Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘creative writing’

 

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.

Read Full Post »

 

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.

 

* * *

 

 

Read Full Post »

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.

Read Full Post »

Männergesangsverein Freiburg-Kappel

  1. Tenor: Wolfgang Busse, Adolf Fressle, Heinz Hamburger, Rainer Keller
  2. Tenor: Walter Fuß, Richard Linder, Satis Shroff, Klaus Sütterle, Herbert Tombreul
  1. Bass: Frank Keller, Franz Lachmann, Andreas Schiessle, Franz Wißler, Ulrich Mauer
  2. Bass: Werner Heise, Wolfgang Keller, Dirk Schneider, Michael Stotz.

* * *

Charmant bleib immer,

so wie du bist,

ganz gleich, wie alles um dich ist.

Du bist ein guter Mensch,

Hast immer ein offenes Herz,

Darum lieben wir dich so.

(Kurt & Waltraut, Freiburg)

* * *

Schön, dass es dich gibt

Geburtstag

Ist wie eine kleine Pause.

Du stehst da und staunst:

Einen Tag lang hält das Leben den Atem an

Und sagt:

Schön, dass es dich gibt (zitat von: Thomas Knodel)

(Gabi K., Tuttlingen)

* * *

Anita Tombreul, Creative Center House of Art, Ziegelmattenstrasse 14, Freiburg-Kappel

Lieber Satish,

zu Deinem Wiegenfest wollen wir Dir mit einem kreativen Wochenplan und der Farbe Rot eine kleine Freude machen.

Sonntag,

gehört der Farbe weiss,

Montag,

gehört der farbe Blau,

sie führt auf den Weg der inneren Freiheit.

Dienstag,

gehört der Farbe Rot,

sie führt auf dem Weg der tatkraft.

Mittwoch,

gehört der Farbe Gelb,

sie führt auf den Weg der geistigen Klarheit.

Donnerstag,

gehört der Farbe Orange,

sie führt auf den Weg des Reichtums.

Freitag,

gehört der Farbe Grün,

sie führt auf den Weg der Freundschaft.

Samstag,

gehört der Farbe Violett,

sie führt auf den Weg der Innenschau und

Grenzüberschreitung.(Anon)

Wir wünschen Dir Gesundheit, Lebensfreude, viel Liebe und vor allem Spaß bei den nächsten Schritten auf Deinem Lebensweg in Glück.

(Anita & Herbert, Ziegelmatten, Freiburg)

* * *

Broadway Songs und Deutsche Lieder aus dem Dreisamtal (Satis Shroff)

Ich hätte nie gedacht, dass ich alte Deutsche Lieder und Broadway-Songs mit den einheimischen Deutschen des Männergesangsverein (Männerchor) in Freiburg-Kappel singen würde.

In den vergangenen Jahren wurde ich öfters von Alois aus Zähringen gefragt, ob ich nicht auch singen möchte. Aber ich hatte gezögert, weil ich zu beschäftigt mit meinen Vorträgen und Kinder gewesen war. Inzwischen ist der alte Alois an einer Herz-Attacke gestorben und ich vermisse sein freundliches Gesicht, wie er mich jedes Mal, wenn ich ihn in Zähringen traf mit einem Lächeln begrüßte.

Hier in Kappel singe ich nun als zweiter Tenor und es ist wirklich spannend. 20 Euro für die Mitgliedschaft und weitere 100 Euro für den blauen Rock, und Sie sind Teil des Chores, bereit für das Singen bei eigenen Konzerten und als Gastchor bei Festen in den verschiedenen Teilen des Dreisamtals. Ich konnte es nicht glauben. Tatsächlich probten wir deutsche und englische Lieder in Hochdorf mit den Damen dort und sangen mit den anderen Chören aus dem Dreisamtal in Buchenbach mit 600 deutschen Zuhörern und Applaudierern.

