Der gefesselte Riese: Europas letzte Chance (German Edition)

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What struggle to escape? What wild ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! Who are these coming to the sacrifice? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. Attic shape! Fair attitude! Calligramme konkrete Poesie All, This article is not meant as a lecture but more of a common forum for sharing poems that may be interesting for various reasons, including your very personal taste.

I look forward to receiving some input from you every now and then O, my Luve's like the melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I, And I will luve thee still, my Dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun! O I will luve thee still, my Dear, While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile! Und lebe wohl, meine einzige Liebe, und lebe eine Weile wohl! Comment Die Pansies von franz. Lawrence s. And when we fail to transmit life, life fails to flow through us. This is part of the mystery of sex, it is a flow onwards. Sexless people transmit nothing. And if, as we work, we can transmit life into our work, life, still more life, rushes into us to compensate, to be ready and we ripple with life through the days.

Even if it is a woman making an apple dumpling, or a man a stool, if life goes into the pudding, good is the pudding good is the stool, content is the woman, with fresh life rippling in to her, content is the man. Give, and it shall be given unto you is still the truth about life. But giving life is not so easy. It doesn't mean handing it out to some mean fool, or letting the living dead eat you up.

It means kindling the life quality where it was not, even if it's only in the whiteness of a washed pocket-handkerchief. Lawrence Der dritte Text war "perfection" von Ernst Jandl : Perfection 0 lovely apple! No one has moved you since I placed you on the porch rail a Month ago to ripen.

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No one. No one! Wie satt und feucht der Mantel aus Braun auf jenem un- angetasteten Fleisch! Comment Phillipp: Many thanks for introducing selected poems by D. Lawrence here. Idiosynchratic works are appreciated. Vielen Dank. Spring Breezes Spring breezes over the blue, now lightly frolicking in some tropic bay, go forth to meet her way, for here the spell hath won and dream is true. And now I bid thee bring tenderly hither over a subject sea that golden one whose grace hath made me king, and, soon to glad my gaze at shut of day, loosen'd in happy air her charmed hair. Oktober ebd. Comment A Gift See!

I give myself to you, Beloved! My words are little jars For you to take and put upon a shelf. Their shapes are quaint and beautiful, And they have many pleasant colours and lustres To recommend them. Also the scent from them fills the room With sweetness of flowers and crushed grasses.

When I shall have given you the last one, You will have the whole of me, But I shall be dead. Mai ebenda war eine amerikanische Frauenrechtlerin und Dichterin. A bird picks up its seeds or little snails between heedless earth and heaven in heedlessness. But, the plucky little sport, it gives to life song, and chirruping, gay feathers, fluff-shadowed warmth and all the unspeakable charm of birds hopping and fluttering and being birds. Kronen schimmern in den Kirchen. Ihre feuchten Lippen beben Und sie warten an den Toren.

Fremde lauschen auf den Stufen. Helle Instrumente singen. Wer hat denn das Monopol auf die 'richtige' Interpretation eines Gedichtes? And as they sojourned both of them together, Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father, Behold the preparations, fire and iron, But where the lamb for this burnt-offering? When lo! Caught in a thicket by its horns, A Ram. Offer the Ram of Pride instead. But the old man would not so, but slew his son, And half the seed of Europe, one by one.

Wilfred Owen, For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him. For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way. For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness. For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.

For he rolls upon prank to work it in. For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself. For this he performs in ten degrees. For first he looks upon his fore-paws to see if they are clean. For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there. For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the fore-paws extended. For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood. For fifthly he washes himself. For sixthly he rolls upon wash. For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.

For eighthly he rubs himself against a post. For ninthly he looks up for his instructions. For tenthly he goes in quest of food. For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour. For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness. For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it chance. For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.

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Treason of the clerks, boys, curtains that descend, Lights becoming darks, boys, waiting for the end. The candle crocus And daffodil gold Drink fire of the sunshine-- Quickly cold. Recht originell ist ein gewaltiges Fabelwesen, der Moloch, dessen Augen mit Lichteffekten versehen sind. Genuine und dieser Enkel im Liebesrausch. Der Film kann nur dann zum Allgemeingut werden, wenn es ihm gelingt, sich auch bei den Intellektuellen durchzusetzen. Jetzt soll Narben Johnny mal den Schreck seines Lebens kriegen.

For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins. For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary. For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes. For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life. For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.

