FREIBURGER POET: Zeitgeistlyrik von Satis Shroff

ZEITGEISTLYRIK (Satis Shroff):

Satis Shroff with the German Gem Queen

Categories:	Sad, Grief, Sympathy, Broken Heart Poems & Tributes, Memorials Poetry	Viewed 1518 times
Author:	Satis Shroff, USA
Poem The Sea Swells (Satis Shroff) The sea shells on the sea shore Suddenly the sea swells. Ring the church and temple bells. All is not well. The sea has gone back. Brown-burnt Tarzans and Janes From different continents, Wonder what’s going on. A man from Sweden Is immersed in his thriller under the palms. A mother and daughter from Germany Frolic on the white sunny beach. Even the sea-gulls stop and listen To the foreboding silence. The sea swells, Comes back And brings an apocalyptic destruction: Sweeping humans, huts and hotels, Boats, billboards and debris. Cries for help are stifled by the roaring waves. The sea goes back. Leaving behind lost souls, Caught in suspended animation. I close my eyes. Everything dies. Tsunami. Tsunami. Shanti. Om shanti. sammie bagley: a very powerful write and sad as wellUSA8/27/2008 2:44:47 PM Thelma ZaracostasHi Satis nice to read you again here on voices!Australia7/7/2008 4:41:40 AMLeeVery strong expressive poem, which carried the immense power of nature along in its images.Aus12/18/2007 10:55:58 PM thelma zaracostas Dear Satis I have never experienced a Tsunami and pray I never will. Your poem describe the vulnerability and helplessness of those who have.

Categories:	Ballad Poems & Tributes, Memorials Poetry	Viewed 2998 times
Author:	Satis Shroff, USA
Poem THE LURE OF THE HIMALAYAS (Satis Shroff, Freiburg) A long time ago near the town of Kashgar, I, a stranger in local clothes was captured By the sturdy riders of Vali Khan. What was a stranger With fair skin and blue eyes, Looking for in Vali Khan’s terrain? I, the stranger spoke a strange tongue. ‘He’s a spy sent by China. Behead him,’ barked the Khan’s officer. I pleaded and tried to explain My mission in their country. It was all in vain. On August 26, 1857 I, Adolph Schlagintweit, a German traveller, an adventurer, Was beheaded as a spy, Without a trial. I was a German who set out on the footsteps Of the illustrious Alexander von Humboldt, With my two brothers Hermann and Robert, From Southhampton on September 20,1854 To see India, the Himalayas and Higher Asia. The mission of the 29000km journey Was to make an exact cartography Of the little known countries, Sans invitation, I must admit. In Kamet we reached a 6785m peak, An elevation record in those days. We measured the altitudes, Gathered magnetic, meteorological, And anthropological data. We even collected extensive Botanical, zoological and ethnographic gems. Hermann and I made 751 sketches, Drawings, water-colour and oil paintings. The motifs were Himalayan panoramas, Single summits, glacier formations, Himalayan rivers and houses of the natives. I still see myself and Hermann working With our pencils, brushes daubed in water-colours and oil, Trying to capture the colours and perspectives Of the Himalayas. Fond memories of Padam valley, near the old moraine Of the main glacier at Zanskar in pencil and pen. A view from Gunshankar peak 6023 metres, From the Trans-Sutlej chain in aquarelle. A European female in oriental dress in Calcutta 1855. Brahmin, Rajput and Sudra women draped in saris. Kristo Prasad, a 35 year old Rajput Photographed in Benaras. An old Hindu fakir with knee-long rasta braids, Bhot women from Ladakh, snapped in Simla. Kahars, Palki-porters from Bihar, Hindus of the Sudra caste. A Lepcha armed with bow and arrows, In traditional dress up to his calves And a hat with plume. Kistositta, a 25 year old Brahmin from Bengal, Combing the hair of Mungia, A 43 year old Vaisa woman. A wandering Muslim minstrel Manglu at Agra, With his sarangi. A 31 year old Ram Singh, a Sudra from Benaras, Playing his Kolebassen flute. The monsoon, And thatched Khasi houses at Cherrapunji, The rainiest place on earth. The precious documents of our long journey Can be seen at the Alpine Museum Munich. Even a letter, Sent by Robert to our sister Matilde, Written on November 2, 1866 from Srinagar: ‘We travelled a 200 English mile route, Without seeing a human being, Who didn’t belong to our caravan. Besides our horses, we had camels, The right ones with two humps, Which you don’t find in India. We crossed high glacier passes at 5500m And crossed treacherous mountain streams.’ My fascination for the Himalayas Got the better of me. I had breathed the rare Himalayan air, And felt like Icarus. I wanted to fly higher and higher, Forgetting where I was. My brothers Hermann and Robert left India By ship and reached Berlin in June,1857. I wanted to traverse the continent Disregarding the dangers, For von Humboldt was my hero. Instead of honour and fame, My body was dragged by fierce riders in the dust, Although I had long left the world. My soul had raced with the speed of light to Heaven A Persian traveller, a Muslim with a heart Found my headless body. He brought my remains all the way to India, Where he handed it to a British colonial officer. It was a fatal fascination, But had I the chance, I’d do it again. COMMENTS: Thelma Zaracostas: Hi Satis! Another read of this wonderful poem,great to see you again.Australia9/6/2008 9:23:03 AM Fanfare2000Beautiful words, though it would be great book to write about, you should expand this and create a novel, it would be a big time seller, I'm sure there is more to this story than you have told so far.USA2/10/2008 4:09:42 thelma: I love this poem, Satis, that is why I am reading it again and again all will enjoy this very educational and very colourful write!australia10/2/2007 11:13:38 AM thelmaHi Satis waiting for some more of your great poems in the meantime back to read again one my favourites.australia9/8/2007 8:29:21 PM Satis Shroff writes: Dear Thelma, Glad to know that you found The Lure of the Himalayas colourful and educational. There was a big exhibition about the three German Schlagintweit brothers. And what I found even interesting was that a teacher from Freiburg, named Joseph Sartorius, did the same journey with his camera and photographed the sites of the paintings by the three brothers mentioned in the poem. It was great to compare the modern photographs with the original paintings.I want to bring out my poems with the Himalayan photographs of Joseph Sartorius.Have a nice day. Regards, satis Satis Germany5/19/2007 10:43:04 AM thelma zaracostas: This is a wonderful read thank you for the journey into the life and adventures of this amazing person up until now I had never heard of him. Very colourful and educational.australia5/19/2007 7:44:10 AM