Das Dreisamtal besteht aus Kirchzarten, Oberried, Buchenbach und Stegen. Man hat einen herrlichen Ausblick auf das Dreisamtal, wenn man aus Buchenbach in Richtung Höllental über Himmelreich geht. Die angrenzenden Täler sind sehr romantisch mit grünen Wiesen, rauschenden Bächen und malerischen Schwarzwald Bauernhöfen, eine Mühle, die noch in Betrieb ist und die Ruinen der Burg Wiesneck. Da ist dann noch der Hansmeyerhof, ein Bauernhof Museum in der Nähe von Wagensteig. Unweit entfernt liegt Stegen, auf der sonnigen Seite des Dreisamtal. Das Schloss von Weiler wurde im Jahre 1663 erbaut und ist einen Besuch wert, ebenso wie die Schlangen-Kapelle in Wittental.  Die barocken Kirche von Eschbach ist einer der schönsten in der Freiburger Gegend. Es gibt viele Schwarzwälder Bauernhöfe, die darauf warten von Ihnen entdeckt zu werden. Vom Lindenberg haben Sie einen ausgezeichneten Blick auf das Dreisamtal.

Die Chor-Mitglieder trugen ihre traditionellen Kostüme. Was für ein wunderbares Gefühl. Man spührte wie das Adrenalin in den Blutkreislauf strömte als mit den Anderen gesungen wurde. “Ein Chor ist nichts für Individualisten. Man muss einen harmonischen Klang haben “, das war immer die Mahnung des jungen Dirigenten Felix Rosskopf, wenn wir probten.

Es war das erste Mal seit dem Zweiten Weltkrieg, dass alle Dreisamtal Chöre kamen und zusammen sangen. Während des Krieges waren die Deutschen angehalten, Kriegs- und Vaterlandslieder zu singen. Buchenbach scheint ein Problem zu haben, das mittlerweile in den meisten Männer-gesangsvereinen in Deutschland, Österreich und der Schweiz deutlich wird. Die ältere Generation bricht wegen des Alters und aus Mangel an Mobilität weg und die jüngere “Love-Parade” Generation kümmert sich nicht um die Pflege der alten Tradition des Vaterland.

Die Sänger von Buchenbach sangen: Sing mit mir, Oh Shenandoah, Mit Musik geht alles besser.  Die Sängerinnen und Sänger von St. Peter aus den hohen Schwarzwald sangen: Freude am Leben, welches mehr gesprochen als gesungen war. O du schöner Rosengarten, das war eine Liebeserklärung und ein anderes lyrisches Lied, welches Rot sind die Rosen hiess. Liebe ist immer ein beliebtes Thema.

Die Sängerinnen und Sänger aus Ebnet traten als gemischter Chor auf. “weil viele Männer verstorben sind oder den Verein verlassen haben.”, so Klaus.

Die Ebneter Sänger sangen: Capri Fisher, Ich brech die Herzen der stolzesten Frauen, ein lady-killer song in deutscher Sprache und ein Walzer für dich und mich.

Der Männerchor aus Kirchzarten sang: Die Sonne erwacht, ein traditionelles deutsches Lied, Hymne, O Iris komponiert von Wolfgang Mozart.

Ich sah eine Menge von Sängern, die eine fliehende Stirn, leuchtend unter den Lichtern der Bühne, hatten. Die meisten von ihnen trugen eine Brille und alle waren für diesen Anlass gekleidet. Die Damen tragen lange, fließende Abendkleider oder kamen in den traditionellen Dirndeln des Schwarzwaldes, und die Männer in Trachten oder tadellosen Anzügen.

Kirchzarten liegt auf dem Weg zum Hirschsprung, Hinterzarten und Titisee, einem Gletschersee.  In Kirchzarten können Nordic Walking machen, Golf spielen, entspannen im Kneipp-Zentrum mit Wassertherapie und man kann Französisch Boule spielen wie Peter Mayle (A Year in Provence).

Die Sängerinnen und Sänger aus Zarten sangen: Heimat, deine Sterne, Strangers in the Night, Are You Lonesome Tonight (deutsche Version).