For he is of the tribe of Tiger. Christopher Smart was an English poet, a major contributor to popular magazines and a friend to influential writers such as Samuel Johnson and Henry Fielding. A high church Anglican, Smart was known throughout London. He was infamous for his role as "Mrs. Mary Midnight" and widespread accounts of his father-in-law, John Newbery, locking him away in a mental asylum for many years over his religious "mania".

Smart's two best-known works are A Song to David and Jubilate Agno , both written at least partly during his confinement in asylum. Jubilate Agno was not published until Wie Despoten enden, hat's dich Nicht gelehrt des Bruders Beispiel? Nicht gelehrt des Vaters Beispiel? Nicht des Vaters-Vaters Beispiel? Blutig fingst auch du zu herrschen An!

August von Platen, ; aus den "Polenliedern". November ist ein deutscher Lyriker und Essayist; Autor gesellschaftskritischer Lyrik z. Wort und Vers werden mit anscheinend spielerischer Leistung gehandhabt, u. Comment Buttercups and Daisies I never see a young hand hold The starry bunch of white and gold, But something warm and fresh will start About the region of my heart; - My smile expires into a sigh; I feel a struggling in my eye, 'Twixt humid drop and sparkling ray, Till rolling tears have won their way; For, soul and brain will travel back, Through memory's chequer'd mazes, To days, when I but trod life's track For buttercups and daisies.

There seems a bright and fairy spell About there very names to dwell; And though old Time has mark'd my brow With care and thought, I love them now. Smile, if you will, but some heartstrings Are closest link'd to simplest things; And these wild flowers will hold mine fast, Till love, and life, and all be past; And then the only wish I have Is, that the one who raises The turf sod o'er me, plant my grave With buttercups and daisies.

The poetry corner - Vol. 2

Eliza Cook — Valentine Not a red rose or a satin heart. I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undressing of love. It will blind you with tears like a lover. It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief. I am trying to be truthful. Not a cute card or a kissogram. Dezember in Glasgow ist eine schottische Lyrikerin und Dramatikerin. Comment "There was a man and he was mad" There was a man and he was mad And he ran up the steeple, And there he cut his nose off And flung it at the people.

Comment Vergissmeinnicht Three weeks gone and the combatants gone, returning over the nightmare ground we found the place again, and found the soldier sprawling in the sun. The frowning barrel of his gun overshadowing. As we came on that day, he hit my tank with one like the entry of a demon. Here in the gunpit spoil the dishonoured picture of his girl who has put: Steffi. Vergissmeinnicht in a copybook gothic script. But she would weep to see today how on his skin the swart flies move; the dust upon the paper eye and the burst stomach like a cave.

For here the lover and killer are mingled who had one body and one heart. And death who had the soldier singled has done the lover mortal hurt. Keith Douglas , English poet, killed in action in France. I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds,-and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of-wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air June 9, — December 11, was an Anglo-American aviator and poet who died as a result of a mid-air collision over Lincolnshire during World War II.

Comment Monet's Waterlilies Today as the news from Selma and Saigon poisons the air like fallout, I come again to see the serene, great picture that I love. Here space and time exist in light the eye like the eye of faith believes. The seen, the known dissolve in iridescence, become illusive flesh of light that was not, was, forever is. He was appointed Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress in Comment The Invisible With a flutter and a pitterpat The pigeon settles on the parapet.

Draw down from your palate then A tightening tongue, and cluck. The pigeon turns his iridescent head, But how he hears is anybody's guess. By what other channel than an ear, When he has none, can any pigeon hear? Along the parapet he waddles, next, Not closer, but away, and eyeing still The middle of a nowhere Schumann said , Root of a distress my tongue alerts him to.

A second triple claw touches the parapet, And fear is a force, molding the invisible. No big deal, pigeon. You are wise to scare; Wiser than me to see nobody there. Christopher Middleton b. Comment Naturgesetze und psychologische Gesetze I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night and morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine. And into my garden stole. When the night had veiled the pole; In the morning glad I see, My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

William Blake — And on Tuesday he fell on the hill And the happy lamb Never knew why the loud collie straddled him. And on Wednesday he fell on a bush And the blackbird Laid by his little flute for the last time. George Mackay Brown , splendid Orkney poet who wrote in English. I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it. I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things; That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.

I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do; For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two. This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass, And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass. It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied; But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside. If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.

I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free. Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door, Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.

