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MGV ‘Liederkranz’ Kappel: What’s up in July 2014?

Image                     THAT WAS YESTERDAY..

                                     Image

                                            AND THIS IS THE MGV-KAPPEL TODAY…                  

11. Juli 2014: Eingemeindungsjubiläum um 18 Uhr in der Mehrzweckhalle-Kappel. In Sängeruniform antreten.

Literatur: Lesung um 20 Uhr in der Gemeindeheim-Kappel.

Veranstalter: KKV-Kappel.

Moderator: Ernst Ehemann.

Autoren: Hildegard Schaufelberger, Satis Shroff und Herr Reichert.

 

26. Juli 2014: MGV Projektchor Konzert um 20 Uhr in der Kapplerhalle. mgv-kImageappel.de

 

 

MGV ‘Liederkranz’ Kappel: What’s up in June 2014?(Image

 

Men’s choir concert, Freiburg-Kappel, last Summer. It was great fun to sing all those German hits, English Pop etc. This kid’s Dad was also singing. Welcome to Kappel on the 26th of July 2014 to our Project Concert 2014. 

Herzlichen Glückwunsch an Geburtstagskinder Walter Fuß und Franz Wießler.

1. Sa. 31. Mai 2014: Edgar Huber wurde 85 und wir haben gesungen bei Ihm zu Hause. Danach sind wir zu einem kleinen Fest eingeladen worden. Edgar hat gestrahlt.

 

  1. 2.Juni 2014: Endgültigen Programm ablauf von Kappler Juliläum am 30.Juli 2014 in der Sitzungssaal des Rathauses.

 

  1. 3.Juni 2014: Gemeindeheimgespräch wegen der MGV-Fahne um 20 Uhr. Erste Gesprächstermin hat schon am 28. Mai 2014 stattgefunden. Ergebnis noch ungewiß. Im Eingangsbereich möglicherweise.

 

  1. 7.Juni 2014: Jahreshauptversammlung von Sportverein Kappel ist verschoben auf 27.6.2014.

  2. 19. Juni 2014: Fronleichnam Prozession von kathol. Pfarrgemeinde um 8:30 Uhr.

 

  1. 21 Juni 2014: Einladung zum Richtfest der Stollenhütte Kappel um 14 Uhr.

                           Herr Ruf Meinrad, 75, feierte sein Geburtstag. Gratulation.

 

  1. 23. Juni 2014: 85. Geburtstag von Hans Ganter. Herzlich eingeladen, gesungen, danach Imbiss mit Getränke. Schöne Gartenambiente.

 

  1. 28. Juni 2014: Probetag von 10-14 Uhr. Danach Wanderung in Richtung Pfeifferberg. Kaffe und Kuchen. Bitte wer kann soll Kuchen backen und mitbringen.

20:00 Uhr Generalversammlung von Sportverein Kappel. Ort: Sportheim Kappel.

 

  1. 29.Juni 2014: Patrozinium um 9:30 Pfarrgemeindehaus.

 

  1. 30 Juni 2014: MGV-Vorstandssitzung um 19:30 bei Linders

 

 

Savvy New Project Choir Songs?

 

Geboren um zu leben (Rock Ballade:Heinrich Graf)

Wenn ich mal alt bin (When I’m sixty-four) Lennon/McCartney, German text: Westerhagen

Zieh einen Korken raus (Stimmungslied: Anton Gus)

Que sera,sera (Wiegender Walzer: Jay Livingston, Ray Edwards)

An Tagen wie diesen (Die Toten Hosen)

MGV-Kappel: What’s UP? (Satis Shroff)

 

The Soccer Battlefield (Satis Shroff)

 

Soccer is a battlefield of nations,

A krieg of ethnic groups from the globe.

A place where people become tolerant and peaceful,

But when a title and a trophy are at stake.

The basic instinct takes command,

Men go wild.

 

The team is a tribe with warriors,

Who slog for the benefit of the whole.

Sometimes there are fighters

Who can route the opponents alone,

With stamina, power and strong will.

 

When a team loses it releases tears of loss, shame and hopelessness.

If a team wins there’s euphoria in the air,

Charged with adrenalin, oxytocin and endorphine,

Surging in bloodstream,

Happiness knows no bounds.

The measuring of muscles, strength and ingenuity

Of the contestants.

In the arena men become lions

In archaic moments of victory,

And are in reality gladiators

Who raise their limbs in heroic poses,

Jeering at the emotional masses,

Parade their gleaming sweaty torsos,

Remove their monochrome tricots,

And throw them to the eager fans.

 

Ah, this moment of triumph,

When the thumbs of the spectators go up,

Amid ecstatic shrieks of glee.

The winner takes it all at this crucial moment.

The trainer with the wrinkled, tormented face,

Takes it as a compliment,

When his strategy wins.

The Netherlands overruns Spain’s defences,

Undermining its tiki-taka tactics.

