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Der Wald und der Rand und was darin passiert

Markus Guschelbauer

Föhren

Es ist das Licht, was das Dickicht von der Rodung unterscheidet und dort, wo der
Sturm Schneisen durch die Föhren gehauen hat, muss man hinaufschauen. Der
Himmel, sei er noch so trüb, zieht den Blick unweigerlich zu sich.
Du steigst über das Sturmholz. Da knackt es von fern und du suchst die Ränder der
Fläche nach einer Bewegung ab. Ein Windstoß sollte den Farn schütteln, ein Tier
sollte huschen. Aber es hallen nur Gedanken durch den Schädel und wollen und
wollen nicht still sein.

Gerald Ridder 2010

the trees / pulp /  2001

I took an air-rifle, shot a magpie to the ground and it died without a sound. Your skin so pale against the fallen autumn leaves and no-one saw us but the trees.
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees produce the air that I am breathing.
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees, they never said that you were leaving.
I carved your name with a heart just up above - now swollen,
distorted, unrecognisable; like our love.  The smell of leaf mould and the sweetness of decay are the incense at the funeral procession here, today.
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees produce the air that I am breathing.
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees, they never said that you were leaving.
You try to shape the world to what you want the world to be.
Carving your name a thousand times won't bring you back to me.
Oh no, no I might as well go and tell it to the trees.
Go and tell it to the trees, yeah.
 

 
Wald                                                                  Rand

 
Windbruch