But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone For the lack of something within it that it has never known. But a house that has done what a house should do, a house that has sheltered life, That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife, A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet, Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet. So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back, Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart, For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

Joyce Kilmer December 6, — July 30, was an American journalist, poet, literary critic, lecturer, and editor. Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride! And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow! Where got ye that winsome marrow? Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? Why on thy braes is heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholious weeds Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow. O dule and sorrow! As sweet, as sweet flows Tweed; As green its grass, its gowan as yellow; As sweet smells on its braes the birk, The apple from its rocks as mellow.

Busk, ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! How can I busk, a winsome marrow? For there was basely slain my love— My love as he had not been a lover. I little, little knew He was in these to meet his ruin! With bridal sheets my body cover! Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door; Let in the expected husband lover! His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter. Ah me! No youth lay ever there before thee. O lovely, lovely youth! Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter; And lie all night between my breasts!

No youth shall ever lie there after. Return, and dry thy useless sorrow! Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs— He lies a corpse on the braes of Yarrow. His health is said to have been delicate, leading him to spend a deal of his time indoors, in study; where he become enthusiastic about literature, and began to write poetry. The song is believed to be based on an actual incident. The hero of the ballad was a knight of great bravery, popularly believed to be John Scott, sixth son of the Laird of Harden.

According to history, he met a treacherous and untimely death in Ettrick Forest at the hands of his kin, the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh in the seventeenth century. However, recent scholars are sceptical about this story as the origin of the song. To equip, prepare, make ready. To adorn, to deck, dress up.

Of people: tall. Comment At The Ball Game The crowd at the ball game is moved uniformly by a spirit of uselessness which delights them -- all the exciting detail of the chase and the escape, the error the flash of genius Comment Not Waving But Drowning Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning.

All the poet has to do is listen. The poet is not an important fellow. There will always be another poet. Comment The Bonnie Broukit Bairn Mars is braw in crammasy, Venus in a green silk goun, The auld mune shak's her gowden feathers, Their starry talk's a wheen o' blethers, Nane for thee a thochtie sparin', Earth, thou bonnie broukit bairn!

Comment Hugh MacDiarmid When he speaks a small sentence he is a man who presses a plunger that will blow the face off a cliff. Or he dynamites a ramshackle idea--when the dust settles, what structures shine in the sun. Comment Die Gedanken sind frei Fassung um 1. Es bleibet dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei. Die Gedanken sind frei Wer kann sie erraten? Die Gedanken sind frei. Comment Atlantis--A Lost Sonnet How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder that a whole city--arches, pillars, colonnades, not to mention vehicles and animals--had all one fine day gone under? And so, in the best traditions of where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name and drowned it.

Comment Phillipp: Ja, die schottische und irische Dichtung ist bisher zu kurz gekommen. Die zweite Strophe sollte eigentlich so anfangen:. There seems a bright and fairy spell About their very names to dwell; And though old Time has mark'd my brow With care and thought, I love them now. Chaostranslater: Several critics, both Kilmer's contemporaries and modern scholars, disparaged Kilmer's work as being too simple, overly sentimental, and suggested that his style was far too traditional, even archaic.

Stevie Smith kannte ich noch nicht. Die Haltung, die sie in ihren Gedichten einnimmt, ist recht eigenwillig und originell. It is a human face that hides A monkey soul within, That bangs about, that beats a gong, That makes a horrid din. Sometimes the monkey soul will sprawl Athwart the human eyes, And peering forth, will flesh its pads, And utter social lies.

Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corporation. Comment A Wasted Illness Through vaults of pain, Enribbed and wrought with groins of ghastliness, I passed, and garish spectres moved my brain To dire distress. Thereon ahead I saw a door extend - The door to death. And yet Those backward steps through pain I cannot view Without regret. Thomas Hardy 2 June — 11 January After years of writing novels to earn his living — novels which contain seams of poetry, but in which he felt constrained to work to the demands of the market — poetry came to him as a relief and a pleasure.

Extract from intro: Poems of Thomas Hardy. Selected and Introduced by Claire Tomalin, which does not include the above poem. Sie sagten: "Du hast eine blaue Gitarre, Du spielst die Dinge nicht, wie sie sind. Doch endlich kamen sie einander in die Haare, Und ihre Republik versank in Anarchie. Ha, rief das arme Volk mit tiefgesenkten Ohren Und mit geschundner Haut, was haben wir getan! Gottlieb Konrad Pfeffel: Satiriker und Philanthrop, All things counter, original, spare, strange; ::Whatever is fickle, freckled who knows how?