Wir, von Kappel, sangen: “Ein Freund, ein guter Freund und La Le Lu ein Wiegenlied für Jung und Alt aus einem alten deutschen Film mit Heinz Rühmann in der Hauptrolle.

Die Sänger aus Oberried sangen am besten. Oberried ist für die höchsten Gipfel des Schwarzwaldes bekannt: Feldberg und Schauinsland. Es gibt ein Heimatmuseum genannt Schniederlihof, einen Steinbruch auf einem Hügel, das in ein Museum umgewandelt wurde, und natürlich die Unterhaltungpark Steinwasen. Die Vegetation in diesem Teil ist sub-alpine. Im Sommer kann man jede Menge Bergsteigen, Spaziergänge genießen und Picknicks auf den saftigen grünen Wiesen. Im Winter ist Oberriede ein Skiparadies. Hier ist ebenso Deutschlands erster Bergnatur Friedhof.

Zu einer anderen Gelegenheit wurden wir von den Hochdorfern als Gastsänger eingeladen.  Das Thema war Filmmusik und wir sangen Lieder aus: Adiemus, Jungle Book, den Blauen Engel, Truxa, Gasparone, Lena’s song, Gabriella’s Song, Fünf Millionen suchen einen Erben, Frauen sind keine Engel (Frauen sind keine Engel), True Love, mein Heart Will auf (Titanic) Go, Nur nicht aus Liebe weinen, In mir klingt ein Lied, Für ein Nachtvoller Seligkeit (Kora Terry), Moon River (aus Breakfast at Tiffany’s), Midnight Blues und Conquest of Paradise.  Ein großer Bildschirm in der Nähe der Bühne wurde benutzt, um Szenen aus den Filmen zu zeigen. Auch wir Sänger wurden digital aufgenommen. Das deutsche Publikum zeigte sich sehr empfänglich und Felix Rosskopf gab sein Bestes. Der Applaus in der Hochdorfer Halle war donnernden. Die Standing Ovations am Ende haben uns sehr gefreut. Das war ein tolles Gefühl, als wir alle Die Eroberung des Paradieses mit Begeisterung sangen. Der Text ist eigentlich albern und künstlich, aber die Wirkung auf das Publikum ist großartig. Man konnte fühlen, wie der Funke vom Dirigenten über die Sänger zum Publikum übersprang. Das Singen dieser Lieder war eine fantastisches Wellness-Erlebnis und extrem in seiner therapeutischen Wirkung. Das tut im Herzen gut. Nachdem das Singen beendet ist, ist es üblich zusammen zu sitzen und etwas deutsches Bier oder Wein vor Ort zu Trinken. Man spricht über das Konzert, reißt Witze oder diskutiert über private Angelegenheiten , wenn man Lust hat.

Wenn man sich so einem Verein verpflichtet hat, lernt man alles über sein Dorf und dessen Leute kennen.

Man sagt, wenn drei Deutsche zusammen kommen gründen sie einen Verein. Und so war es, als vor 75 Jahren ein Gesangverein versuchte die alten Lieder zu retten. In Buchenbach gründeten sie den Verein Edelweiss und ein Motto ist: “Wir amüsieren uns zu Tode.”  Ein Gesangverein ist ein Ort, wo man unterhalten wird, in dem Sie über Ihre Probleme mit Ihrem Gesang Kameraden sprechen und sich gegenseitig helfen. So war es seit Generationen, und diese Tradition wurde fortgesetzt.  Zum Beispiel, wenn mein Freund Klaus Sütterle einen Teil seines alten Haus renovieren will, fragt er nur jemand aus dem Verein in einem der sozialen Trinkgelage nach Hilfe und schon ist bereits alles im Gange, ganz ohne Bürokratie. Es ist eine Politik des Gebens und Nehmens, wie in den alten Tagen.