The Teutons say ‘the ball is round,’

Meaning you never know where it’ll land.

Great football nations thus take their hats,

Dazed, out-dribbled and knocked out,

Against the fantasy-rich legwork of dwarf nations.

 

Soccer,

A military game,

Where the job is to field the right elite fighters,

To combat the bulwarks and systems of the antagonists,

For a hunt for a ball in the jungle of extremities,

With a subjective hawk-eyed whistle-blower,

Who sees, misjudges and does not pipe,

For the hidden elbow-checks, blows and kicks,

On the anatomy of the opponents go unseen.

 

What counts is whether the ball was inside the goal or not,

Captured frozen, digital images:

Goal or no goal.

If it’s a goal the brain gives a command to the body:

Rejoice!

 

A club game is a small affair,

But a world championship is a national happening,

With coloured flags, war-paint on the faces,

National hymns and rhythms.

Nationalism dominates.

The German commentator speaks

Of ‘sugar-hut’ when he means Brazilians.

The British press writes:’German panzer stopped.’

Italy is out and Les Blues wins a game.

 

A war by proxy,

Not in the killing fields of Verdun and Stalingrad,

But in soccer stadiums in South America.

United we stand, divided we fall,

Has been internalised in the microglia of the brain.

The soccer clubs import these very world players,

But Soares fights for his country today.

It’s war, competition, performance,

Whereby the best team wins,

Ready to take risks,

Play the game

In fighting spirit.

Casualties are a part of the game,

For you’ve been licking the wounds of the last battle.

 

Between dribbling Rio has diverted public money

For soccer tournaments.

Lula da Silva’s fame is soured by scandals,

Transport, health and education have been lagging.

It’s a Burridan’s choice between domestic needs

And foreign luxury.

Yellow cards make the rounds,

With the blessing of Amnesty International,

To wage a war against the violence of the soccer state.

Violence against humans,

Structural and economic violence,

Not to speak of the dead,

At the hands of the police,

Your friend and helper.

The Brazilians under the poverty-line,

Pay dearly for the world cup.

North Sea Lyrik: SPRINGTIME IN SYLT (Satis Shroff)

 

Sylt at Dawn (Satis Shroff)

 

You hear the waves

As they splash onto the shore.

You haven’t opened your eyey,

But you discern the cries of sea gulls,

As you slowly let the sunlight

Into your eyes.

 

Ah, the reassuring rays caress your face,

As you proceed to the balcony,

Stretch yourself

And let out cha-cha-cha,

Pa-pa-pa sounds between your teeth,

That you’ve learned

While singing in your choir.

 

A seagull with a fish in its beak

Flutters by.

All white and airborne,

Twinkling on a blue sky.

Out in the horizon,

A turquoise blue trawler chugs by.

 

 

 

Habitat for Wild (Satis Shroff)

 

The flora and fauna

have a hard time

In winter.

 

The white mantle

Of snow covers

The branches, buds and barks.

 

The owl loves winter

As it takes in all

Beings that move,

With its keen sight.

 

The woodpecker knows

Where the larvae and insects

Are hiding.

 

It’s Spring,

The landscape gardeners

Have chopped all the trees.

Now the spur is bare,

No more can I see

The deer that came

To greet me,

To chill in the peace

Of the undergrowth,

And partake

Of the wild elderberries.

 

Man needs new dwellings again,

Alas, the habitat shrinks some more.

When the deer eat vegetables

In Frau Sumser’s garden,

She cries,

‘Inform the official hunter.

They have to be shot.’

 

The deer are unwelcome guests

In her precious garden.

Now and then

A russet fox,

With a bushy tail,

Comes stealthily by.

 

Hope the hunter doesn’t get a hint.

His duty is to keep wild away,

From human domiclies.

If he doesn’t shoot,

He’s a bad hunter.

If he does,

He’s a bad guy.

 

And so the habitat dwindles,

For the wild.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lost Friendships (Satis Shroff)

 

When old friends

Go asunder,

What remains

Are memories,

Of moments

In tranquillity.

 

When world tremble

And words shiver,

When lips vibrate

And nothing comes out

Of your larynx.

 

Just the uneasy

Breath from your nostrils.

The silence and solitude

That prevails,

When friendships

Have lost their meanings.

 

Encounters,

Wiedersehen,

Become embarassing.

And words become superfluous.

The old wounds bleed again,

Causing pain,

That come like sea waves,

Incessantly,

Stab and go.

 

* * *

 

 

Time and Tide (Satis Shroff)

 

It’s early in the morning,

On a cold wintry day.

The horizon,

A crimson and orange haze.

 

The sea looks blue, far away,

But a muddy brown near you.

A solitary figure in a black overcoat,

Throat wrapped with a long muffler,

Stands like a black storch,

Staring at the sand below his feet.

 

Is he watching

The crustaceans,

Creeping on the shore?

Or is he thinking about a friendship?

Suddenly the frothy white waves

Drench his feet.