Juni in Dublin war ein britischer Lyriker und Jesuit, dessen Gedichte vor allem wegen der Lebendigkeit ihres Ausdrucks bewundert werden. The day was green. They said, "You have a blue guitar, You do not play things as they are. Wallace Stevens. Then Napoleon took over the plan to build the mill. While the animals starved and slaved under the slogan, "I will work harder," the pigs moved into Jones's farmhouse, and the glorification of the Leader as Comrade Napoleon was now called became systematic.

Hens were sometimes heard to say: "Under the guidance of our Leader, Comrade Napoleon, I have laid five eggs in six days. Fountain of happiness! Lord of the swill-bucket! Thou art the giver of All that thy creature love, Full belly twice a day, clean straw to roll upon; Every beast great or small Sleeps at peace in his stall, Thou watchest over all, Comrade Napoleon!

George Orwell — The Seven Commandments 1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend. No animal shall wear clothes. No animal shall sleep in a bed. No animal shall drink alcohol. No animal shall kill any other animal. All animals are equal. Comment A Marriage We met under a shower of bird-notes. Fifty years passed, love's moment And she, who in life had done everything with a bird's grace, opened her bill now for the shedding of one sigh no heavier than a feather.

Thomas , walisischer Lyriker, der auf englisch schrieb. Seine kurze Autobiographie verfasste er auf Walisisch. You make it for yourself firstly, and then if other people want to join in then there we are. Comment Friendship A ruddy drop of manly blood The surging sea outweighs, The world uncertain comes and goes; The lover rooted stays. I fancied he was fled,- And, after many a year, Glowed unexhausted kindliness, Like daily sunrise there. My careful heart was free again, O friend, my bosom said, Through thee alone the sky is arched, Through thee the rose is red; All things through thee take nobler form, And look beyond the earth, The mill-round of our fate appears A sun-path in thy worth.

Me too thy nobleness had taught To master my despair; The fountains of my hidden life Are through thy friendship fair. I know your lust Is love. Sceptic Thomas! Now, do you doubt that your Bird was true? Emily Dickinson , konnte ich mir nach nicht verkneifen Is the blue changed above thee, O world! Will you change every flower that grows, Or only change this spot, Where she who said, I love thee, Now says, I love thee not? The skies seemed true above thee, The rose true on the tree; The bird seemed true the summer through, But all proved false to me.

Zweifelnder Thomas! Echt war dein Vogel, fragst du nun noch? John Clare 13 July — 20 May was an English poet, born in Helpston, Northamptonshire, the son of a farm labourer who came to be known for his celebratory representations of the English countryside and his lamentation of its disruption. In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day, I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown up people's feet Still going past me in the street, And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day?

Robert Louis Stevenson —94, Scottish novelist, poet, and essayist,. Comment The Invitation It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow. If you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with JOY, mine or your own; If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstacy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being a human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. Soon, a bronze Adonis — ogling girls! It must be done! You will realise What a position it puts Me in. I couldn't really Have died for you if so I were inclined. The carn Foxglove here on the wall Outside your first house Leans with me standing In the Zennor wind. Anyhow how are things? Are you still somewhere With your long legs And twitching smile under Your blue hat walking Across a place? Or am I greedy to make you up Again out of memory? Graham , Graham was born in Greenock, Scotland.

His first book, Cage Without Grievance was published in Er hat's begangen, Er hat's vollbracht! Er baute Tempel Dem Teufel selbst! Er hat's begangen, Er ist erkannt! Er ist ein Satan, Die Maske fiel! Sie singen laut ihm Triumph, Triumph! Doch ach, es graut ihm, Wie sehr sie dudeln! Harpy'n besudeln Gesalbtes Haupt. August von Platen , Aus den "Polenliedern". Bett stinkt bei Bett. Komm, hebe ruhig diese Decke auf.

Das Fleisch ist weich und schmerzt nicht. Gottfried Benn - gilt als einer der bedeutendsten deutschen Dichter der literarischen Moderne. Comment Oh ja, ein paar deutschsprachige Lyriker dazu ist auch nicht schlecht. Comment Und wie lautet der Titel zu diesem Gedicht, Phillipp? Erscheint auf S. Die letzten zwei Zeilen sind gut. Aber dann wie kann es ja anders sein? Aber wie gesagt: Danke!