Categories: Brothers Poems & Life Poetry		Viewed 3225 times
Author:	Satis Shroff, USA
Poem KATHMANDU IS NEPAL (Satis Shroff, Freiburg) There were two young men, brothers Who left their homes In the foothills of the Eastern Himalayas. The older one, for his father had barked at him, “Go to Nepal and never come home again.” The younger, for he couldn’t bear the beatings At the hands of his old man. . The older brother sobbed and stifled his sorrow and anger For Nepal was in fact Kathmandu, With its colleges, universities, Education Ministry, Temples, Rana-palaces and golden pagodas And also its share of hippies, hashish, tourists, Rising prices and expensive rooms to rent. The younger brother went to Dharan, And enlisted in the British Army depot To become a Gurkha, A soldier in King Edwards Own Gurkha Rifles. He came home the day he became a recruit, With a bald head, as though his father had died. He looked forward to the parades and hardships That went under the guise of physical exercises.   He thought of stern, merciless sergeants and corporals Of soccer games and regimental drills A young man’s thrill of war-films and scotch and Gurkha-rum evenings. He’d heard it all from the Gurkhas who’s returned in the Dasain festivals. There was Kunjo Lama his maternal cousin, Who boasted of his judo-prowess and showed photos of his British gal, A pale blonde from Chichester in an English living-room. It was a glorious sunset, The clouds blazing in scarlet and orange hues, As the young man, riding on the back of a lorry, Sacks full of rice and salt, Stared at the Siwaliks and Mahabharat mountains Dwindling behind him. As the sun set in the Himalayas, The shadows grew longer in the vales. The young man saw the golden moon, Shining from a cloudy sky. The same moon he’d seen on a poster in his uncle’s kitchen As he ate cross-legged his dal-bhat-shikar after the hand-washing ritual.   Was the moon a metaphor? Was it his fate to travel to Kathmandu, Leaving behind his childhood friends and relatives in the hills, Who were struggling for their very existence, In the foothills of the Kanchenjunga, Where the peaks were not summits to be scaled, with or without oxygen, But the abodes of the Gods and Goddesses. A realm where bhuts and prets, boksas and boksis, Demons and dakinis prevailed. Glossary: Ranas: a ruling class that usurped the throne and ruled for 104 years in Nepal Gurkhas: Nepali soldiers serving in Nepalese, Indian and British armies Dal-bhat: Linsen und Reis Shikar: Fleischgericht Bhuts: demons Boksas & boksis: male & female witches