Too late.

Time and tide

Don’t wait for your thoughts.

He walks on,

With furtive glances

Thrown at the sea.

 

* * *

 

Sea Shells on the Shore (Satis Shroff)

 

How beautiful life is,

With you

And me.

Like little children,

Gathering lovely sedimentary stones,

Washed and chiselled by time,

And by the waves

In the North Sea.

 

Cockels and mussels in their unique

Facets and colours,

Caught between dark sea weeds,

Trapped between the man-made Buhnes,

Far from the dunes.

 

Alas, the fascinating life forms

That lived inside the carbonate

Mussels and shells,

Have long lost their homes;

Either eaten by the gulls

Or other winged fishers.

 

What remains are the crushed

Cockels and shells

Of salt water mollusc,

When human boots tread on them.

And children and grown ups

Collect them.

Conversation pieces,

In afternoons with coffe, cakes and scones.

‘Look what I found on the shore!’

 

* * *

 

Spring on the Sea (Satis Shroff)

 

The birds twitter,

The sun shines.

The crocuses are everywhere,

Upon well-laid lawns.

 

You can smell Spring,

When it gets warm.

The wet air climbs up

And with it the scents

Of grass and spring flowers,

Dancing gaily in the North Sea wind.

 

You bend down often,

While walking along the beach,

To admire a strand snail or a dead sea horse,

Heart mussels, American sword mussels,

Oysters or sea urchins,

Shells with chunks and fissures.

 

The silver seagulls flying low,

With long wings spread,

Argus eyes foraging for food.

Geese searching for mollusc morsels

In the sandy dunes.

 

Now and then you see

The black oyster fishers,

White tailed bearing wing stripes,

Dive in the green-bluish water,

Swooping down like kamikazi planes,

With breathless precision.

Out they come from the sea

With fidgety fishes

Between their sharp, orange beaks.

 

They’re experienced

At cracking stubborn mulluscs,

Till the adductors give way.

The gulls known as Lachmöwe,

Search for edibles in garbage depots,

And even behind ploughing tractors.

 

* * *

 

The Canvas of Nature (Satis Shroff)

 

The colours on the canvas of Nature melt:

Blue skies,

Yellow fields,

The grey of the wintry waves,

When the sunlight is hidden,

Behind a veil of fog.

 

You’re overwhelmed

By your feelings,

Moments of euphoria,

Streams of consciousness

In the melancholic North Sea environs.

 

Intimate, gleeful moments,

When you see a big orange crab,

Stranded on the beach.

Entangled in dark sea weed,

Or Seetang as we call it in German.

 

The next big waves arrive,

With short intervals,

Sweep over the stones and sea shells on the beach.

The crab has disappeared,

Claimed by the sea.

What a delight.

 

A seagull lies on the shore,

Amid the flotsam and jetsam,

Blown by the last storm,

In List to the north of Sylt.

 

Another seagull circles the prey

From the sky,

Comes down and perches near the dead gull,

Picks and pulls its entrails.

 

To think that life began,

In the primordeal ocean.

The relationship between humans

And the sea,

When man began to venture,

Towards the unknown.

 

Fired by the desire

To search for the unknown,

Limits of the peaks and seas,

With bigger and bigger boats and ships,

The ear of colonialism began.

 

But such voyages had to be backed

With money and things it can buy,

By rulers who smelt and wanted more

Riches and spices from the Indies,

West or East.

 

* * *

 

Tale of Destruction (Satis Shroff)

 

Tell the tale you clouds and gulls,

Despite the happiness and hope,

Spread by the sunlight

In early Spring.

 

Tell your tale of destruction

Carried by the gales and storms,

That bore names.

 

The wooden stairs and platforms

Lie now strewn upon the shore,

Blown to smitherens.

Plastic products everywhere,

Among a people that care.

A water desert,

That has been left behind,

As a warning,

Till the next big gale.

 

* * *

 

The Golden Sun (Satis Shroff)

 

Through the cloudy veil

Appears the golden sun,

Changing the silvery North Sea

To a golden and crimson horizon.

The waves adorned with rich teints

Of yellow, orange blue and brown hues.

 

A fascinating play of colours,

Unfolding before your eyes.

Even the man-made Buhnen glow.

As you trudge on the beach sand,

To avoid wetting your shows,

By the ever coming frothy waves,

As they peter out near you.

 

You’re thankful for everything

That you’ve been given or attained

In lifespan.

Like a moment of revelation,

An epipiphany,

Or when you’ve had a near-death experience.

 

Thankful for who and what you are,

Towards your parents, teachers and mentors,

Who’ve moved you towards your goal.

In this spectacular theatre called life.

Ah, when Heaven and Earth unite,

The air, land and water.

 

Chandrama the moon appears

Like a sickle in the vast blue sky,

Bidding farewell to Surya,

The Sun God,

Who has metamorphosed into Agni,

The fiery Goddess that swallows all,

With her purifying flames.