Viele suchen nach einem Grund im Leben. Durch die Texte der Lieder und der Prozess des zusammen Singens im Chor hilft in der Gemeinde und dieses Handeln wiederum führt zu Begegnungen und Austausch von Ideen und Spaß am Leben.

Die Texte tragen dazu bei, die Werte, die in dieser technischen Welt verloren gehen zu erhalten, wenn Arbeit entfällt, Plätze wegrationalisiert werden und die Angst vor dem Verlust des Arbeitsplatzes steigt. Das hängt über dem Kopf wie das Schwert des Damokles. In einem Gesangverein ist es üblich seine Sorgen und sein Glück zu teilen, mit einander zu reden und sich einzuladen.  Es gibt sicherlich eine Menge Vorzüge und Vorteile Mitglied in einem Verein oder Club zu sein.

Ich persönlich denke, es gibt nichts Besseres für die Seele, als laut zu singen, ein Gedicht laut zu rezitieren, weil wir alle mit einer Stimme ausgestattet sind, mit der wir eine Melodie erzeugen können.  Wenn du mit anderen zusammen singst beginnst du zu realisieren, wie gut man singt, so verbessern Sie dann Ihre Stimme, Atmung und sozialen Fähigkeiten.  In einem Chor können Sie Alltagsstress loswerden, kreativ sein und sich einen positiven Stress machen, anstatt einer negativen Stressbelastung zu erliegen.

Man hat immer ein Gefühl der Hochstimmung, wenn der letzte Akkord erklingt. Ah, das Singen bereitet soviel Freude.  Statt deprimierender, frustrierender Gedanken, haben Sie positive Bilder und Gefühle, und entwickeln die Kraft in Ihrer Stimme mit Elan und wachsen mit dem Lied. Sie machen Musik mit Ihren Stimmen. Man sieht nur lächelnde Gesichter und so lächelt man zurück. Dieses Gefühl ist ansteckend. Man knüpft Kontakte zu Anderen vor und hinter der Bühne. Wenn Sie allein und traurig sind, singen und jubeln Sie sich froh.  Ihr Gesang erheitert auch andere und Sie sind sozial integriert, bevor Sie es realisieren. Plötzlich singen Sie bei Konzerten alte, deutsche und neue, englische Lieder die bei Jung und Alt bekannt sind.

Singen hilft Hemmungen und soziale Barrieren abzubauen und führt zu einer Gemeinsamkeit unter den Menschen. Es gibt ein Miteinander, statt Vorurteile und Egoismus. Sie tun etwas für die Anderen und erwarten deshalb nicht, dass jemand etwas für sie tut. Sie teilen ihre Freude. Durch die Lieder bringen wir unsere Gefühle des Glücks und der Freude, der Trauer und des Leids zum Ausdruck. Wir erfreuen uns und finden Trost in den Texten der Lieder und lassen uns mitreissen von der überragenden Wirkung sakraler Musik. Durch das Singen werden Hormone wie Endorphine und Epinephrine (Adrenalin)  freigesetzt. Das ist gut für den Kreislauf und fördert die Gesundheit.

Unter den Sängern haben wir Sprichwort.

Wo man singt da lass Dich nieder, böse Menschen kennen keine Lieder.

Das ist genau das was ich gemacht habe. Ein wunderbarer Ort auf dieser Erde, dieser Schwarzwald.

Herzlich Willkommen im Schwarzwald! Welcome to the Black Forest!

(The original article in English was published in The American Chronicle, a syndicate of 21 newspapers in the USA. Translation by my friend: Klaus Sütterle, Männergesangsverein Freiburg-Kappel). If you want to read more articles & poems by the author please yahoo or google for: satis shroff).

About the Author: 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 Center for Key Qualifications, where he is a Lehrbeauftragter for Creative Writing at the ZfS Uni Freiburg). Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize.

