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Best Poems From
ERHARD HANS JOSEF LANG
(January 8,1957)
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33.
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Changing Places Between Divine And Human
If God were a man, he might descend on earth,
open shop down here,
like all the other fellows do,
charge his tokens for his rays of sun
that, incessantly rolling the spheres,
on every one of us
masterpieces of creation shines down so lavishly.
But there had been no signs yet,
God ever wanted to take that plunge into the human sphere.
Infinitely straying through cosmos, indeed, must be the greater joy.
God obviously didn' t want to populate
His spheres with unfailing robots of good luck,
alive only, to be fading away with boredom of existence.
Nor wouldn' t anyone have come up with the idea of praying,
if not for fear to be overlooked by Him
at the time of His showering blessings,
if the greatest thing on earth really were only,
to look after all subalterns all of the time,
and to set all the hopeful among us grapplers
on their best possible courses.
If men were to be God, given the knowledge,
We as men have already gathered,
we might well set up a globe spanning network of energy conversion,
for His free sun rays to run also Our empowered gadgets
we men have invented for daily use,
as free as His machinery of creation and supervision.
And if man were to be as good a man as God,
as we so readily love Him to be called,
why wouldn' t we want to readily chip in His talents and abilities? !
Each of us, then, panvoluntaristically working together hand in hand,
to allow for a free flow of all ' give & take'
on these our lives' challenging tumbler grounds,
along the rivers of all essential and all wanton goods,
suddenly divinely common-standard?
Which were to make people happy,
feeding and decorating us evermore
at the voluntary price of a truly free,
individual participation in running the world?
Thus things getting organized
that one fine day,
by that natural waterfall of
the river of goods,
once made to flow for free for all,
any rarer upcoming items of the pioneering novelty,
produced for the sake of improving the human lot further,
were to come splashing in -
truly sensational -
showering their refreshening sprays of comfort,
not over who' s got more money, but
first-off as booty for the televised winners of
most entertaining, smart-earth candy shows,
to be applauded by excited masses,
who' d stand by monitoring the renewing common shores of life
while joyously clapping their hands,
instead of falling prey to the sting of envy
over unlevelling, ill-spread money,
while waiting amused for their own turns
and lucky jumps into the expanded waters of
the share-all-for-free ocean of life then to be?
If man were to be God,
hadn' t He enough leisure time at hand,
to really go and look for, and, eventually stem out,
the root of persistent evil - money?
Man seems made to improve.
Animalhood improved to be man,
without wasting in sacrifice the animals away.
Were it not likewise for manhood to improve to be more like God,
without wasting in sacrifice
the human element away -
by a regulated growing in the wisdom of the plants?
And just to think of what
greater happiness also there could be
in between the sexes,
if man and woman were to be His human god and goddess!
Or would it strictly take God as a man to make man a god?
Could one, even if simply a man, somehow ever
make Him care to allow us men -
to soften our grip on life
by letting us have ungodly money abolished?
* * *
* * * * * * *
Dear reader, you may go to following link (http: //www.change.org/ideas/view/ideas_on_the_goal_of_abolishing_money_and_its_practicability) to cast a vote on behalf of my Ideas on the goal of abolishing money and its practicability on America's next President Obama's website on the changes of America, bound to change the whole world. My idea is currently, as of Dec.19,2008, in 15th Place in Global Poverty and needs 66 more votes to make it into the second round. Thanks
I recommend readers to take a look at my Votelet page and eventually cast a personal vote at http: //www.network54.com/Votelet/38264 on the issue mentioned in this poem
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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34.
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Communist Express Avenues Of Poetical Attitudes
In an arch communist country's slimmer camps
you'll find youth of different levels of obesity
crammed up together, all being there to
slim down so as to meet different figures of body weight:
One is in for making up into a weasel-like policeman ever quick,
and needs to speck down a bit,
another's boss wouldn't like his bakery apprentice be too fat,
since he might eat away in the very instance
too much of what's being baked at a time.
Now let us suppose that in that very same
country of common ultimate order of weight,
next to the slimmer camps,
there were also poets polishing camps
crowding up with the spirits of
highflying youthful beautiful mind essence
with different figures and faces.
Now, versus the scenery in the slimmer camps,
here to make out who's who,
in this projected state-of-art poetry smith'ry,
we'd have to look beyond the adepts' bellies.
There we'll have to question them, one after the other:
'What poems - yours? '
'Is there an underlying purport of why
you would want the world to get to your story,
so neatly wrapped up? '
'You want to shock the world. - right,
a good teacher does have to arouse her student,
even rash sometimes, when fallen asleep.
'Or you might be strictly after
releasing yourself from a shocked state of mind,
and the publications are mere
by-products of your attempted self-healings? ' -
'So, you write poems about broken love relations.
It hadn't happened better to yourself in life? -
- Oh, I see, you're just thankful it never did happen,
and you're so happy about it that you need to say it
in glorious poems, to catch the real feel of it! '
'I want to help our world's young generation to avoid
making the mistakes we have made when
we were young and dumb, and I think I can
convey my message best when presented in entertaining
exaggerated sample stories that
deal with the various problems at hand.'