This is the revelation of an epiphany,

A spectacle bathed in scarlet,

Orange, yellow, greenish-blue light.

 

Ah, how must it have been,

When the world was created?

 

* * *

 

The North Sea (Satis Shroff)

 

The sea fascinates the artist in you,

It’s dramatic setting,

With its ceaseless waves.

 

Strong winds are pushing

Curly clouds in the vast sky,

The heavy waves roll,

In the bluish-grey seascape,

Emitting a long line of spray,

Above the white froth.

 

* * *

 

A Hymn to the Splendour (Satis Shroff)

 

The sea is calm and a fair moon

Stealthily appears in the sky,

Behind the northern clouds.

 

The red cliff of Kampen glimmers

Under the light of the dying sun.

And the waves take on yellow, orange, scarlet hues.

The tides still roar decently,

Cease, recede, only to come again.

 

A sweet Frisian nocturnal air,

Mingles with the smell of salt and fish,

Gets whipped up by the wind.

 

The golden light hangs,

Like a hymn to the splendour

Of this world.

 

* * *

 

The Ebb and Flow of Refugees (Satis Shroff)

 

The waves shimmer like silvery fishes,

The sand is bleached by the moonlight,

As you walk holding hands,

Barefeet along the shore.

 

The waves have left pebbles,

Sea shells, sea weed and crustaceans,

Flotsam and jetsam,

On the sea shore.

 

And the ebb and flow of refugees,

In the distance of the Mediterranean Sea,

Who’ve struggled in their countries,

But were obliged to flee

From their human foes.

 

Taken to the open sea,

Which remains full of dangers,

Whimsical and unpredictable.

The longing for European shores,

Where milk and honey flow.

 

A forlorn hope that ends,

For many in the bottom of the sea.

 

* * *

 

Invisible Threshold (Satis Shroff)

 

Did I boast of fleeting things,

Of illusions in these earthly confines?

How vain we are,

When we don’t realise,

That our very existence

Is an earthly maya.

 

Intangible shadows we grasp with our hands,

When we know we have to leave

For our eternal home.

When we cross the invisible threshold,

We don’t need visas and passports,

Green and blue cards.

As we wander through the twilight

Sans bodies,

To be one with the cosmos.

 

* * *

 

A Magical Moment (Satis Shroff)

 

The North Sea grey-green in the from afar,

Gets frothy as the waves approach the shore.

The splendour of coloured clouds covering the immense sky.

It’s inspired fear to mortals,

It’s a revelation to those with hearts,

As seagulls glide over the horizon,

To land near the red cliff of Sylt.

A magical moment of forlornness,

Amid the beauty and vastness,

Of the sky and the waves.

 

As the glowing ball call the sun sinks,

It radiates sparkling hues,

Across the sky and waves.

The royal blue of the sky,

Is reflected upon the sea.

In the higher reaches,

It mellows to a brilliant yellow and orange,

As the fiery sun becomes scarlet.

 

* * *

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOP 2014 (Satis Shroff) 

 

WELCOME to Creative Writing at the Freiburger Writing Center (Schreibzentrum PH-Freiburg). Satis Shroff is a published writer, and if you’re interested in Creative Writing he will be guiding you in your writings. We can’t offer you credit-points for your writing but if you write for fun and want to take your writing forward then just come along and give it a try. Satis Shroff is an experienced lecturer, poet and writer and the published author of five books. You can read his books on http://www.Lulu.com/spotlight/satisle.

 

 Satis Shroff describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Since literature is one of the most important means of cross-cultural learning, he is dedicated to promoting and creating awareness for Creative Writing and transcultural togetherness in his writings, and in preserving an attitude of Miteinander in this world. He lectures in Basle (Switzerland) and in Germany at the Academy for Medical Professions (University Klinikum Freiburg) and the VHS-Freiburg and VHS-Dreisamtal. He has worked as a Lehrbeauftragter for Creative Writing and Scientific English at the Uni Freiburg, and now at the PH.

 

Die Termine sind am: Montag, 12. Mai 2014 (von 18 Uhr bis 21 Uhr), Montag, 2. Juni, 2014 (18.00 bis 21 Uhr) und Montag, 7. Juli 7, 2014 (18.00 bis 21 Uhr).  

 

Creative Writing Workshop (Englisch): Öffnungszeiten: Mo 12-16, Di 14-16, Do 10-14 Uhr , (Telefon: 0761-682-191)  

 

Verbindliche Anmeldung unter: info@schreibzentrum-freiburg.de Gerd Bräuer PhD, braeuer@ph-freiburg.de Satis Shroff: satisle@myway.com What others have said about the author: Satis Shroff writes with intelligence, wit and grace. (Bruce Dobler, Associate Professor in Creative Writing MFA, University of Iowa). 