Comment Der alte Lear will abtreten. Cordelia: Then poor Cordelia! Cordelia: Nothing, my lord. Lear: Nothing? Cordelia: Nothing. Lear: Nothing will come of nothing: speak again. Lear: How, how, Cordelia! Mend your speech a little, Lest you may mar your fortunes. Why have my sisters husbands, if they say They love you all? Happily, when I shall wed, That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry Half my love with him, half my care and duty: Sure I shall never marry like my sisters, To love my father all.

Lear: But goes thy heart with this? Cordelia: Ay, my good Lord. Lear: So young, and so untender? Cordelia: So young, my Lord, and true. Lear: Let it be so; thy truth then be thy dower: For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, The mysteries of Hecate, and the night; By all the operation of the orbs From whom we do exist, and cease to be; Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me Hold thee, from this, for ever.

The barbarous Scythian, Or he that makes his generation messes To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and relieved, As thou my sometime daughter. Comment Furcht der Geliebten Cidli, du weinest, und ich schlumre sicher, Wo im Sande der Weg verzogen fortschleicht; Auch wenn stille Nacht ihn umschattend decket, Schlumr' ich ihn sicher. Weine nicht, Cidli. Inhalt und Form decken sich auch vollkommen.

Er war ein junger Schmetterling, Der selig an der Blume hing. Ach Gott, wie das dem Schmetterling So schmerzlich durch die Seele ging. Doch was am meisten ihn entsetzt, Das Allerschlimmste kam zuletzt. Wilhelm Busch - Comment Klasse!! Die Kraft, infolge der Erregung, Verwandelt sich in Schwungbewegung. The sails are filling on the Cannonball. Roger: Yes, yes, I can see that, Will. There, the water is moving. The wind will be with us in a moment. Hoist the sails folks. Hoist the sails! Ha ha ha har. Come on folks, hoist the sails. We take every gust of wind we can.

The break is over. Narrator: At first captain Roger succeeds at building a lead, and it seems like he might be able to get away from the Cannonball. Now the pirates must do their very best to keep the distance from shrinking. Captain Roger is still hopeful, but he knows that the tides can turn. Jimbo: I have prepared everything. The monkey is sitting on the box over there.

Will: He only has eyes for the Cannonball. Have you placed the fuses? Will whistles. Will: No matter, light it again. Give me the candle Spinoza. Give it to me already. Will: He will make it, Jimbo.

He hast to make it, or our plan will be worthless. Will: Damn it. The Cannonball is rushing towards us with full sails, and we are stuck in a wind hole. Look, we have no wind in our sails. Will: That would be the end of all of us. Another cannonball hits the ship. Captain, what should we do? Roger: Only fools would keep fighting now. The white flag! Or do you want to start a mutiny?

Alright, up with it, we are going to surrender. Narrator: The defeat comes to everyone as a surprise. After just two hits the damage is great. De Martinet gloats. De Martinet: A wise decision captain Roger. All cannons were already aimed at this ship. Only two minutes more, and we would have sent you to the bottom of the ocean. De Martinet: T-t-the gold? Yes, of course I thought of that.

Where is it? De Martinet: Go free? But that joy I will let the governor have. Soldiers, search the ship! Narrator: The lieutenant has the pirates imprisoned below deck. Then he gives the order to make emergency repairs on the Dark Shark, and bring it to Port Royal. He himself sails ahead with the Cannonball, to deliver the great news to the governor. A few hours later he enters Fort Rasselsword filled with pride. Broadside: Do you have taken the treasure away from captain foul, do you have it? De Martinet: I have a great success to report, your honoured honour.

The Cannonball has not just captured the Dark Shark…. De Martinet: But also captured a lot of people. Captain Roger and his pirates are in our hands, sir! De Martinet: Your honour, I wanted to let you have the extraordinary joy of punishing these men for their crimes, your honourable, most honoured honour. Broadside: Now to the treasure, where is the treasure? Do you have it? Talk already. De Martinet: Yes your honour. Broadside: What? Captain Roger stole it? I was suspecting captain Foul, what a mistake. Camilla: Uncle, it would also be a mistake to punish captain Roger and his men.

Maybe the captain just wanted to return the treasure. Bosun Will is…. Narrator: Desperately Camilla tries to save the pirate for whom she has so much sympathy. It almost breaks her heart that bosun Will has to die. But her uncle is merciless. The destiny of those men has been sealed. Nothing, absolutely nothing can save them from their rightful end any more.

Would you like some of the roast, Lt. De Martine? Broadside: Bring another plate for Lt. De Martinet, the most resourceful officer that I have. De Martinet: Now that you are talking about it, may I remind you that, eh, you know? Broadside: The promotion? I will personally make sure that they will hear about your resourcefulness in the highest places.