'I am so confused by this overwhelming life
we're so heavenly invited in to lead,
on this overpowering earth.
I need to push off heavy loads from my soul.
I will become a good poet, and
write it all down, whatever oppresses my heart,
write it down on a golden paper, go to a remote river-side,
form steadfast dainty tiny boatlets out of thick big green leafs,
and, vowing then to be freeing myself
for my envisioned destination in life,
I'll set my mental compositions, thus, afloat.
For perusing some strictly personal contents of
my poetical mind I wouldn't require any of
readers to do so through the human eye,
even though I, as a human, couldn't see and
present those other than through the biased senses,
but I feel that the higher spirits of nature,
close to God evermore, glancing through
the wuthering shades between the trees
along the river-path of those well-destined
pieces of poetry of mine
will not fail to receive my messages.' -
'I want to give something to the world by writing poems.
Poetry says it best!
But what exactly it is that I'll be giving - I couldn't say yet.
I'm still in the making myself, you see.'
* * * *
Supposed I were the one conducting the
interviews with these common adepts in poetry,
there in the communists poets polishing camp,
given all these smart answers by them,
I could but only ask them:
'But why then are you all here in this camp?
By your answers, you all seem to
know very well by yourselves,
without further camp instructions,
what courses you're set on,
each of you as creative humans and as poets likewise! '
And listen, listen! .... what these communists could answer back:
'But haven't you noticed, there in the outside,
that we're all living in a commonplace world,
and that everyone is camping up with others.
So why wouldn't we, the poets, too, camp up as one! ? '
* * * *
- - - -
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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35.
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Corruption On The Loose - Shall Always Be The Winner? (translated excerpt)
...If you've stained your matrimonial life, deceived your creditor,
gained by lies your neighbour's pasture and field;
if you've hurt your fellow-being's coat of innocence or good reputation,
and with guile rendered yours
the token of the oppressed, which you had taken as a pawn:
Then you must not turn despondent, even though how grave they'd sue you at the court.
Soon only endeavor after an attorney, after one
who bears his good conscience in the manner that
he wears his sleeves, as if a priest's,
who feels amused as highly by disputes,
instances of taking advantage as by quarrels,
as may feel a man, who's been out at war,
who's come to find lots of things to plunder,
one whose heart is full of spitefulness,
whose head of trickery,
his soul full of deceit and daring malice,
who writes seven lines only on one page,
but always swells all his writings into twenty folders,
who produces as many expenditures, as what is desired in every cause of conflict,
as he tosses and turns the procedure
until the case will have gone on for many a good year.
Him you ought to fill his bent hands with golden treasures from Ophir*,
then soon will he lash out and hit on the rights of the opposite party;
then even turn to the counterpart's and win that attorney's favor, too;
bestow him a gift of a stately piece to wear,
a staunch and fat pig,
a barrelful of grape wine, as well as other nice things,
thus you will make that one mild and
he'll be favouring you, too.
Likewise go and see the judge, and fill his hand -
wild men at hand * - with gold from the Hungarian land *.
And should he refrain from taking your things; then give them to his wife,
damask, silk and velvet for her body,
ribbons, laces, linen, and furs for her petticoats,
Fill up their store-rooms and kitchen house;
thus you'll gain for any pending case more time,
your attorney will put things off,
your judge procrastinate them;
although how hard your opponent might attempt to see the final verdict coming.
Should he complain, o dear, tired of all the payments,
asking for justice at long last,
then it will be pointed out:
'you have no rights.
He who's been sparing the money shall always be the winner'...
(translation into English from its original German by Erhard Hans Josef Lang)
________
an excerpt from the satirical work
THESE VICES WHIPPED BY THOSE FAUNS
by German poetesse
Sidonia Hedwig Zδunemann
(*Jan.15,1714
+ Dec.16,1740)
[explanatory notes:
faun - the spirit (lat. genius) of an untamed place in the woods, that resembles below the waistline a goat and above a human, used here in a sarcastical sense;
* Ophir - a port or region mentioned in the Bible, famous for its wealth, King Solomon is supposed to have received a cargo of gold, silver, sandalwood, precious stones, ivory, apes and peacocks from Ophir, every three years;
* wild men at hand, * with gold from the Hungarian land: obv. references by the poetesse to some scandals that had occurred in her days]
* * * * * * *
A judge's daughter, Imperial laurel wreath bearing poet Sidonia Hedwig Zδunemann from Erfurt, Germany, died 26yr-old caught in a weather of thunder and lightning out in the open in the winter of 1740, a wooden bridge collapsing underneath her as she was riding across on horseback on her way to her sister's
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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36.
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Dose Replay Set Replaced
Dose replay set -
Those replaced!
Spiralling up heroic heights,
Reaching out tall as spires,
To make the golden signet
Ring of royal human composure one's own,
Waiting there in the subtle airs to be taken?
All the world's aspirations are for troubled hire,
Who would not tire?
Thus, our life of routine, why not make it
A truly fit vessel
En route for most beautiful shores, destinations! ?
Maybe to just
Think a bit bigger, friends,
And change first ourselves,
And then our world into exactly one,
As we'd select her where to live in,
Of all the choices in dreams? !
Erhard Hans Josef Lang
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