 

 ‘The manner in which Satis Shroff writes takes the reader right along with him. Extremely vivid and just enough and the irony of the music. Beautiful prosaic thought and astounding writing.  ‘Your muscles flex, the nerves flatter, the heart gallops, As you feel how puny you are, Among all those incessant and powerful waves.’

 “Satis Shroff’s writing is refined – pure undistilled.” (Susan Marie,Journalist & Writer, http://www.Gather.com)

 

  “I was extremely delighted with Satis Shroff’s work. Many people write poetry for years and never obtain the level of artistry that is present in his work. He is an elite poet with an undying passion for poetry.” Nigel Hillary, Publisher, Poetry Division – Noble House U.K.

 

 Copyright © 2014, Satis Shroff (Freiburg). You may republish this article online provided you keep the byline, the authors’ note, and the active hyperlinks. ———————————————————————————————————– COMMUNICATION 

 Module: Creative Writing: Poems, Short-stories, Microstories Lecturer: Satish Shroff, B.Sc. (Zoology, Botany), Dipl. Social Sciences, Creative Writing Uni Freiburg and Manchester (UK), writer, poet, journalist and artist. Max. students: 

 

20 ECTS Points: none

 

 Ziel: The aim of this course is to develop and improve language creativity in English, learn successful writing habits, work on one’s creative impulse, learn basic writing techniques, and develop an idea factory, improve writing skills and try different genres. Whether it’s poetry, short-stories, microstories, fiction or non-fiction, you have to learn the precise use of language and that’s where Creative Writing comes in. If you’ve always wanted to write an anthology or a book, then join us in an atmosphere of mutual respect, tolerance, cooperation and fun in writing. Creative Writing leads to the critical appreciation of literary works and through it you learn to be a critical writer and a demanding reader. It offers a challenge to the mythology of a writer as a ‘genius.’ The idea of a Creative Writing course, seminar or workshop is nothing new, for writers and poets have in the past such as Lord Byron and Mary Shelley and her husband PB Shelley and Goethe and Schiller have always worked together. It was Ezra Pound who advised TS Eliot to rewrite The Waste Land. I like George Bernard Shaw’s advice: ‘If you do not write for publication, there is little point to writing at all.’  

 

Public Reading: At the end of the course you will get the opportunity to have your submissions (poems, microstories, short-stories printed in an anthology in the internet, if and when, you give your consent. I think it’s fun to share your creative works. There will also be a public reading with Annette Pehnt’s students (German Literature) who will be doing Kreatives Schreiben in a parallel course in German.  

 

Inhalt: Every student has to write when he or she studies at the university. In this course we do the basics of writing techniques which can be used for poetry, fiction, non-fiction and short-story and microstory writing. 1 . Microstories (flash fiction, prose poems) 2. A Cross-pollination of Forms (Imagery, Inspiration, Poetry) 3. The Interview 2 4. How to gather stories: Notebooks, Journals, Mining Memory 5. Variety in Your Writing 6. Fiction Techniques in Non-fiction Writing 7. Dialogue and Plot 8. Writing the Short Story  

 

Zu erbringende Leistungen: Active participation throughout the course, writing classwork and homework submissions,writing exercises during the extended weekend courses,The writing workshop at the PH-Schreibzentrum is open for non-PH people as well. A one-time fee of 10 euros has to be paid for the entire series of workshops.  

 

Bemerkungen: Knowledge of English literature welcome but not a necessity. Students from all PH faculties and non-PH faculties (University students, Fachhochschule,FH) and scribblers from all walks of life are welcome. Curious? Just drop in at the Schreibzentrum. Die Angebote des Schreibzentrums sind für die Studierenden der PH Freiburg kostenfrei. Alle anderen Nutzer/innen der Creative Writing Workshop bezahlen 10. Die Bezahlung erfolgt bar und gegen Quittung im Schreibzentrum.

 

Sylt at Dawn (Satis Shroff)

 

You hear the waves

As they splash onto the shore.

You haven’t opened your eyey,

But you discern the cries of sea gulls,

As you slowly let the sunlight

Into your eyes.

 

Ah, the reassuring rays caress your face,

As you proceed to the balcony,

Stretch yourself

And let out cha-cha-cha,

Pa-pa-pa sounds between your teeth,

That you’ve learned

While singing in your choir.

 

A seagull with a fish in its beak

Flutters by.

All white and airborne,

Twinkling on a blue sky.

Out in the horizon,

A turquoise blue trawler chugs by.

 

Habitat for Wild (Satis Shroff)

 

The flora and fauna

have a hard time

In winter.

 

The white mantle

Of snow covers

The branches, buds and barks.

 

The owl loves winter

As it takes in all

Beings that move,

With its keen sight.

 

The woodpecker knows

Where the larvae and insects

Are hiding.

 

It’s Spring,

The landscape gardeners

Have chopped all the trees.

Now the spur is bare,

No more can I see

The deer that came

To greet me,

To chill in the peace

Of the undergrowth,

And partake

Of the wild elderberries.

