks after that I was again assailed with requests for my essay, and the repeated threat of failing English - an interesting new prospect for me. I did however change and continue the essay, and on the second-last day of school, I worked long into the night writing it, and was surprised to find that I was getting delighted with Romeo and Juliet. I had already read Tales from Shakespeare, and the plot seemed so insipid that I detested it. Now I could see that it is exciting, because the action is dramatic, the characters diverse and well developed, and, from reading more of Shakespeare's plays, I appreciated the beauty of the poetry with which Romeo's and Juliet's dialogues are marked.
I'm not sure what marks I got for my essay, but for English overall, my Romeo and Juliet teacher gave me a C-, a bare pass.
from issue 34 (2001)
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Pepe, Memo y el Zorro
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The War of the Chickens
by Gideon Haimberger
I am Cool Guy the
rooster of the Barred Rock family, with pretty black and white feathers.
My group was the scourge of the breeding place - by the way, I was the
only one with a name - well anyway, we stuck together and we didn't let
anyone mess with us. We'd peck anyone who tried to take us five times before they screamed "Ouch!" until one day a boy the size of me started screaming even though we didn't peck him. Then he started yelling about not leaving for home without me. I made it a goal never ever to even let a boy like that touch me, but owning me was too much. We must have pecked his mother's glove about 100 times without effect. Finally we surrendered to the kid and his steel mother. It was horrible, the next few minutes, first he hugged me like a strong guy would squeeze a stress ball. And if I were a stress ball he'd be one mad puppy. Then he did the unthinkable, the worst thing he could ever do, he was coming closer with his mouth. First I thought he'd eat me but it was worse, much worse: it was torture, - he kissed me.
It was the worst
thing that could have happened, well - since my nemesis was born. He had
his own group, we didn't have a name for our group, but they did, they
were called Clawing Devils. He was purchased by another boy. I kind of felt sorry for my nemesis but then I felt sorry for the boy, but not that sorry because the claws my nemesis used on everyone who wanted him had brand new shiny leather gloves on them. But back to my story: after that one kiss I found out the torture wouldn't stop because he promised he'd hug and kiss me every day for as long as I'd live, which won't be that long if he kept his promise. The car ride was long and horrible I felt awful, well my stomach and head felt horrible.
And if this wasn't
bad enough, guess who I met when we reached their house I heard a well-known peep of a chicken talking. I couldn't believe I was stuck with my nemesis for my probable short life. Also I didn't have the rest of my group to help fend off Mr. Attitude Problem. Soon, I found out that he created his own new group with the chickens that were already there. Also some rebelled against him they were pecked until they obeyed. Some rebels hid to be free from his ruthless hand. I soon convinced the rebels to make me leader because of my previous problems with him. That's when we began the war of the chickens to bring down the enemy, and my nemesis. It started as a small war, then it grew. Chickens didn't die but lots got pecked several times.
But as the war grew the armerment also did. Soon my nemesis used his extremely sharp claws to attack. The rebels got hurt severly and they were forced to sink as low as my nemesis and use claws. Through the days and weaks more and more attack took place. Chickens got hurt and the army seizes decreased. In order to have more soldiers, the egg laying areas were changed and became hidden from the humans. The war was not over until one captain was captured by the other. Soon the humans found out about the fights and stoped them. But we still didn't stop so the humans put a wall between us and gave us sepeate meals. Still that didn't stop us, we flew over the walls. Although it was risky because the other side would probably be waiting on the other side to ambush you but some times they weren't so it was a 50-50 chance that there is an ambush.
As the fights went
on we found a new weapon it could be used in defence and in attack we blew gusts of wind at the enemy which carried the dirt on the ground to sting the opponent. As the went by the "wings of the wind" as we called it prooved to be usefull for both sides.