* * *

Satis Shroff with Swiss geologist Toni Hagen at a Freiburger pub …

– [ Diese Seite übersetzen ]

Satis Shroff with Swiss geologist Toni Hagen at a Freiburger pub.
www.flickr.com/photos/28329074@N02/2645811732/

* * *

Zeitgeistlyrik: Literature Nobel Prize Herta Müller 2009:

UPROOTED & BANISHED (Satis Shroff)

A Banat Swabian poetess

Was born in 1953

In a hamlet called Nitzkydorf,

Which lies in Romania.

She came to Berlin in 1987.

Wrote verses to mete out justice

To the fate of German Romanians,

Who were departed to work camps.

The other way round.

Jews died in concentration camps,

80,000 ethnic Germans from Romania,

Uprooted and banished,

Suffered hunger and death

In the Ukranian camps.

Survival strategies and dreams

At the end of the Second World War.

If Bertold Brecht’s Furcht und Elend

Im Dritten Reich

Told us about the Nazi terror,

Hertha’s verses and prose reveal

The sadness and angst of her lost people.

In a small hamlet in Banat,

Small Herta tells us

In her hard, Banat-German accent,

How hostile her home environment was.

She speaks of her doubts and fears,

For it is plain to see:

She’s made of another genetic material

That made her vulnerable to her environs,

Like underdogs everywhere in this world.

How unbearable for Romanians,

The Banat-Germans had their own

Culture, tradition

And way of life.

But pray, don’t ethnic Germans say

The same things about migrants

Eking out a living here?

Hertha speaks a poetic language

Of a gone but not lost past,

Of the misery, angst and terror

Felt by her people.

Her books emphasise

The cruel, inhuman face of communism,

Under Nicolae Ceausescu.

A chronist walking

Along the thin line,

Between poetry and terror,

Where every line is a cry

Against injustice

With pregnant titles:

The Fox Was even Then a Hunter (1992),

Herztier (1994),

In the Hair-knots Lives a Lady,

The King (Ceausescu) Bows and Kills (2000)

The Pale Gentleman and the Mocca Cups (2005).

Herta said:

‘My innermost desire is to write

I can live with it.’

Her literary style is precise,

Laconic and matter-of-fact.

Despite her publications,

Ms. Müller was a nobody.

Without her notes on Oskar Pastiors

She couldn’t have penned ‘Atemschaukel.’

It became more than a swing of breath.

She was shadowed, interrogated and persecuted.

Günter Grass said:

‘I’m very satisfied with the Literature Prize

For Herta from Stockholm.’

Karasek quipped:

‘My mantra is always for Philip Roth,’

And sounded like: ‘My Heart Belongs to Daddy.’

Germany’s literary pope

Marcel Reich-Ranicki:

‘I plead for Roth and wish to say

No more.’

Literary critics form the USA commented:

‘We suggest Philip Roth, Thomas Pynchon,

Joyce Carol Oates

Or Bob Dylan.’

The Swedish Academy gave the prize

For the fourteenth time

To Germany.

Poor Romania.

* * *


(Sketch © 2007 Satis Shroff, Freiburg)

THE AGONY OF WAR (Satis Shroff)

Once upon a time there was a seventeen year old boy

Who lived in the Polish city of Danzig.

He was ordered to join the Waffen-SS,

Hitler’s elite division.

Oh, what an honour for a seventeen year old,

Almost a privilege to join the Waffen-SS.

The boy said, “Wir wurden von früh bis spät

Geschliffen und sollten

Zur Sau gemacht werden.”

A Russian grenade shrapnel brought his role

In the war to an abrupt end.

That was on April 20, 1945.

In the same evening,

He was brought to Meissen,

Where he came to know about his Vaterland’s defeat.

The war was lost long ago.

He realised how an ordinary soldier

Became helpless after being used as a tool in the war,

Following orders that didn’t demand heroism

In the brutal reality of war.

It was a streak of luck,

And his inability to ride a bicycle,

That saved his skin

At the Russian-held village of Niederlausitz.

His comrades rode the bicycle,

And he was obliged to give them fire-support

With a maschine-gun.

His seven comrades and the officer

Were slain by the Russians.

The only survivor was a boy

Of seventeen.

