Adventskalender 2020, 2. Fenster
Paul Zinell – Seasons
Zum Auftakt Bühne frei für den Story-Teller und Jahreskreis-Leser Paul Zinell! Herzlichen Dank für dieses köstliche Drei-Gänge-Menu!
Once upon a time came the seasons
I want to be silent
As is the land when the storm has passed
As are the first flowers in spring
The heat and thunderstorms of summer
I want to be colourful as is autumn
Loosing my leaves
I want to feel the chills of crystal clear winter nights
Watching my breath turn into fog
Getting covered by the first snow and
Appreciating the silence again
I go back to where it all began:
I give myself time
And pick one book after the other off the bookshelf.
(c) Paul Zinell
Once upon a time came the seasons
Once upon a time
There was a time
Where there was no time:
The earth had just started to exist and the sun had not yet risen over the horizon;
The world was dark and grey
All seemed the same and one
There was neither night nor day
There was no sound in the air
Not even a stone would have dared to roll
Everything seemed shattered, in pieces but whole.
The sea and the sky were both without colour or motion,
There was no difference, no love, no emotion.
The sea was desperate, she had been searching every single ocean,
Diving into places deep
But could not find anything
Not even sleep.
She was restless, tired, and looking for rest,
But it seemed an impossible quest.
There was no wind, nothing that could have brought a glimpse of hope –
It was all off slope.
Then one day the sea looked up instead of looking down
(Don’t ask me why)
And she saw the sky
And knew: here she would not drown.
The sky had been more bored than desperate
By the static air and landscape
But this glance – oh it changed fate
As the sky felt unknown feelings that he had never experienced before
He found himself at a new shore
By sheer chance and so he took her and they started to dance:
First timidly, then furiously feeling the magic
Of the given moments and movements.
And out of these movements came the wind and brought clouds in all shapes over the sky.
The sea roared with joy and waves came rushing against rock
And these waves were full of ferocity and will to flow
Dividing lands, forming islands and continents.
Out of this dance the sea and the sky made love, and the sun who had been watching them, was In awe
As she saw and felt
All those movements and the love that was unfolding.
Slowly she started to rise and bathed them in light:
The sea glittered and sparkled. All kinds of colours were in her and no words could describe all Those nuances and tones
That were to be found on her surface and in every single stone.
The sky showed his skin in orange, red and violet.
So much beauty was present in this very moment, that both of them trembled and shook
And out of this love the sea gave birth to four sons:
It was the seasons.
Four they were and they walked the lands
Leaving their traces in many places.
One was lively, a wakening spirit full of joy and growth,
Accompanied by a breeze
That brought some long-forgotten ease.
One was hot, full of temper, bringing warmth and fertility, long days, raging thunderstorms, love And pains, and heavy rains. Extremes were touched, feasts released until the heat slowly ceased.
One was calm and clear, full of colours and change, making leaves dance, thereby dressing the Lands
First in colours, then in mist and frost.
Clouds moved fast in the sky, transience and the beauty of a moment were always kept close by.
The last one was fierce and grim, covering his traces in silence, freezing lakes and making Snowflakes fall, after the fall, trees were moaning under his loads and desperately moving longing For relief. He awakened inner strength and belief,
Because long were his shadows and short his days; but in this way he made one appreciate every Single sunray.
In some parts of the world all of them went
In others just one or two
Came to feel the soil and the sand.
But everywhere they went
They brought change, hope, joy and grief,
Expectations, food, hunger, challenges and awakenings,
Love, forgiveness and transience
To the world and its inhabitants ever since…
(c) Paul Zinell
Paul Zinell, ein Osttiroler, der in Bologna und in Graz Rechtswissenschaften und Kunst studierte, lebt und schreibt zwischen Bergen und Hügeln. Darüber hinaus spielt er gerne Theater und hält Workshops an Schulen und Einrichtungen.
Bild: Linda Steiner
Die Kurzgeschichte »Teaching Birds to Talk« von unserem Autor David Newby ist in deutscher Übersetzung in der Literaturzeitschrift LICHTUNGEN erschienen.
»Was bleibt eigentlich übrig, als Ergebnis von drei bis vier Jahrzehnten?« Ein Auszug aus den Memoiren Georg Klingenbergs.
Es gibt Tage, die gewaltig sind, und die Jahre des Grübelns nach sich ziehen. Text: Jim Palmenstein. Gelesen von Paul Klingenberg und Laura Schuler.
Sooft sie, und vor allem in der Vorweihnachtszeit, beschworen wird, ist sie nicht anwesend: die Stille. Inge Bieregger erinnert an ihren Klang.
»Alles in dieser Welt hat einen Anfang und ein Ende. […] Nur der Krieg hat zwar ebenfalls einen Anfang, aber kein Ende.«
Zum vierten Advent präsentieren wir das Klavierstück »Centuries« von Wolfgang von Dechend.