Elizabeth Olesen	Satis, I enjoyed reading this contribution with much interest and joy. This poem brings back the memories of Nepal where I lived six years in my life. This is a great story of your courageous Ghurka coming back to Kathmandu, Nepal, seeing before his eyes the rich culture,religion and history of his own country. I would be very happy to read more of your poems with the context of the beautiful Hindu Kingdom of Nepal.	Denmark	10/5/2009 5:05:00 PM
Thelma Zaracostas	Dear Satis hope all is going well for you always a treat to read you again and again here on voices!	Australia	10/5/2009 8:39:37 AM
thelma zaracostas	Dear Satis I have read all your poems and I only can say to you Amazing and Fantastic read it has been an incredible journey.Thank you	australia

Gurkha soldiers of the Nepalese Army with automatic rifles and legendary khukris

Former Horseguards of the King's Gurkhas in Kathmandu

Categories:Sad, Grief, Sympathy, Broken Heart Poems & Political, War, International Poetry		Viewed 1092 times
Author:	Satis Shroff, USA
Poem THE NAKED HILLS (Satis Shroff, Freiburg) A young Nepalese woman Sits in front of her parents’ thatched home In the Middle Hills of Nepal. Her two hands caress her shoulders. It’s cold in the hills of Nepal, Where the hills are naked And its sons have left In search of better pastures, For the hills are barren. Governments and kings Have come and gone, But the poverty has remained. There’s no flour to bake one’s bread. The mothers seek and pluck Brennessel, And call it sisnu, To make a soup In the frugal hills of Nepal. In Maghey Sankrati we eat Stems and roots, Tarul and sweet-potatoes. There’s no wheat, maize, rice or mustard In these naked hills. Everything has become bitter. What remains is love and attachment. A Nepalese bird still sings: Kafal pakyo. Kafal pakyo. The berry’s ripe Glossary: Brennessel (Ger.): sisnu (Nepali), stinging nettle Maghey Sankrati: festival in Nepal COMMENTS:  Lee writes: 'In these naked hills./Everything has become bitter./What remains is love and attachment' ... lovely poem Satis ... how people survive in adverse terrains, under various social conditions is amazing!AUS3/14/2008 7:35:30 AM thelma: Dear Satis keep writing and sharing your wonderful work here on voices .australia3/14/2008 4:48:44 AMtj24goodus5/3/2007 5:40:43 PM thelma zaracostas: Dear Satis,  Amongst all the sadness in your poem a ray of love and hope shines and the birds still sing.Wonderfull! "What remains is love and attachment" A Nepalese bird still sings.australia5/3/2007 4:39:12 AM

Categories: Life Poems & Tributes, Memorials Poetry		Viewed 1144 times
Author:	Satis Shroff, USA
Poem ON CAROLINE WALTER  (Satis Shroff, Freiburg) I took a walk to the old cemetery With its cultural treasures, And saw the Dance of Death At the entrance of Michael’s chapel. The gravestones expressed The self-consciousness of the citizens. There were many stories That made their rounds In the town of Freiburg. I felt drawn to one gravestone It was that of Caroline Walter Lying on her bed of concrete, Her head reposing on a big pillow. She had aesthetic features And wore a long dress. Her left arm rested on her breast. Her nose was elegantly long and pointed. Her eyes were closed, As though she’d fallen asleep In the afternoon. Her lips were well chiselled. On her right hand She held a book she’d been reading. I discern the strings of a fiddle from the neighborhood. Fresh scarlet and pink roses Lay under her chin, As if she was taking in their scent With her fine nostrils. A breeze undulates the leaves on the floor And disappears. The expression on her face Was serene and tranquil. A lady in harmony and peace With herself and the world She lived in. A Fräulein from a decent family.

thelma	Hi Satis nice to see you here at voices, once again great poem hope you stay awhile!	australia	11/16/2007 5:41:15 AM
thelma zaracostas	Strong descriptive writing Satis, great poem