He abandoned his light maschine-gun,

And left the house of the bicycle-seller,

Through the backyard garden

With its creaky gate.

What were the chances in the days of the Third Reich

For a 17 year old boy named Günter Grass

To understand the world?

The BBC was a feindliche radio,

And Goebbels’ propaganda maschinery

Was in full swing.

There was no time to reflect in those days.

Fürcht und Elend im Dritten Reich,

Wrote Bertold Brecht later.

Why did he wait till he was almost eighty?

Why did he torment his soul all these years?

Why didn’t he tell the bitter truth,

About his tragi-comical role in the war

With the Waffen-SS?

He was a Hitlerjunge,

A young Nazi.

Faithful till the end.

A boy who was seduced by the Waffen-SS.

His excuse:

„Ich habe mich verführen lassen.“

The reality of the war brought

Endless death and suffering.

He felt the fear in his bones,

His eyes were opened at last.

Günter Grass is a figure,

You think you know well.

Yet he’s aloof

And you hardly know him,

This literary titan.

He breathes literature

And political engagement.

In his new book:

Beim Häuten der Zwiebeln

He confides he has lived from page to page,

And from book to book.

Is he a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

Doctor Faustus and Mephistopheles,

In the same breast?

Grass belongs to us,

For he has spent the time with us.

It was his personal weakness

Not to tell earlier.

He’s a playwright, director and actor

Of his own creativeness,

And tells his own tale.

His characters Oskar and Mahlke weren’t holy Joes.

It was his way of indirectly showing

What went inside him.

Ach, his true confession took time.

It was like peeling an onion with tears,

One layer after the other.

Better late than never.

* * *

On Her Majesty’s Lyrical Service:

Poet Laureate (Satis Shrof)

Wanted:

A person who writes in lyrical form,

Composes verses for occasions,

Good stanzas in favour of kings and queens,

Princes and Princesses,

For the price of 5000 Sterling pounds

And, of course, 650 bottles

Of Sherry,

To inspire the poet.

And the title of Poet Laureate.

A court poet is a smith of verses,

Not a bass-guitarist

Of the royal band

Based in Buckingham.

Beginners need not apply.

Candidates should be

A professor of English Literature.

The last Poet Laureate penned

Verses in praise of Edward

And his beautiful Sophie,

A hundred years of the Queen Mother

And the latter’s sad demise.

The Queen’s diamond wedding anniversary,

A rap-rhyme for rosy-cheeked Prince William,

When he turned twenty-one.

Yeah! ‘Better stand back

Here’s a age attack.’

He even congratulated Charles and Camilla

On their belated marriage.

The Prince was overwhelmed

When he heard Motion’s

‘Spring Wedding.’

But all verses weren’t,

As we say in Germany:

Friede, Freude, Eierkuchen.

Motion’s ‘Cost of Life’ on Paddington,

Causa belli’ emphasised

Elections, money, empire,

Oil and Dad.

Themes and lyrics that bother us,

Day in and day out.

The rulers and battles won are expected

To be praised to Heaven,

Like Master Henry,

Ben Jonson et al have done

In 1668 John Dryden was sacked

Not for his bad verses,

But for changing his confession.

Sir Walter Raleigh and William Morris

Didn’t relinquish their freedom

And said politely: No thank you, Ma’am.

And with it a keg of wine

From the Canary Isles,

That could have been theirs.

Free literary productivity and court-poetry

Are strange bedfellows indeed.

In these times of gender-studies,l

Women’s quotes and emancipation,

It wouldn’t be far-fetched

If Carol Ann Duffy,

A Scottish poetess,

Became the next Poetess Laureate.

What a lass!

She’s openly gay,

Didn’t you say?

Has fire anyway.

What a thankless job:

A royal lyrical whisperer,

Striving for public relations

In poetry prize panels,

In the name of poetry.

A thankless job:

Take it

Or leave it.