Narrator: On the evening of this day there is a lot of excitement in Port Royal. With the speed of the wind the rumour has circulated that the Dark Shark has been captured.

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Thousands are standing on the harbour as the pirate ship finally lowers its anchor. The pirates first see the crowds as they are brought up on deck. Even though none of them are shackled they realise that there is no escape. Roger: Looks like it to me, Will.

Still, cheer up. Rummy: I have a sore throat already, captain. Will they at least give us some rum as a final wish? Roger: Yes, and your beloved Camilla has also come along. She wants so see when they stretch your neck. Will: Can you see the cigar the governor is smoking? The governor just has to get a little closer. Rummy: I would like that, most definitely. De Martinet: Governor Broadside, your brave soldiers have not just captured the dark Shark, they also succeeded at securing a valuable treasure. Here it is. Roger: Damn it, my gold! My gold! Will: Polly, stop it.

Rummy: Great, Will, he has the cigar, now tell him that he should bring it to me. Yes, yes Spinoza, over here with the cigar. Hey Will! What are you doing! You said that I would get it! The gold pieces roll out to all sides, and the people are jumping at it, they only see the gold and care for nothing else. Will: Take the gold people! Pick it up! It belongs to you! The governor stole it from you, now take it back. Will: Come on captain, tell them that you are giving them the gold, they will help us. Come on. Roger: Take the gold people; I brought it here for you!

Take it, take it all! Take what the governor has stolen! Will: Give us the order to fight back, captain. Roger: Shiver my timbers, you are right. We are heading out to sea! Roger: Yes yes yes yes, go on friends, throw them into the water!

Ziele der Reise

Rummy, the men should hoist the sails. Narrator: The pirates around captain Roger are fighting like lions. Furiously governor Broadside watches how the Dark Shark sails out to sea and disappears in the darkness. We saved our necks and embarrassed the governor beyond belief. Ho ho ho ho. Roger: Yes I have to admit that Will saved us. Although I should give him a whooping.

Ha ha ha ha ha. Will: Exactly captain, it created such a chaos, that we were able to flee. Even the soldiers were stuffing gold into their pockets. Roger: You know exactly what I mean. You would have blown up the chest while we secretly were carrying it through the town under the cover of darkness.

Will: Captain…captain, how can you think that of me? I would never do something like that. I was always just thinking of our necks. Bravo, Runamuck! I really enjoyed listening to the audio drama while reading the translation--I've waited for years for new adventures with these characters. You made my day, and I'm very much looking forward to future installments! We now know that the population of Sabatina and possibly the neighboring islands numbers in the thousands. Aber sie hatten trotz wochenlangen Suchen keine Planke von einem Piratenschiff gesehen.

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Sie konnten auftraten. Michael: Da ist ein Pferdevagen. Willst du noch lange hierbleiben, Ben? Michael: Ja schon. Ach Ben, komm sei nicht langweilig. Mmm los. Karl: Hya, Hya! Ihr seid von zuhause ausgerissen, nicht? Karl: Ha ha ha, na das ist nicht schwer zu raten. Aber keine Sorge, ich kann schweigen wie ein Grab. Habt ihr denn Geld? Schiffspassagen sind teuer. Mit dem Admiral ist nicht gut Kirschen essen, aber so sind sie, die Herren der Meere. Sobald sie das Kommando haben, tja ja ja ja. Karl: Kann ich noch nicht sagen, da muss ich noch ein bisschen um horchen. Iron Hook ist ja wieder von der Malaria erwischt worden, da bleibt er an Land.

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Da muss man wohl das erfunden haben. Sind alles ziemlich raue Kerle. Es gibt zwar auch ein paar unter ihnen die…. Karl: Langsam mein Freund, ihr werdet euch doch jetzt nicht so aus den Staub machen? Ich hab ja Kurtz zu tun, passt mal so lange auf den Wagen und die Pferde auf. Michael: Klar, machen wir. Wo wir hier wohl sind? Ich finde es ein bisschen unheimlich. Michael : Orh, die stinken vielleicht. Da sind bestimmt noch vergammelte Fische drin. Michael: Ist zu dunkel. Also Latein scheint es jedenfalls nicht zu sein.

