Daniel finds Stone Age tools in these fields.
He has the eye and the knowledge to discover these objects.
The spring bird concert sounds from the forest, from somewhere a howling dog and further away more barking of dogs. A roar from a street far behind me. The two bunkers are also behind me.
I noticed them for the first time recently, they suddenly stood there freed from the undergrowth. Before that one has
probably hedges there but I can’t remember any hedges. What you see and remember is always only a fraction of what you could perceive and remember. Although I have eyes to see, most of it escapes me. It’s sobering to think about. When it then becomes clear to me that the memory is not really reliable either, I suddenly see my whole existence in question. Who am I? do I really exist?
Anyway, I hear birds and an insect flying by. Before, now I vaguely remember, there were more insects. In the past there were probably more birds there. A plane taking off has just ripped open the atmosphere. Now the rumbling subsides. In front of me lies a dug field, this is where the corn will grow. Another plane.
You have to endure them, you have no choice. From here you can even see them take off silently from the runway. As if they were singing and trying to steal away without a sound, which fails every time, because the noise increases rapidly with increasing altitude. The sound gets louder, louder
louder until it overshadows everything down here. Once it gets really uncomfortable, it subsides, and the plane continues to climb and fly away. After that, the booming lingers in the air for a relatively long time. And the next plane takes off.
You don’t even need an airplane to experience the world. The world is always where you are. You see and hear, experience the rhythm,
imagining oneself in an inscrutable polyphony is adventurous and fulfilling. Seeing a lonely nut tree in the field, grazing its canopy with one’s eyes, makes a connection. I interweave with the senses in a landscape. An airplane again oversonic all life on the ground. And one more time. An invisible texture hardens, becomes brittle, brittle, opens up voids. Something becomes stiff, braces, lies sideways, blocks, collapses. Collateral damage that goes undetected. Looking is avoided. Not looking away is all the more painful.
The bunkers behind me are part of the WWII Marginot Line. With enormous effort, the French built this bulwark against Hitler’s troops along the entire eastern border. But the Nazis found out about it, bypassed it and invaded France via Belgium. A deer has just jumped over the future corn field in front of me. It was lightning fast and completely silent. Every 3, 4, 5 jumps it took a giant leap, flew over the bare field and disappeared behind the bunkers in the forest. A beautiful animal!
(Mimi von Moss)
D’chräjie groaning from everywhere
d’sunne tans properly
no tree no shrub where there is shade, uh
chrieg isch ä condition syni spuure
holes in the room
two overgrown bunkers squat like crap and telly full of devotion to the limit
orangsch and wyss are vili vo de fluger in the sky where they probably all hi göh
derwyle is chrieg
dunde uf dr pischte
wait a lot, the green light is on to start
behind but her deep d’rhyaue forests huge
up to the Ysteiner Chlotz.
Les corneilles crient de toutes parts
le soleil tape
aucun arbre aucun buisson pour donner de l’ombre
la guerre est un état ses traces
des trous dans l’espace
deux blockhouse couverts de vegétal assis comme des crapauds guettent pleins de dévotion la frontière
orange et blanc sont bon nombre d’avions au ciel verse quelle destination pourraient-ils bien aller en temps de guerre
en bas sur les pistes
bon nombre attendent le feu vert pour partir
Derrière tout cela dans la profondeur l’immensité des forêts du Rhin jusqu’au pied de l’Isteiner Chlotz.
between bunkers and vol
deployer mes ailes
c’est le sommet de leur rêve