 

Man needs new dwellings again,

Alas, the habitat shrinks some more.

When the deer eat vegetables

In Frau Sumser’s garden,

She cries,

‘Inform the official hunter.

They have to be shot.’

 

The deer are unwelcome guests

In her precious garden.

Now and then

A russet fox,

With a bushy tail,

Comes stealthily by.

 

Hope the hunter doesn’t get a hint.

His duty is to keep wild away,

From human domiclies.

If he doesn’t shoot,

He’s a bad hunter.

If he does,

He’s a bad guy.

 

And so the habitat dwindles,

For the wild.

 

* * *

 

Lost Friendships (Satis Shroff)

 

When old friends

Go asunder,

What remains

Are memories,

Of moments

In tranquillity.

 

When world tremble

And words shiver,

When lips vibrate

And nothing comes out

Of your larynx.

 

Just the uneasy

Breath from your nostrils.

The silence and solitude

That prevails,

When friendships

Have lost their meanings.

 

Encounters,

Wiedersehen,

Become embarassing.

And words become superfluous.

The old wounds bleed again,

Causing pain,

That come like sea waves,

Incessantly,

Stab and go.

 

* * *

 

Time and Tide (Satis Shroff)

 

It’s early in the morning,

On a cold wintry day.

The horizon,

A crimson and orange haze.

 

The sea looks blue, far away,

But a muddy brown near you.

A solitary figure in a black overcoat,

Throat wrapped with a long muffler,

Stands like a black storch,

Staring at the sand below his feet.

 

Is he watching

The crustaceans,

Creeping on the shore?

Or is he thinking about a friendship?

Suddenly the frothy white waves

Drench his feet.

Too late.

Time and tide

Don’t wait for your thoughts.

He walks on,

With furtive glances

Thrown at the sea.

 

* * *

 

Sea Shells on the Shore (Satis Shroff)

 

How beautiful life is,

With you

And me.

Like little children,

Gathering lovely sedimentary stones,

Washed and chiselled by time,

And by the waves

In the North Sea.

 

Cockels and mussels in their unique

Facets and colours,

Caught between dark sea weeds,

Trapped between the man-made Buhnes,

Far from the dunes.

 

Alas, the fascinating life forms

That lived inside the carbonate

Mussels and shells,

Have long lost their homes;

Either eaten by the gulls

Or other winged fishers.

 

What remains are the crushed

Cockels and shells

Of salt water mollusc,

When human boots tread on them.

And children and grown ups

Collect them.

Conversation pieces,

In afternoons with coffe, cakes and scones.

‘Look what I found on the shore!’

 

* * *

 

Spring on the Sea (Satis Shroff)

 

The birds twitter,

The sun shines.

The crocuses are everywhere,

Upon well-laid lawns.

 

You can smell Spring,

When it gets warm.

The wet air climbs up

And with it the scents

Of grass and spring flowers,

Dancing gaily in the North Sea wind.

 

You bend down often,

While walking along the beach,

To admire a strand snail or a dead sea horse,

Heart mussels, American sword mussels,

Oysters or sea urchins,

Shells with chunks and fissures.

 

The silver seagulls flying low,

With long wings spread,

Argus eyes foraging for food.

Geese searching for mollusc morsels

In the sandy dunes.

 

Now and then you see

The black oyster fishers,

White tailed bearing wing stripes,

Dive in the green-bluish water,

Swooping down like kamikazi planes,

With breathless precision.

Out they come from the sea

With fidgety fishes

Between their sharp, orange beaks.

 

They’re experienced

At cracking stubborn mulluscs,

Till the adductors give way.

The gulls known as Lachmöwe,

Search for edibles in garbage depots,

And even behind ploughing tractors.

 

* * *

 

The Canvas of Nature (Satis Shroff)

 

The colours on the canvas of Nature melt:

Blue skies,

Yellow fields,

The grey of the wintry waves,

When the sunlight is hidden,

Behind a veil of fog.

 

You’re overwhelmed

By your feelings,

Moments of euphoria,

Streams of consciousness

In the melancholic North Sea environs.

 

Intimate, gleeful moments,

When you see a big orange crab,

Stranded on the beach.

Entangled in dark sea weed,

Or Seetang as we call it in German.

 

The next big waves arrive,

With short intervals,

Sweep over the stones and sea shells on the beach.

The crab has disappeared,

Claimed by the sea.

What a delight.

 

A seagull lies on the shore,

Amid the flotsam and jetsam,

Blown by the last storm,

In List to the north of Sylt.

 

Another seagull circles the prey

From the sky,

Comes down and perches near the dead gull,

Picks and pulls its entrails.

 

To think that life began,

In the primordeal ocean.

The relationship between humans

And the sea,

When man began to venture,

Towards the unknown.

 

Fired by the desire

To search for the unknown,

Limits of the peaks and seas,

With bigger and bigger boats and ships,

The ear of colonialism began.