One day we decided to
have a time of peace every 10th day starting that day, and the enemy agreed. It was a time to care for the hurt, rest, and care for the new chicks, and talk with friends and foe, although not many foes talked to each other. Peace time lasted a day. It started when the sun rose and ended when it rose once more. After peace time it was all the same. Once again someone invented a new weapon: it was to hold a stone or pebble in their beak and drop it on your enemy. My nemesis thought of that, but we found out his idea and took it. Although it wasn't as good as "wings of the wind", it was still useful. The wars went on for a long time and both captains were getting older. Then a very horrible thing happened: a sector caught a contagious disease called Marek's disease. It was a secret egg laying place close to the border where another egg laying place belonging to the enemy was. No one knew who started it but they both agreed to make it peace time until the chickens stopped dying. Everybody was trying to stay as clear from the egg laying place as possible, in order not to infect everyone. The humans disposed of the last of the dead chickens and then made sure that none of us had caught it. Only one of ours did but none of theirs.
After the disaster
both sides felt lucky to have extra egg laying places, but that all changed after the humans found out about the hidden motherlodes of eggs. They found out after the egg laying places became too cramped. The humans took all the eggs and wherever they hid the eggs, they were found; only about five or less eggs were made a week, so they started a new type of fighting where only two people fought a day. The rest of the people either watched or guarded the eggs, which was working twice as much. In the fights you would fight until one was unable to fight; sometimes chickens died. There was a problem with the egg laying so the humans found new ways to get to the eggs; the egg amount decreased to one egg a week. The problem with that was that the amounts of fighters were decreasing rapidly, so both captains were training hard; it was the fight of my life and I felt like a fighter who has just about won. The players were fighting well and only one chicken died every third week; everyone else was very hurt. The champion team was the enemy's team. Their champion is called "Rock Hard Killer"; he won ten times already and killed two chickens.
Now it is down to
one of my men and me, and two of my nemesis's soldiers, one of them "Rock Hard Killer", also my nemesis, now known as "Chicken From Hell." My next fighter seemed to be really good, or Rocky was just tired, but whatever happened, he made it to my nemesis although that's as far as he went. It was a very cruel fight because even though my soldier surrendered Mr.Hell still attacked him till he died. I did not approve of this and what he did made me mad. I was ready to fight, in fact I was more than ready. It was a long fight and my nemesis had the upper hand; he gave me a good swipe and I fell unconscious. It looked like my nemesis had made it but the fight was not over. My consciousness came back, I opened my eyes to see his back, I stood up, and got ready to use my "wings of the wind" but one of the injured enemies warned my nemesis soon enough for my nemesis to turn around. I made the strongest gust of wind I had ever made, after which my nemesis was not moving; we waited for a long time, but he was dead. We had won the war and freed the world of the "Chicken From Hell."
The End
The photograph is of the author with teacher Mrs. S and class mates in heritage costume
(grade two, Prospect Lake school, 1995)
from issues 33 and 34, 2001
A French Night Watchman's History of Television
Part I
In 1958 les moctis, a revolutionary genre of television shows, were introduced in France. At first they were only offered on public television, but gradually worked their way into quality channels. They aired at convenient times, and the night watchmen watched them for hours on end, finding solace in their leisure hours by hearing the simulated televised laughter to ward off cabin fever. Even when these moctis were cancelled, those night watchmen who had to balance their ten cups of coffee with an effective dose of whisky formed imaginary AA meetings with the erring "child stars," whose days in rehab were triumphantly ticked off by countless diolbats. The diolbats are periodicals devoted to the close inspection of whatever is most trivial in the lives of the most famous French citizens. And, in any case, there were still les nurers; episodes were shown again to cover up the rehab, the running out of ideas for the writers, or the loss of the thesauruses of the latter. The selection of these nurers became an art, with a complicated elimination system and random number generators. Rumour has it that some of the larger channels bought lottery machines that cost as much as the sets and the actors' years in acting school put together.
Moctis actors have attained much success. After thirty years of ostensibly living on a thousand francs per annum, an art in itself, they finally make appearances on game shows (for vaguely-alluded-to charities, of course) and lose miserably but display prominently the facelift gained when they sold one of their five seaside mansions in California.
by Edith H.
(In case you haven't noticed, this account is a satire) deutsch
