A SONNET CORONA  8/15  - Micha (guit.) and Ral (lyr. and recitation)
Channel: Count Ral
Date: 2010-05-08

This is a 70 minutes musical poem cycle project, recorded in one take and divided into 15 parts on Youtube. Here, sonnet number 8. - You can watch the whole cycle on my special playlist A CROWN OF SONNETS - Micha and I recorded the whole piece, as usual, in one take, all spontaneous, first made and completely extemporaneous. The basic idea is to find a specific way of performimg poetry, representing the words in some kind between singing and recitating, to receive a vivid and spontaneous expression. The lyrics are put in English by myself, based on my own sonnet corona in German language. It is made of 14 (+1) English sonnets in the Italian form, with strict rhymes and all set in iambic pentameter. Each one starts with the last verse of the one before, and at the end number 14 ends with the first line of number 1. So you get the 15th sonnet as the result of all first lines in the right order, put together to the so called Corona. 

VIII.
 
Bad wine I swallow day by day and wait.
And looking out,   when doors are opened wide, 
I'm shouting words into the wind outside. 
They don't scratch roses in the stony gate. 

A thorn was in my hand.   I grab at me.   
Reflections of the years twitch deep inside.   
The screeching flocks of birds drew home and cried.
I'm breathing at the ceiling.   The debris 

of asphalt rips and in the towns I glue. 
On every door knob clings a part of mine. 
The choking angels touch the beds and moan.

And emigrants stand at the bridges' view. 
A trembling beast looks,   as remaining sign,   
from a shop window trimmed with the unknown.


Here my German version:


VIII.

ich schlucke alle Tage schlechten Wein
und sehe wenn die Türen offen sind
hinaus und rufe Wörter in den Wind
sie ritzen keine Rosen in den Stein

ein Stachel war in meiner Hand   ich greife
mich an   es zuckt ein Widerschein von Jahren
in mir   ich atme an die Decke   Scharen 
von Vögeln ziehen kreischend heim   der reife

Asphalt reißt auf   ich klebe in den Städten
an allen Klinken hängt ein Teil von mir
die Würgeengel fassen an die Betten

und auf den Brücken stehen Emigranten
die Zeichen bleiben   zitternd schaut ein Tier
aus einem Schaufenster mit Unbekannten

(R.P.)