Bestimmt kommt es von dem anderen Ende der Welt. Hier, nimm du es, ich habe ein Loch in der Tasche. Und der Kutscher ist vielleicht sogar selbst ein Pirat? Ben: Jetzt auch, diese Taverne ist ein Piratentreffpunkt. Michael: In Ordnung, aber, aber dann sind noch mehr Piraten in der Kneipe. Oh Mann, sollten wir nicht lieber verschwinden? Ben: Dann weis er dich das wir was ahnen.

Ich sehe mal nach was der Kutscher dort drinnen treibt. Michael: Em, eh, warte, ich will mit! Vor lauter Qualm kann man die Leute nicht erkennen. Karl: Was wollt ihr denn hier? Habe ich euch nicht gesagt dass ihr auf die Pferde passen sollt? Will: Allerdings, was dachtet ihr denn? Michael: Hey, guckt mal in dem Zimmer dort oben. Das sind doch diese beiden oder? Karren Karl und Narben Johnny. Michael: Klar sind sie das. Ob sie dort oben einen Piratenschatz versteckt haben?

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Michael: Jetzt ist die Lampe wieder aus. Ben: Nein Michael das tust du nicht. Wen sie dich erwische, die drehen dir den Hals um. Und bevor er ein zweites Mal versuchen konnte hielt ihm eine riesige Hand Mund und Nase zu. Dann wurde er in das dunkle Zipf gezupft. Langsam tauchte Ben aus den tiefen seiner Bewusstlosigkeit auf. Michael: Leise, schlafen kannst du ein andermal.

Es ist was passiert, erinnert du dich den nicht? Kapierst du den nicht? Mensch, wir sind geshanghaied worden. Das hier ist ein Piratenschiff, die Sea Star. Wir sind Gefangene, du musst jetzt wach werden. Michael: Ja. Erinnerst du dich an Narben Johnny, diesen Fiesling aus der Kneipe? Ben: Was? Wie lange dauert den so eine Fahrt? Michael: Ich bin schon lange wach, und habe die Ohren aufgesperrt. Aber ich habe in der Kommode eine Karte gefunden. Michael: Nein, habe ich nicht. Ich habe sie aber abgemalt. Hier auf mein Bein, man kann ja nie wissen. Michael: Die wolle dahin um reich zu werden.

Die beiden haben gesagt dass sie leicht ein Schiff voll kriegen. Ben: Aha, wie? Ein Schiff voll? Etwa Sklaven? So ein Mistkerl. Hinter uns ist die Dark Shark 2 ausgelaufen, vielleicht fischen die euch raus. Und wenn nicht, findet ihr einen sanften Tot in den Wellen, hier ziehen sie euch die Haut von Leib. Karl: Dann haben sie extra zusammen nach unten gebracht, dann kann man besser drauf aufpassen. Sind ja noch bewusstlos. Johnny: Aber du hast mir nicht gehorcht!

Lauter schlag Hattest wohl Sehnsucht nach einen kleinem tanz, was? Johnny: Da hast du ja noch mal Schwein gehabt. Bring sie an Deck. Ein paar Eimer Salzwasser sollen sogar Tote wiederaufgeweckt haben. Michael: Kommen sie mir nicht zu nahe, ich springe! Ihr Schweine! Las mich los! Du bist dann mal…Argh! Nicht so fest! Roger: Ach, beim heiligen Neptun, ruft deine Tiefseeungeheuer zusammen damit sie dieses Schiff verschlingen.

Will, kommt sofort her, Will! Beim heiligen Poseidon und seiner Gattin, der heuten Tetis. Aber Warum? Ein Kopf im Wasser, steuerbords. Sieht nach gar nicht aus. So was, mitten im Meer. Sollen wir denn nicht rausfischen, Chef? Ach so ein Trottel. Will: Ja, ich sehe aber nur eins, heute Nacht das waren zwei, Sir. Dem zeigen wir es aber, oder?

Mach mal so weiter! Hey Dick, Beiboot fertig machen zum Ablassen, Jakobsleiter ab werfen. Abschaum der Meere! Hast ihr nichts zu tun? Ab in die Wanten, barg die Segel! Har ha, nun mach mal ein bisschen hin junge, wir haben noch was anderes zu tuen. Hi ha ha ha, guck mal wie sie gegen den wind pullen, den kriegen sie nicht mehr. Ha ha ha ha. Will: Wir fischen dich raus!