 

But such voyages had to be backed

With money and things it can buy,

By rulers who smelt and wanted more

Riches and spices from the Indies,

West or East.

 

* * *

 

Tale of Destruction (Satis Shroff)

 

Tell the tale you clouds and gulls,

Despite the happiness and hope,

Spread by the sunlight

In early Spring.

 

Tell your tale of destruction

Carried by the gales and storms,

That bore names.

 

The wooden stairs and platforms

Lie now strewn upon the shore,

Blown to smitherens.

Plastic products everywhere,

Among a people that care.

A water desert,

That has been left behind,

As a warning,

Till the next big gale.

 

* * *

 

The Golden Sun (Satis Shroff)

 

Through the cloudy veil

Appears the golden sun,

Changing the silvery North Sea

To a golden and crimson horizon.

The waves adorned with rich teints

Of yellow, orange blue and brown hues.

 

A fascinating play of colours,

Unfolding before your eyes.

Even the man-made Buhnen glow.

As you trudge on the beach sand,

To avoid wetting your shows,

By the ever coming frothy waves,

As they peter out near you.

 

You’re thankful for everything

That you’ve been given or attained

In lifespan.

Like a moment of revelation,

An epipiphany,

Or when you’ve had a near-death experience.

 

Thankful for who and what you are,

Towards your parents, teachers and mentors,

Who’ve moved you towards your goal.

In this spectacular theatre called life.

Ah, when Heaven and Earth unite,

The air, land and water.

 

Chandrama the moon appears

Like a sickle in the vast blue sky,

Bidding farewell to Surya,

The Sun God,

Who has metamorphosed into Agni,

The fiery Goddess that swallows all,

With her purifying flames.

This is the revelation of an epiphany,

A spectacle bathed in scarlet,

Orange, yellow, greenish-blue light.

 

Ah, how must it have been,

When the world was created?

 

* * *

 

The North Sea (Satis Shroff)

 

The sea fascinates the artist in you,

It’s dramatic setting,

With its ceaseless waves.

 

Strong winds are pushing

Curly clouds in the vast sky,

The heavy waves roll,

In the bluish-grey seascape,

Emitting a long line of spray,

Above the white froth.

 

* * *

 

A Hymn to the Splendour (Satis Shroff)

 

The sea is calm and a fair moon

Stealthily appears in the sky,

Behind the northern clouds.

 

The red cliff of kampen glimmers

Under the light of the dying sun.

And the waves take on yellow, orange, scarlet hues.

The tides still roar decently,

Cease, recede, only to come again.

 

A sweet Frisian nocturnal air,

Mingles with the smell of salt and fish,

Gets whipped up by the wind.

 

The golden light hangs,

Like a hymn to the splendour

Of this world.

 

* * *

 

The Ebb and Flow of Refugees (Satis Shroff)

 

The waves shimmer like silvery fishes,

The sand is bleached by the moonlight,

As you walk holding hands,

Barefeet along the shore.

 

The waves have left pebbles,

Sea shells, sea weed and crustaceans,

Flotsam and jetsam,

On the sea shore.

 

And the ebb and flow of refugees,

In the distance of the Mediterranean Sea,

Who’ve struggled in their countries,

But were obliged to flee

From their human foes.

 

Taken to the open sea,

Which remains full of dangers,

Whimsical and unpredictable.

The longing for European shores,

Where milk and honey flow.

 

A forlorn hope that ends,

For many in the bottom of the sea.

 

* * *

 

Invisible Threshold (Satis Shroff)

 

Did I boast of fleeting things,

Of illusions in these earthly confines?

How vain we are,

When we don’t realise,

That our very existence

Is an earthly maya.

 

Intangible shadows we grasp with our hands,

When we know we have to leave

For our eternal home.

When we cross the invisible threshold,

We don’t need visas and passports,

Green and blue cards.

As we wander through the twilight

Sans bodies,

To be one with the cosmos.

 

* * *

 

A Magical Moment (Satis Shroff)

 

The North Sea grey-green in the from afar,

Gets frothy as the waves approach the shore.

The splendour of coloured clouds covering the immense sky.

It’s inspired fear to mortals,

It’s a revelation to those with hearts,

As seagulls glide over the horizon,

To land near the red cliff of Sylt.

A magical moment of forlornness,

Amid the beauty and vastness,

Of the sky and the waves.

 

As the glowing ball call the sun sinks,

It radiates sparkling hues,

Across the sky and waves.

The royal blue of the sky,

Is reflected upon the sea.

In the higher reaches,

It mellows to a brilliant yellow and orange,

As the fiery sun becomes scarlet.