* * *

GORDON STILL WALKING 2009 (Satis Shroff, Freiburg)

‘I will not walk away,’

Said PM Gordon Brown.

His ministers had walked out on him.

Disgusted with his inner circle

Of soccer-fans

And other fads.

Manchester is United,

Labour isn’t.

Was he walking by a rule?

Mr. Brown ruled with two circles:

His soccer-crazy inner circle

With Ed Balls,

An outer one with grey mice.

He was walking down a lonely road,

It seemed.

When he walked in,

He walked into Blairites.

Gordon was walking into his political savings.

Could he steer Britain’s economy

Out of the big recession?

He walked his legs off,

Pleading to Labourites to stay.

It wasn’t a walk over

For Brown’s pride,

When ministers refuse to walk

Together with him,

After the debacle at the Euro polls.

He racked his brains,

Came up with a belated inquiry

Into the Iraq war,

To save his skin.

In a last bid he reshuffled

His cabinet cards:

Darling, Miliband and Balls

Held their jobs.

Gordon promoted:

Johnson, Jowell, Mandelson,

Cooper, Burham, Ham.

Eh, was it worth to promote Ainsworth?

A soap-opera supper,

Where guests prefer

To sit and walk out at will.

Gordon is certainly walking on air.

It’s become more a walk

On a razor’s edge.

If this silly Labour circus goes on

In Downing No. 10,

He is most likely to walk

On all fours.

The battle is lost,

Er steht auf verlorene Posten.

The rats have sprung overboard.

Councils like Lancashire, Derbyshire,

Stafford, Nottinghamshire

Have become Tory counties.

Labour lost 250,

Conservatives gained 217 seats.

Captain Brown remains adamant,

And runs his ship.

I’m afraid it’s not Trafalgar.

Perhaps Cap’n Bleigh?

He clutches his crutches

And mutters:

‘I will not walk away.’

Brown has a strategy:

He hopes to limp towards autumn,

Defying the wind against him.

Can he bend it like Beckham?

Captain Brown, still at the helm,

Insists: ‘I will not waver,

Or walk away.’

Britain doesn’t know:

Whether to be awed

Or amused.

And thereby hangs

A tale.

Drinking Darjeeling Tea in England 2008 (Satis Shroff, Freiburg)

Beware the Ides of March

Manchester will be a milestone

In Gordon Brown’s polit-life.

Your economic ‘competence’

Has become an Achilles heel,

Your weak point.

The people’s party of New Labour

Wants to get rid of you.

These are the rumours

Heard in the trendy streets of London.

Twelve months ago Gordon Brown

Was the Messiah of Brit politics,

After Blair’s disastrous role in the Labour.

Alas, the new Messiah

Lost his face,

Within a short time.

His weakness: decision making.

England is nervous, fidgety,

For Labour fears a possible loss,

Of its 353 Under House seats.

Above the English cabinet

Looms a Damocles sword.

Will Labour watch,

Drink Darjeeling,

Till a debacle develops?

Labour is in a dilemma.

Hush, help is near.

David Miliband is going vitriolic.

A silly season indeed,

Drinking Darjeeling tea in England.

About the Author:

Satis Shroff is based in Freiburg (poems, fiction, non-fiction) and also writes on ecological, ethno-medical, culture-ethnological themes. He has studied Zoology and Botany  in Nepal, Medicine and Social Sciences in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and the United Kingdom. He 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 Center for Key Qualifications (University of Freiburg, where he is a Lehrbeauftragter for Creative Writing at the ZfS Uni Freiburg). Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize.

His lyrical works have been published in literary poetry sites: Slow Trains, International Zeitschrift, World Poetry Society (WPS), New Writing North, Muses Review, The Megaphone, Pen Himalaya, Interpoetry. He is a member of “Writers of Peace,” poets, essayists, novelists (PEN), World Poetry Society (WPS) and The Asian Writer.

Copyright © 2009, Satis Shroff. You may republish this article online provided you keep the byline, the author’s note, and the active hyperlinks.

Read Full Post »