Seil ab lassen. Will: Na also, rauf mit ihn. Roger: Erch, habt wir gar nicht. Das ist auf allen Piratenschiffen so. Heiliger Neptun, was ist nur aus der ehrlichen Seefahrt geworden. Wo ist denn dein Kumpel? Was werden sie mit ihm machen? Sie tun ihn doch nichts, oder? Jeder Mensch hat sein eigenes Schicksal. Will: Ja, du kannst du zu mir sagen, ich heize Will.

Ob er…. Auf der Sea Star etwa? Wies du was ich glaube? Und der Sea Star folgen? Hab sowieso noch eine Rechnung offen mit Narben Johnny, ist heute noch ein posten dazu gekommen. Kopf hock Junge! Ein bisschen Arbeit hat noch keinen geschadet. Den hatte Narben Johnny wirklich am Wickel, und lies ihn arbeiten bis zum Umfallen. Abends fiel er wie ein Stein irgendwo zwischen die Taue, und morgens taumelte er wieder zur Arbeit.

Johnny: Na endlich kommt der Sturm. Ha ha, alle Mann in die Wanten. Hol Zeug setzen! Hab schon drauf gewartet. Ha Ha Ha! Karl: Psst, Michael? Hier junge, ein bisschen Brot und Speck. Ich wecke dich dann schon. Karl: Keine Angs, ich kenne das schon, bei Sturm dreht er jedes Mal durch. Jetzt ist es so weit. Du hast es dir verdient. Die Sea Star raste noch immer aufgetakelt durch das tobende Meer.

Laut knallend zerriss ein Segel nach dem anderen und der Mast knackte bitterlich. Narben Johnny stand mit einer Rumflasche in der Hand an dem Steuerrad und lachte wie ein Wahnsinniger. Als Michael aufwachte war es totenstill. Als er das Deck betrat glaubte er auf einem Gespensterschiff zu sein. Es war so neblig dass er kaum ein paar Schritte weit sehen konnte. Schlaff hingen die zerrissenen Segel herab.

Nicht mal eine Welle schwappte an die Bordwand. Michael: Das ist mir egal, schlimmer kann es nicht werden. Roger: Trotzt Poseidon, dreimal verfluchte Flaute. Will: Und das heizt das noch ein anderes Schiff hier im Nebel liegt. Roger: Ehr, sonst gibt er dich keine Ruhe. Will: Ay ay, Sir. Los Leute, Boot wassern, Jakobsleiter abwerfen. Jimmy und Dick, ihr kommt mit. Michael: Das ist ja toll. Wo kommt ihr her? Ich heize Michael, und das ist Karl der Kutscher. Michael: Von wo kommt ihr? Thu: Mein Bruder Kotu sagt Bescheid dass wir kommen. Ihr folgen uns. Werden alle sich freuen. Will: Ich glaube wir haben ein bisschen die Orientierung verloren im Nebel.

Mehr backbord, Niels. Will: Das ist eindeutig eine Trommel, und wo eine Trommel ist sind Menschen. Wir sehen mal nach, Richtung Trommel, Dick. Mehr backbord. Ben: Es sind Insulaner, sie haben ihre schwarzen Haare mit Knochen dekoriert. In dem Boot ist der Kutscher! Der Kutscher und noch ein Blonder. Hier schon viele Schiffe waren, wie das von Narben Johnny. So, so heizen der nicht? Will: Ja, Narben Johnny. Aber nicht alle Piraten sind so wie er. Thu: Ja, es geben Unterschiede. Sie haben Kanonen und Gewehre, habt ihr die auch?

Thu: Bitte kommen. Zu uns nur die kommen die wir einladen. Will: He he, vielen Dank.

Martin Schulz

Aber, in Moment legen wir in der Flaute. Jetzt soll Narben Johnny mal den Schreck seines Lebens kriegen. Roger: Wind? Da brat mir doch einer einen Wahlfisch, Wind? Wo kommt den in dieser Nebelsuppe Wind her? Ho ho, Alle Mann in die Wanten! Setzt die Segel! Dann wollen wir mal, Will. Roger: Ans Ruder, du kennst den Kurs.

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Und bald lag die tropische Insel in strahlenden Sonnenschein vor ihnen. Die Nacht brach herein. Tausend Sterne spiegelten sich in der Lagune. Ein lauer Nachtwind raschelte in den Palmen. Sie kamen einfach aus dem Wasser. Aber nicht nur er, auch seine Leuten waren vor Schreck erstarrt. Das hat ja prima geklappt. Roger: Warum nicht, schlaue Leute diese Insulaner. Pass auf, jetzt kannst du was lernen.

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