 

* * *

 

 

Freiburger Creative Writing Workshop mit Satish Shroff 2014

 

Satis Shroff leitet den Freiburger englischen Creative Writing Workshop in das Schreibzentrum der PH-Freiburg for PH-Studentinnen und nicht-PH Leute die Interesse haben Mikrogeschichten, Kurzgeschichten, Stream-of-Consciousness zu schreiben, wie einst James Joyce und Virginia Woolf, Gedichte usw. Die zu erbringende Leistungen sind: aktive Partizipation während der Workshop, Klassenübungen und Schreibhausaufgaben. Alle studentische und Leute die Lust am Schreiben haben sind Willkommen. Der Workshop findet in der PH-Schreibzentrum statt. Ein einmaliges Gebühr von 10 Euro wird von Ihnen verlangt für das ganze Workshop.

Erkenntnis von englische Literatur ist Willkommen aber nicht erzwingend. Studenten von alle PH Fakultäten und Nicht-PH Leute sind Willkommen.

Die Termine sind am:

Montag, 2. Juni, 2014 (18.00 bis 21 Uhr) und

Montag, 7. Juli , 2014 (18.00 bis 21 Uhr).

 

Public Reading: At the end of the semester there will be a public reading with Satis Shroff and Annette Pehnt’s students of Creative Writing in English and German respectively. The date for the public reading will be announced in due time.

 

 

Satis Shroff lebt in Freiburg (poems, fiction, non-fiction). Er hat Zoologie und Botanik in Nepal (Tribhuvan University), Sozialarbeit (FH) und Medizin (Uni) in Freiburg studiert. Creative Writing hat er in Freiburg unter Professor Bruce Dobler (Uni Freiburg) und Manchester (UK) gelernt. Da Literatur eine der wichtigsten Wege ist, um die Kulturen kennenzulernen, hat er sein Leben dem Kreatives Schreiben gewidmet. Er arbeitete früher als Dozent in Basel (Schweiz) und jetzt in Freiburg an der Akademie für medizinische Berufe (Uniklinik Freiburg) und VHS-Freiburg und VHS-Dreisamtal. Er hat auch an der Freiburger Uni Creative Writing gelehrt. Ihm wurde der DAAD-Preis verliehen und andere Preise für sein Soziales Engagement.

 

Creative Writing Workshop (Englisch):

Öffnungszeiten: Mo 12-16, Di 14-16, Do 10-14 Uhr , (Telefon: 0761-682-191)

Verbindliche Anmeldung unter:

info@schreibzentrum-freiburg.de

Gerd Bräuer PhD, braeuer@ph-freiburg.de

Satis Shroff: satisle@myway.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOP 2014

(Satis Shroff)

 

WELCOME to Creative Writing at the Freiburger Writing Center (Schreibzentrum PH-Freiburg). Satis Shroff is a published writer, and if you’re interested in Creative Writing he will be guiding you in your writings. We can’t offer you credit-points for your writing but if you write for fun and want to take your writing forward then just come along and give it a try.

 

Satis Shroff is an experienced lecturer, poet and writer and the published author of five books. You can read his books on http://www.Lulu.com/spotlight/satisle.

 

Satis Shroff describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Since literature is one of the most important means of cross-cultural learning, he is dedicated to promoting and creating awareness for Creative Writing and transcultural togetherness in his writings, and in preserving an attitude of Miteinander in this world. He lectures in Basle (Switzerland) and in Germany at the Academy for Medical Professions (University Klinikum Freiburg) and the VHS-Freiburg and VHS-Dreisamtal. He has worked as a Lehrbeauftragter for Creative Writing and Scientific English at the Uni Freiburg, and now at the University of Education (PH-Freiburg).

 

Die Termine sind am:

Montag, 12. Mai 2014 (von 18 Uhr bis 21 Uhr),

Montag, 2. Juni, 2014 (18.00 bis 21 Uhr) und

Montag, 7. Juli 7, 2014 (18.00 bis 21 Uhr).

 

Creative Writing Workshop (Englisch):

Öffnungszeiten: Mo 12-16, Di 14-16, Do 10-14 Uhr , (Telefon: 0761-682-191)

Verbindliche Anmeldung unter:

info@schreibzentrum-freiburg.de

Gerd Bräuer PhD, braeuer@ph-freiburg.de

Satis Shroff: satisle@myway.com

 

What others have said about the author:

Satis Shroff writes with intelligence, wit and grace. (Bruce Dobler, Associate Professor in Creative Writing MFA, University of Iowa).

‘The manner in which Satis Shroff writes takes the reader right along with him. Extremely vivid and just enough and the irony of the music. Beautiful prosaic thought and astounding writing. 
‘Your muscles flex, the nerves flatter, the heart gallops,
As you feel how puny you are,
Among all those incessant and powerful waves.’

Satis Shroff’s writing is refined – pure undistilled.” (Susan Marie,Journalist & Writer, http://www.Gather.com)

I was extremely delighted with Satis Shroff’s work. Many people write poetry for years and never obtain the level of artistry that is present in his work. He is an elite poet with an undying passion for poetry.” Nigel Hillary, Publisher, Poetry Division – Noble House U.K.

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