Schwarze Katze Ein Gespenst ist noch wie eine Stelle, dran dein Blick mit einem Klange stößt; aber da, an diesem schwarzen Felle wird dein stärkstes Schauen aufgelöst: wie ein Tobender, wenn er in vollster Raserei ins Schwarze stampft, jählings am benehmenden Gepolster einer Zelle aufhört und verdampft. Alle Blicke, die sie jemals trafen, scheint sie also an sich zu verhehlen, um darüber drohend und verdrossen zuzuschauern und damit zu schlafen. Doch auf einmal kehrt sie, wie geweckt, ihr Gesicht und mitten in das deine: und da triffst du deinen Blick im geelen Amber ihrer runden Augensteine unerwartet wieder: eingeschlossen wie ein ausgestorbenes Insekt. ---- A ghost is still something On which your glance can hit against, But in that black fur Even your strongest stare dissolves. Like when a lunatic in full rage Charges into his darkness, His howls sink into his cell's padding And are muted and fade away. All the looks she has ever seen She seems to take into herself To growl over and bite, To look over and sleep upon them. But suddenly, awakened, she turns her face to you, And there you are, In the golden amber of her eyes, You see yourself, Trapped like an ancient insect. ---- The poem is very suited to a cat's nature. You look at them and, half the time, you don't know what they are thinking, but you know they are thinking something. Like talking into a cell phone and, not hearing anything, you begin to wonder if the connection has been lost, and your words drop away into the silence. The poem's not about cats. It's a poem about art; how we look at an artwork and forget ourselves, and in the moment of forgetting, are aware of ourselves. yrs, andreas www.andreas.com ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html